Page 230 of A Vicious Love

“You didn’t,” I whispered.

His brow lifted.

“You did,” I corrected. “But I’m glad.”

That pleased him too much.

I saw it.

The tiny shift in his face. The ego catching fire. The possessive satisfaction he did not bother hiding from me.

“Dangerous answer,” he murmured.

Before I could ask why, he bent and kissed my forehead. His lips touched the center of my forehead, just above my brows. My eyes closed without permission.

Then he drew back.

“I’ll be back for breakfast.”

I opened my eyes. “Estate breakfast.”

“Sadly, yes.”

He straightened, picked up his gloves from the dresser, and headed for the stairs. Halfway down, his voice carried back up.

“Do not unlock the door after me.”

“There are estate guards.”

“My guards are better. Which are also outside. In case my fiancé decides to unlock the door.”

Despite everything, I smiled.

He saw it before he disappeared fully down the stairs. That smug curve touched his mouth again, and then he was gone.

I listened to him cross the lounge below. Reeves’s voice murmured something low. Jamison answered with a tone that sounded deeply displeased before the door opened.

The door closed.

A lock clicked.

Then another.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JAMISON

Ihated hunting, animals. Fucking useless sport. Men dressed in expensive coats, carrying polished rifles through wet forest, pretending they had discovered masculinity because something smaller and stupider than them bled on command. It was pathetic. Worse, it was boring. There was no strategy in it. No real resistance, or intelligence on the other side of the chase.

A stag ran because instinct told it to.

A man ran because guilt did.

That was better.

I preferred hunting people. No. I loved hunting people.

People lied, and calculated. People left trails they thought were invisible, with the belief that if they smiled properly at dinners, no one would notice the blood under their family crest.