“I ought to be ashamed,” she muttered. Merely because she had no idea how long the man would be stuck there. Perhaps he still was. Well, the man deserved every second for almost frightening her senseless.
And for almost thrilling her senseless, too.
Curse him.
Who told him to be a handsome brute with a sinfully deep voice that wrapped around her senses along with a presence thatfilled every inch of space he occupied? So unreasonable! The man was trouble forged from the darker pages of Greek myth. Dangerously magnetic. No woman in her right mind would go near such a creature.
“Which is precisely why I must purge him from my thoughts.” And somehow from her life.
Her gaze drifted to the small butterwort blooming atop one of the barrels. Dainty. Pale. Unassuming. Yet capable of consuming an insect until not a trace remained.
A carnivorous little darling.
“Heh.” She mustn’t let arrogance outrun her sense. Persephone had still gotten caught by Hades. She should remember that. Hold to that.
Handsome brutes and underworld kings aside, she still had the far more pressing matter of her brother. How in blazes’ name was she to enquire after his whereabouts without alerting Drake Fury? Her temples throbbed at the mere prospect. But who would know anything? Pip and Terry? One of Angelica’s connections? Could she trust them with such a delicate matter? With her future happiness, she could even argue.
The door creaked open, and Angelica’s head popped through, cheeks rosy and bonnet tied slightly askew. “I’m running to the market for more ribbon. Some matron wants six bouquets in shades of ‘mourning cheer.’”
Violet smiled faintly. “Be quick and careful.”
“Always.”
Angelica disappeared again, leaving the door cracked open and Violet alone with her thoughts again. She stepped over to the butterwort and poked into a flower. This one was purple, too. What could she say? The color was dear to her. She’d love to procure some Sundews, also carnivorous. Indeed, she found herself quite taken with the idea of collecting all the carnivorousplants she could find. A hobby for her own pleasure, and, if she cared to admit, a small jest aimed squarely at that man.
Weren’t you supposed tostopthinking about that man?
Yes, but her mind, a traitorous thing as of yesterday, drifted to him yet again. The scar across his face. The way he’d looked at her, which she could only describe as both a puzzle and a provocation.
“Oh, stop it,” she snapped softly, shaking her head. “No more thinking ofit.”
An unmistakable presence brushed at her back.
Her brows knit. Pip and Terry never hovered so silently behind her, but she dismissed the odd prickle along her spine, and without turning around, said, “The arrangements are on the table. You can take them and deliver them where we discussed.”
“I’m afraid I’m in no state to deliver flowers today.”
Violet’s blood iced and flared at once.
That voice.
Sinful.
Deep.
Dark as night.
She snapped around.
Drake Fury leaned against the door, arms crossed, ankles crossed, expression carved from pure devilry. Morning light softened no part of him; it merely revealed the details she had tried very hard not to catalogue. A day’s worth of stubble coated his jawline, and his hair was damp and unrepentant, a dark sweep that refused order.
Her heart took unreasonable liberties in her chest.
Other than that, the man cut an impeccable figure. Not like one who had spent the night in a dungeon.
He seemed to have read her mind. “Not expecting me?” he asked, lips curling into something wicked.
“Honestly?” she all but choked, still trying to recover her tongue. “No.”
