Page 152 of Terms of Exposure
"Fuck you," I snapped.
He lifted one finger. "New rule—"
I launched my hairbrush at him. It hit square in the chest with a satisfying thud.
He blinked, then lifted a second finger.
"Second new rule—"
Twenty minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of Damien's car with five new rules and a pissy attitude.
He, of course, looked smug as sin.
Rosie's house came into view—her cute little brick home with the white shutters and the flower boxes she tended like beloved grandchildren. The front garden was perfectly manicured, overflowing with summer blooms.
Damien parked at the curb, cutting the engine.
He looked over at me, biting back a smile.
"Better?" he asked.
"No," I grumbled, sinking into my seat.
He reached across the console, fingertips brushing the inside of my knee.
A shiver chased up my spine despite myself.
"Behave. My mother will be watching."
I shot him a look. "Then maybe stop giving me rules."
"Nope," he said, leaning in just enough to ghost his lips across my cheek. "It's kinda my job."
I shoved the car door open before I could smack him.
Three handprints on my ass were already plenty.
Wind chimes tinkled again as I stepped onto the small stone path, the scent of lavender drifting up from Rosie's garden.
Damien locked the car and came up beside me, brushing his hand lightly against my back.
Noise met us before the door did—loud, animated, unmistakably Holt.
Sebastian and Rosie were in a full-blown shouting match over something on the TV, their voices overlapping in chaotic Italian-laced English.
"No, Sebastian, you don't put that much garlic—your uncle would roll in his grave!"
"Ma, everyone likes garlic!"
A bang of a pot lid.
A dramatic groan.
Something sizzling in a very unhappy pan.
My stomach growled in response.
Damien huffed a laugh beside me. "Told you not to eat that sad little protein bar before we left."
