He’ll hurt me. That’s what men do. They want and they take, and Connor is no different. He already took me, didn’t he? I can’t let him decide that, what’s best for me next, is to be his wife in all ways.
If he made me touch him the same way that Mickey and Cam and Noah did? I think I would have preferred to die in that old warehouse. But he pulled me out of there, and he brought me here, and I absolutely refuse to watch Connor Heyward become another one of my monsters.
I’d see him die first.
Will this actually kill him? I don’t know. I’m basing this on a book I read, and Connor’s comment that it’s poison. I don't know how much it takes to make someone sick enough to die. And, yet, once I retake my seat at the table, I’m staring at the liquid in his coffee mug, squeezing the foxglove tightly.
I listen for the turn of the lock, for the sound of feet on the stairs. Nothing. No sound of Connor’s voice, either, as he finishes his call. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now. I whimper, then swallow the sound. Firming my resolve, I hurriedly reach over the table and dunk the foxglove into his mug.
My hand is shaking. A bit of coffee splashes onto the table as I swirl the flower in his drink before yanking it out again.
Okay, Haven. Time to hide the evidence?—
The basement door opens. Shit. He’s coming back.
On the plus side, if he was already heading for the basement when I was dunking the foxglove, then he probably wasn’t checking his cameras. On the other, he takes the stairs so quickly, so easily, whistling cheerily to himself as he descends, that I’m still staring like a deer caught in headlights as he appears at the bottom.
I’m halfway out of my seat. He catches my eye, giving me a curious look. I clench my jaw, plopping down again as I hide the damp flower between my thighs.
Connor shrugs, then starts for the table. “Sorry about that, lovemuffin. Order shit, and when Adrian calls because the King’s giving him trouble, I gotta get on the line so he doesn’t—” He pauses. “Never mind. You don’t have to worry about that. Right now? It’s just you and me, sugarplum. I’m taking care of you. You’re getting better. The Order can wait.”
Okay. Maybe I’m not feeling too bad about my murder attempt. He kind of deserves to die for calling me ‘lovemuffin’ and ‘sugarplum’ alone…
He grabs the back of his chair, ready to pull it out so that he can return to the coffee he had only just poured out when his phone rang. I swallow the nervous lump lodged in my throat. My fingernails dig into the meat of my thighs, hoping like hell that my face isn’t giving me away.
Connor’s brow furrows. Releasing the chair, he leans over it, using his pointer finger to swipe through the spilt coffee on the tabletop.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no…
His lips quirk. That? That’s a smile. As he glances over at the window well with the foxglove growing inside of it, then looks at me, his smile only gets bigger.
"Well." The single word sends unease skittering down my spine. “Well, well, well… what have you been up to, my sweet wife?”
Wife? Not that shit again.
I shake my head.Not your wife.
“No,” he agrees reluctantly, stalking around to my side of the table. “Not yet. There’s so much that has to be done. Picking the venue. Finding the perfect wedding ring. A dress… it’ll have to be white, of course, and I’m thinking something simple like the ones they made you wear to the Claiming ceremonies because you always looks so gorgeous… a guest list, too.” How about aproposal? “But, for now, it’s probably for the best when it comes to your recovery that you get used to the idea that I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
No. He won’t.
“I love you, Haven,” he says again, as though by repeating it, I might actuallybelieveit. “When you scowl at me. When you ignore me. When you lock me out, and I have to sleep on the couch to be close to you… I love you. There isn’t a single thing you can do to make me stop. I need you to understand that. I’m too far gone, baby.”
That’s what he thinks. I’m pretty sure, if he discovers what I did to his coffee, he might change his mind…
And that’s when, before I can expect it, he tugs on my chair, pulling me away from the table. His hand dips between mythighs, and it doesn’t even occur to me to be scared that he’s suddenly groping me. Nope. I’m trembling because that’s not what he’s doing. Not really.
Instead of stroking my thigh, he finds the limp sprig of foxglove, pulling it out so we can both see it.
“Did you just try to poison me, Haven?” He laughs as he twirls it. Crazy bastard actuallylaughs.“God, I fucking love it when you’re murderous.”
Um. Never mind. I thought he’d be furious that I tried to kill him. But Connor… he seems pleased.
No. More than that.
He seemsproud.
