Page 272 of A Vicious Love

I looked at Sienna.

Sienna looked at me. That gentle expectation she used when she wanted me to behave as if I had been raised near civilization.

Fucking hell.

I bent and retrieved the shoe.

Mud sucked at it. My fingers sank into cold sludge. The shoe came free with a revolting pop.

Mila clapped against my shoulder. “You saved it.”

“I compromised my dignity.”

Sienna took the shoe from me, laughing. “Very heroic.”

“It was a sandal. Heroism has standards.”

I kept carrying her because putting her down would restart the mud issue and because she had hooked one arm around my neck with the confidence of a child who had decided I belonged to her. Honey pressed between us. Her long curls brushed my jaw.

Nell crouched and pointed at the reeds. “There. Tiny one.”

Sienna lowered beside her. “Very slowly.”

A small green-brown frog sat beneath a leaf, nearly invisible against the mud. The children went reverent.

Mila leaned toward it from my arm. “Don’t scare him.”

Sienna smiled with too much warmth. That was the problem. Every time I did something ridiculous, she looked at me like I had done something worth keeping. No man could remain sensible under those conditions.

The frog hopped once.

Tomas gasped.

Nell clutched the bucket to her chest.

Mila grabbed my shoulder. “He moved.”

“I saw.”

“Can you catch him?”

“Yes.”

Sienna’s head snapped toward me. “No.”

“I said can. Not will.”

Mila frowned. “Why can’t you?”

“Because your aunt said no.”

“You do what Aunt Sienna says?”

The question was rude.

“No,” I said.

Mila narrowed her eyes. “You did with frogs.”