Page 57 of The Price of Love

“Quick reflexes,” I say.

“It’s a necessity in my world.”

I wonder what she means by that. Then our conversation flashes in my mind. “See, red and dangerous go together.”

“So you think I’m dangerous?”

Oh, yeah. At least her smile is, but I don’t say that. “Isn’t that the Thorns’ reputation?”

“Depends on who you talk to.”

I tilt my head, but I say nothing.

She grins. “Ya never answered, do you think I’m dangerous?”

Shit. Her magnetic appeal is pulling me toward her, but this isn’t a conversation I’m prepared to have with my girls on their way. I’m not sure it’s one I should ever have.

I turn away from her and pull trail mix ingredients from the cabinet. With my back to her, maybe it’ll be easier to answer. “From what I’ve seen of you today, you’re not dangerous.” I won’t tell her that my reactions to her are very dangerous.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” The water turns on behind me as she fills the pitcher. “Besides, red doesn’t have to mean danger. It can mean passion.”

“Or anger,” I counter.

“How about love?”

Shit. I need to get to safer ground. “What about purple? What does it say about you?”

“It says I’ve loved the color since I was a kid.” She laughs. “I don’t think it’s like red. It doesn’t have any meaning.”

“Royalty,” I say, finally turning back toward her.

She grins when I meet her gaze. “Royalty, huh? Nobody’s ever called me that.”

“But you’re the president. Isn’t that royalty?”

“Not in a democracy.”

“Touché.” I laugh. “U.S. politics almost has me forgetting that. How’s the lemonade coming along?”

“I need a spoon.”

I motion to the drawer next to the stove.

As she stirs the lemonade, she says, “I’m looking forward to meeting your girls.”

I stiffen, and the coconut I’m pouring into the bowl spills all over the counter.

When I look up at her, her eyes fill with sadness, and she says, “Do you want me to leave?”

No! I want to shout. “Can we compromise?”

Her expressive brown eyes narrow. “Explain.”

“If the girls mention they met you in my apartment, Margot might make my life hell. Which is jacked up.” I angrily sweep the coconut into the bowl. “She runs off with her paralegal, lives with her and the girls, but god forbid I have someone visiting my apartment.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Storm sets the pitcher down and takes the bowl out of my shaking hand. “Let me do this. Tell me what I need to add.”

Her kindness—her care—threatens to break me. I just want to wrap her in a hug and feel her arms around me. Instead, I hand her the bowl. “The ingredients are all out.”