Page 196 of Things We Hide from the Light
“I’m not surly and it’s not fucking cute.”
“Okay. You’re broody and it’s sexy.”
His jaw ticked as he pondered that one. “I can live with that.”
“Are you worried?” I asked, cuddling up to him.
Nash slid his fingers into the back pockets of my pants. “He’s unpredictable. I could be putting myself out there as bait and he could still ignore me and go after someone else.”
“Knox isn’t going to let Naomi or Waylay out of his sight for the foreseeable future. You’re the one who’s going to be drawing Duncan’s attention. You’re the biggest threat. He won’t be able to resist trying to finish the job.” I shook my head and closed my eyes.
“What?” Nash asked.
“I can’t believe I’m comforting my live-in lover with the fact that the man who tried to murder him once will make a second attempt,” I said. “Nothing about this situation is normal.”
“Live-in lover?” he repeated.
“Boy toy? Man friend? Emotional support fuck?”
“Boyfriend,” Nash decided. He grinned when I winced. “For a badass, you sure spook easy.”
“I’m notspooked,” I lied.
“You think I can’t tell when my girlfriend is panicking?”
“Now you’re just being a Nashhole,” I complained, stepping out of his grasp. “Let’s table the labeling of whatever this is until after.”
He leaned against his desk, still grinning. “I like knowing I can rattle you.”
“Yeah? Well, I like it better when you’re freaking out over cosmetics and a photo shoot for a national magazine.”
He winced. “Now who’s being mean, Meana?”
“Here, have a mint,” I said, handing him one of the wrapped candies I’d snagged from the restaurant’s host stand on our first date.
“I don’t want a mint. I want…” He trailed off as the wrapper crinkled in his hand. He frowned down at it, lost in thought.
“What?” I asked.
He shook himself. “Nothing. Just felt like I was remembering something.”
“About the shooting?” I prodded.
“Maybe. It’s gone now.”
“If you’re a good boy, I’ll take you for ice cream,” I offered, changing the subject.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants and tugged me closer.
“Your pepper spray is digging into my stomach,” I warned him.
“How about instead of a photo shoot and ice cream, I sit you on my desk and spread those long, sexy legs of yours wide? I’ll go down on my knees and kiss my way up your thighs.”
A delicious shiver worked its way up my spine as he slid one hand lower to cup my rear end. His hand was warm, the grip possessive.
“You’d be begging me for it until I’d take my tongue and—”
“Okay! Sorry for the delay. I’m locked and loaded.” The photographer didn’t seem to notice that my knees had quit functioning or that Nash was glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns.
