My stomach twists. If there was anything left inside of me, I might just puke again. It wouldn’t be the foxglove’s fault, though. Just the idea that Haven would ever think that I’d doanythinglike what happened to her before…
I hate that. I fucking hate that so much.
I hate that she thinks I’m going to turn on her—and I hate that somebody taught her to expect retaliation when she fights back.
Never. I’ll never do that. And if I want to help Haven, the best thing I can do for her is get her to understand that.
So, naturally, I go with my default setting: I decide to be extra annoying in a way that’ll help her remember that I’m Connor, she’s Haven, and she has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to fear from me.
"Morning, apple of my eye. Sleep well, or did the excitement at my imminent demise keep you up all night?"
Her gaze slants my way. The over-the-top pet name and teasing tone did exactly what I hope it would: it takes Haven’s apprehension and turns it into outright annoyance.
Closing her book, placing it on her lap, Haven points at me. She shuts her eyes momentarily, sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth, and cocks her head in a mockery of a dead person. When she’s done, she points at me a second time.
I chuckle. “Sorry, doodlebug. I’m not dead yet.”
Slowly, I drop onto the couch next to her. My stomach is still iffy, so I’m careful, but I give nothing away as I pat her upper arm and say, “Terrible attempt, by the way."
Confusion flashes across her face.
I grin, taking my hand back, stretching my arm behind her head. “I mean it. If you really want to kill me, baby, you’ve got to commit to the bit. Really go for it.”
Her confusion gives way to sudden anger. For the next moment, she glares at me, and my cock twitches to see the fury in her stormy grey eyes. She’s not happy I’m poking fun at her, but since I’m fuckingecstaticthat she’s not acting like she’s afraid of me, I’ll take it.
She huffs. There’s a small table in front of the couch. On top of it, she keeps one of the many notebooks I bought for her. She snatches that, grabs a pen, furiously opens to a blank page, and bends her head over it.
When she’s done, she shows me what she’s written.
you should be pissed at me
"Why would I be?" I ask.
I swear to God, the expression on her face suggests she might actually succeed in killing me this time.
I can’t stop myself. As much as I’d like to run upstairs and take care of my erection, I’d be a moron to walk away from this chat with Haven. Crossing my legs to hide it, I hook my arm around her neck, tugging her into my side so that I can drop a kiss to the top of her head.
With a surprising amount of force, Haven shoves away from me.
She scribbles in the notebook again.
Because I tried to poison you
"Yeah."
Because I thought it was my only way to escape you
"Also yes. I mean, that’s not going to happen, but I appreciate the effort."
She looks utterly exasperated.
I shouldn't enjoy this as much as I am.
I lean back into the couch. “I hope it made you feel better. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t half-ass it again, but I can tell you one thing: it’ll be a great story to tell our kids one day.” I fiddle with a lock of her hair. “I don’t have a tattoo, not like Dallas does. I’m good with knives. Needles? Not so much. What do you think, though? Can I carve a foxglove into my skin, or should I just grow a pair and hire a professional to do the job for me?”
She looks at me. Really looks at me. And, for the first time since she spoke after her escape, I hear her rough voice as she echoes, “Tattoo?”
I nod. “An ‘H’ for when you bit me. Foxglove for when you tried to poison me. My whole body will be a shrine to Haven Heyward.”
