“Peace offering first? Then we discuss?”
“There’s no discussion.”
I shake the box. “I have breakfast.”
At the doorway, the lambicorn appears, blinks up at me, and opens its mouth. “Baaaaaaaa.”
“Hey there, little cutie.” As I pet the creature, I say to Stone, “I see you still have it.”
“Can’t get rid of the damn thing.”
“Have you fed it?”
He shrugs. “It eats grass.”
He is sonotworthy. “Lambi, I was going to ask if yourmamais being good to you, but looks like I have my answer.”
“I should kick you out just for that.”
“You should.” I grin. “But don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
“You hold no cards here.”
“No. But Iamholding pastry—the best in town.”
He eyes the box with lust. “Fine. Come in. But make it fast. I don’t need more problems from you ... in your skirt and your hair and your ...” He gestures toward me, shakes his head. “Never mind.”
My jaw unhinges. “My skirt? What are you talking about? It’s a pencil ski—”
“I know what it is,” he snaps.
“Well, I’m sorry my looks offend you.” Fury bubbles and boils inside my veins. One of the ley lines flashes. I exhale. I didn’t come herefor a fight. Must rewind and start over. “Look, I’m sorry my appearance makes you feel ...howeveryou do.”
His gaze turns so icy cold a shiver winds around my spine and practically lifts me off the ground. “Lady, I don’t make it a habit offeelinganything.”
His words are a sucker punch to the throat. I can barely breathe as I wrap my mind around what he just said. Stone doesn’t feel? What does that even mean?
How can someone not feel?Whywould someone not feel? Why would anyone do that? The best part of life is feeling.
“Then I’m very sorry for you,” I reply quietly.
He eyes me like he’s inspecting a crate of bananas straight from the Caribbean, waiting for the giant spider hiding inside to leap out onto his face.
After a long moment he finally says, “Come inside.”
I squeeze through the doorway, as Stone doesn’t bother moving to give me a wide berth.
He shuts the door, and I squirrel over to one side of the trailer as he storms past. The lambicorn follows. Stone plops into his chair, leans back, and props his red clay–caked boots on top of his desk.
Despite everything else about him, Stone Maddox is rugged and rough. I’ve seen Pane, his brother, and he’s refined. Like an ironed napkin—smooth, no wrinkles, all perfection.
Where Pane is that, Stone is his crumpled-up-paper-napkin brother. One etched in gold, obviously. There’s no telling how much those two are worth.
I timidly place the box and coffee on the desk. “Is it okay if I sit?”
“Let me see first.” He opens the box, eyes the Danish, and nods. “You may sit.”
“The coffee’s black. Creature Comforts has a great cup. The beans are custom roasted.”
