Page 25 of One Shattered Crown
“I really would,” she hisses. “Considering there was a jerk in my house, your Irish dude in my driveway, and then Sylveria’s stooge who kidnapped me.”
It’s irritating so many people found her safe house. “We had a tracker on your car. My guess is we’re going to find a few more.”
She sits up a little straighter, looking genuinely affronted. “You all found my car?”
“Yes. There’s CCTV everywhere, Ella. You should know that.”
We picked her up a couple times on camera—clear shots of her walking behind the car. I don’t tell her that. Don’t tell her we’re watching closer than she knows. Nor do I tell her that we also found four of her other vehicles scattered around town. I’ve got a team searching now to see if anyone else has tagged them. If not, I’m leaving my trackers in place.
I know she has more cars stashed around Silicon Valley than those. She’s clever. Paranoid. Quietly thorough. But I’ll find them.
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Why are you so interested in me?”
“That’s not why,” I say before I can stop myself.
She jolts, like she didn’t expect me to deny it. She squints at me, scrunches her nose, and I swear to God she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. And that? That’s a problem. A huge one.
I lean in and tangle my fingers into her hair. She freezes, but not with fear. She doesn’t even try to fight, doesn’t twist out of the blanket.
“Justice,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I lower my mouth to hers and take one taste. It’s a mistake. I know it instantly.
She tastes like wild berries and pure maple syrup, like late summer heat and danger and something I should never touch. But I go deeper, and she kisses me back like she’s drowning and I’m the only breath in the room.
The world goes quiet. My thoughts vanish. I growl, low in my chest, and she shudders, melting into me. I’mtwo seconds from ripping that blanket off when reality punches me in the throat. I pull back, breathing hard.
She looks dazed. Lips swollen. Eyes that impossible, unnamable shade of blue—like they were made just to wreck me.
I could spend the rest of my life trying to name that color.
The only word that comes to mind ismine.
That blue is for me and me alone.
Shit.
NINE
Ella
Ican’t believe Justice Beathach just kissed me as I sit wrapped up in a blanket on his damn lap. My lips sting and the rest of me heats to match. This can’t be normal. His eyes glitter, steady and unreadable, and I keep looking because breaking the line feels worse than holding it. This is a disaster.
The way he carried me out of that hospital room keeps playing in my head. He threw me over his shoulder. He’ll pay for that. Even so, his grip stayed careful. He read every injury and moved like he refused to add another one. The memory warms places I should lock down. Truth be told, I feel good. Not safe. Not calm. Good.
I need time with a citrine. A big one. I want the pulse that comes with it, the clean push that sets my spine straight. He doesn’t have one. I’d bet on that. I’ve never tried pulling from a garnet, and the idea sits wrong in my bones. I shift to get leverage and brush across his erection.A sound climbs my throat and I swallow it. My breath comes back rough. Heat spikes through me again and my focus blurs, then snaps tight. “I’d like to get off your lap now,” I say.
“No.”
The arrogance tugs at my temper. I tip my head back and lean away as far as he lets me. It isn’t far. He cradles me, one arm under my knees, the other across my back, and his body doesn’t give. I feel the strength in it, and self-preservation holds me in place when sense tells me to squirm.
“You don’t want to mess with me, Justice.”
He shows his teeth. The expression passes for a smile and does nothing for my nerves. It feels unwise to remind him that I nearly killed his brother, so I lock that threat away. I don’t think he’ll actually kill me. Alana is family now, and that draws a boundary I can use. I don’t trust what he’ll try inside that boundary.
His scent closes around me. Male and warm, with a spice I can’t name. It slips under my caution and lingers. Another shiver runs through me, and I hate that he feels it. Something shifts in his eyes. They’re brown, deep as old wood, and threaded with lighter flecks that weren’t there a second ago.
I finally release my arms from the blanket wrap, and his arm tightens a fraction. He’s tracking every twitch. I match him breath for breath and refuse to give him the flinch he’s waiting for. I set my hands on his chest because there’s nowhere else to put them.
