Page 25

My pulse quickens at the thought of the woman I’m not supposed to be attracted to because she’s my sisters’ best friend. And definitely not now, because she’s the doctor to my patient.

The first time I saw her was a quick glimpse at Steven and Grace’s wedding. She was in a sparkly dress that clung to her perfect curves.

Then there was the smile she directed at Taylor, her close friend, who later introduced her to the rest of the family.

That smile was blinding. Genuine. She radiated joy. It was like walking into a sweets shop and ingesting its entire inventory in one sitting. My fingers twitched. My heart banged against my rib cage. I felt lightheaded and nauseous.

I wanted that smile directedatme.

Then I thought, how could someone seem so happy when I was struggling inside?

A selfish and dark craving slithered in. To snuff out the smile as much as I wanted to see it again. I wondered if she was hiding any shadows like me. If she’d still smile that way if someone dug up her secrets.

It was certifiable. The thought alone terrified me, and I’ve stayed away from her ever since.

But because my willpower is abysmal, I keep thinking about the night at Mystique a month ago. Her guileless eyes, the hint of pain in them, a rousing echo calling to my own.

And that pure, unblemished white dress.

The same dark craving from years ago resurrects—only amplified.

Another dark rumination begins—deviant thoughts of what I’d like to do to her. Or better yet, how I wanted to undo her poised, good-girl exterior.

Unspool. Despoil. Thread by thread.

The clicking stops. Then starts back up again.

“You assume I was trying to make myself invisible,” a familiar raspy voice finally replies.

His words are cryptic, but that’s par for the course for the man who’s known as the dealer of secrets. The fucker talks in riddles too.

Elias Kent steps out from behind the jet, the dreary daylight cloaking his angular face in stark contrast. The weather gods must love him because the bluish lighting somehow highlights the singular long scar spanning one side of his face.

It looks good. Sexyeven.

Maybe I should get a scar. That’ll make my outsides match my insides.

“Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?” he asks, cocking one dark eyebrow.

“I’m thinking you look fucking hot with a scar. I need one. The ladies will dig it. Where do you think it should be? On the cheek like yours?”

His lips twitch. Barely, but I see it. See? I can charm even the coldest of criminals.

“But then people might accuse me of copying you, and Rex-a-Million copies no one. Maybe the upper lip like a dashing pirate. But the damn lighting won’t hit it the same way.”

He snaps the lighter shut and rolls his eyes. “You love hearing your own voice, don’t you?”

“No. It gets monotonous hearing the voice equivalent of mind-blowing sex 24/7, but I can’t deprive the world of that, you know? There’s enough bad sex as is.”

Elias rubs his temples and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Probably likeI don’t have time for this shit,orwhy did I wake up this morning?

Or perhapsI should stab him with a knife, carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and feed his entrails to my enemies.

If only. That’ll end my miserable existence. I shudder in horror or excitement. I can’t tell the difference anymore. I guess my quest to transform myself from the scaredy cat of my younger years to the daredevil I am now has worked too well.

He levels his deep green eyes at me. “I’m fucking regretting this already.”

“Lighten up. Even the mobster needs a break from brooding all day.”