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My throat tightened. “I would never mock you.”
“Yeah?” she said with her signature haughtiness that I was coming to love way too much. “What book of mine have you read?”
I moved my chevalier forward. “I’m currently reading one of your earlier works. I’m at the scene where the stepsister admitted to killing her stepfather. I did not see that plot twist coming.”
Darla stared at me strangely but remained quiet.
“Will you sign my paperbacks? I’d like to have your autograph.”
“Paperbacks?” Her pawn killed my chevalier. “You’ve read more than one?”
“I own every single copy of everything you’ve ever written.”
Refusing to look at her, I stared at the board like I was focused on my next move.
When she didn’t make hers after mine, I glanced up reluctantly and felt my heart lodged in my throat.
“Why?” she asked in a small voice, her brown depths shimmering in the moonlight.
Because theloneliness beating in my chest evanesces when I’m nearyou and I want to know everything about you, includinghow that fascinating mind works. I want to peel backevery layer of your being until I’m grasping yourcore and seeing how well it fits with mine. Iwant to earn the time of your day and nightso I can get on my knees and show youhow I worship.
“Because Céline kept raving about your books. She was right. You’re so talented, Darla. I’m in complete awe of your ability to weave such complex tales.”
She tilted her head as if staring at me in a new light. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” The pressure in my chest returned tenfold when she cast me that soft-eyed look, accompanied by the smile that first reeled me in at Chaleur.
Before bouts of hatred slithered into our relationship.
It fucked with my head how desperate I was for us to go back to that time.
“Okay, I’ll sign your paperbacks.” Her hand inched towards mine on the table and her fingers brushed my wedding ring. “Thank you for reading…and for saying what you said.”
I opened my palm, a silent invitation for her to take my hand and never let go.
It felt like an eternity before her manicured fingers joined mine. Her flawless skin was tender under the feel of my rough, marred one. I held back from kissing her wrist just to smell that gardenia scent that drove me a little wild.
My defenses were weak.
I was distracted by her.
My wife won the game effortlessly.
And the smile on her face was worth losing a thousand times.
CHAPTER 25
Playing With Fire
Zeno
There was something about the city at night that called to me like a moth to a flame. The urban air, tinged with a trace of something pungent and the beginning notes of spring, was almost comforting in its lackluster quality. I’d been raised in gritty streets; filth and I were well accustomed to one another.
The man to my left, currently lighting a cigarette, shared the same sentiment.
Darien Shaw was a dark horse.
Raised in East Side, Montardor, the twenty-seven-year-old businessman was the younger cousin of Donovan. He never stuck in one place long enough to call it home and consistently bounced from coast to coast, all across the globe.
