Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(32)

I taste coffee and mint, and a little hint of blood. My tongue explores, teasing and touching, deprived of sexual gratification for so long that making out with this murderer in front of a stranger doesn’t seem like a half-bad idea.

Jonas grunts, his hips grinding once, hard, and the friction between my thighs multiplies, a sudden jolt of electricity zapping my pussy.

“Okay, I get it.” Elena’s voice barely penetrates through the fog, and I wrench my mouth from Jonas’s, glancing at her from past his shoulder. “I think I just got pregnant again watching that.”

Breaking away from me like I’ve burned him, Jonas nods to her and clears his throat. “Next time, don’t doubt me.”

She rolls her eyes, and he follows as she exits the room. I try not to eavesdrop as they walk down the hall, but their whispers are loud enough that I don’t even have to strain to listen. Blinking at myself, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then drag my fingers through my hair.

He asks what she came by for, and she said she was at the farmers’ market and needed to use the bathroom, and that her husband had happened to mention he was staying here. She assures him no one else knows, at least not because of her, then they say their quiet goodbyes, and the house falls silent again.

Jonas doesn’t speak when he returns, just goes to sit at the island with a heavy sigh. I walk to the refrigerator and wrap an ice pack in a dish towel, then bring it over to him.

Sucking in a sharp breath as the pack touches his bruised skin, he scowls at me. I can tell he’s tempted to push me away, but he doesn’t.

“Bad day?”

He shrugs. “I’ve had better.”

We stay like that for a couple beats, neither of us saying anything else. His lips are swollen from our kiss, his beard rubbed raw, and I wonder if he’s still thinking about it.

I want to ask what happened. How he knows Elena, or her husband. Technically, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other, but the secret, dangerous life he lives doesn’t seem to leave much room for that. It’s been a while since I moved in, and yet he’s only been here every night long enough to sleep on the couch.

He’s always gone before I wake up.

And while I know that this is what I signed up for—a fake relationship in public, not in private—I can’t help wondering what the point is. We’re not really pretending if no one’s around to see.

My hand slides to the middle of the counter, and I slowly pull the discarded invitation over. He watches the movement, shoulders stiffening as he seems to read the font.

“I have an idea.”

Jonas closes his eyes. “I’m listening.”





15





Alistair crosses one leg over the other.

Uncrosses them.

Takes a sip of his tea.

Drumming my fingers on the arm of my chair, I sit forward, waiting. “Did you summon me here just to stare at me, brother?”

He snorts, running a hand through his coal-black hair. It’s unkempt and longer than it was just a few short weeks ago, and I try not to think anything of it not being perfectly in place.

It’s the middle of the night, after all, and none of my business what he does in his free time.

“Can’t a bloke invite his brother over for a spot of tea?” Placing his cup on the round wooden coffee table between us, he folds his hands in his lap. Throws an ankle over one knee, gripping the joint with his hand.

“Sure, but I don’t drink tea, nor do we sit around gossiping like old hens.”

Humming, he lets his gaze wander around the living room, and I follow, glancing at the outdated wallpaper with the little boughs of holly printed on it, and the wooden molding that surrounds us.

Not at all the kind of decor Alistair is accustomed to, but being mayor means accepting tradition, and unfortunately, the interior of Aplana’s mayoral housing hasn’t been updated since the turn of the previous century.

“It’s blasphemous that you refuse to drink tea, you know.”

Clenching my jaw, I exhale, trying to stifle the urge to bust his kneecaps with the knuckle-dusters tucked in my jacket pocket. “Probably blasphemous that I ask people to give me their confessions before I put a bullet in their skull, too, but here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed.”

Pushing to my feet, I give him a little salute. “I’m not really in the mood for games right now.”

“For Christ’s sake, relax, Jonas. I’d have thought now that you’re bollocks deep in the Primrose girl every night, you’d be wound a bit less tight.”

My ears heat, irritation simmering in my bloodstream. I’ve been on edge ever since Elena showed up at the beach house and questioned the sanctity of my relationship with Lenny.

Rightfully so, maybe, but the kiss I sprang on my little puppet wasn’t.

In fact, it was undoubtedly selfish.

Inane.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Settling on the edge of the armchair, I fold my arms over my chest. “Like I told you before, I’m not shagging her. Too messy.”

“I’m certain it could be.” He grins like it’s the funniest joke, but I just stare at him. Finally, he sighs, pushing a suspender strap off his shoulder, and reaches into the breast pocket of his white button-down. “Okay, fine. I have a request.”