“Running away?” Drake challenged. “Again?”
A flicker of surprise flared bright in her gaze before it vanished behind a deliberate narrowing of her eyes. He had her. She’d walked straight into his trap. Again. He couldn’t deny the charge of delight at watching her forcefully gather herself and smile.
“I do enjoy running from time to time,” she said lightly, a faint barb in her tone. “Especially when it’s from brutes.”
“Then why step into a place with brutes in the first place?” Drake countered, studying her face. Even the smallest twitch didn’t escape his notice.
She shrugged, pretending to be unbothered, but he caught the slight tension at the corner of her eye.
“Perhaps to face my fears,” she murmured.
Bold claim. “You face them and run away when you meet?”
“Face to face is face to face, is it not?” she responded tartly. “I never said one must linger.”
Drake regarded her closely. He didn’t detect any lies. But he’d be a fool to take her responses at face value. She met him without flinching, but the slightest tightness gathered in her eyes, probably already calculating escape routes even while her lips made light of the affair.
“Besides,” she added. “Running can be rather clarifying.”
Clarifying, indeed.
Drake sensed Reaper and Dagger’s attention sharpen.
Damnation.
He needed to get her out of here. His brothers were still watching her. Watchinghim. One spark in the wrong direction and they’d start pulling at threads he couldn’t afford anyone touching. He couldn’t give them half a chance to pry more.
“Are you sure we cannot join you,frère?”
Deveraux nodded.
“Enough.” She was his to deal with. Even if it meant being haunted by jokes about him and this little flame rather than allowing his brothers to shoulder into danger on his behalf. In the end, that wasn’t even a choice. Would never be a choice. Family came first. His brothers’ safety came first. And Violet Sharpe would be dealt with,ifshe needed to be dealt with, by his own hand.
If Reaper and Deveraux had any sense, they’d damn well help him keep the rest of the brood off his back.
Violet, on the other hand—Drake didn’t give her the chance to breathe or think. He caught her eye, a half-grin curving his mouth, then drew her sharply into him, enveloping her beneath the wing of his arm.
“Come, little spitfire, it’s time for our fun.” Without looking at his brothers, he said lazily, but not without a slight warning, “We’ll take our leave now.”
Those blue eyes spat fire at him, and Drake winked at her in response, chuckling when her glare turned positively murderous.
Time to see how this minx reacted at his fight tonight.
He guided her out the door, ignoring the sets of eyes boring into his back. They might follow them out, but that wouldn’t make much of a difference. His goal was simply to observe her reaction, and if he was lucky, learn the truth.
“Just what was all that?” she demanded.
“Taking control of the matter.”
Her gaze cut over him sharply, looking unconvinced. “I didn’t know there was any need for control.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Drake said wryly. “If you did, I’d have to reevaluate my sense of judgment.”
“That’s not an answer,” she accused. “You know they’ll misunderstand your actions.”
“If they do, they do; if they don’t, they don’t.” They wouldn’t. Still, the temptation to tease her was too great.
Her eyes widened. “Youwantthem to misunderstand, don’t you?” she said, incredulous. “And what of me? Do my feelings not count?”
