Page 28 of Wicked Promises

Everything is so fucking fragile right now.

“Because if I didn’t hate you, I would’ve done anything I could to get back to you. And he couldn’t have that lingering over him. It would’ve hurt our family reputation. His reputation means more to him than anything else.”

I can’t resist anymore—I lean over and steal a kiss from her lips. Cup her bruised jaw. Slide my tongue into her mouth and taste her mint toothpaste. I thread my fingers in her hair and tip her backward. Her hands fist my shirt, pulling me closer.

I get a knee between her legs and pin her with some of my weight. Her kiss goes straight to my groin. My dick wakes up, pressing against my zipper.

“Hey, I heard—Argh!” Eli makes a retching noise. “Dinner is ready, you sex beasts.”

Margo freezes under me.

I groan against her lips and slowly extract myself. “Sorry, baby.”

The barest smile creeps across her lips. I help her to her feet. My dick throbs. Her hair is ruffled, her lips redder than they were. She’s so fucking perfect, I can’t stand it.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You know where to find me later.”

Chapter 8

Unknown

They’re going to clip your wings, Margo. Caleb Asher isn’t interested in your flight. He only wants your song, and you can do that perfectly well behind bars.

He’ll keep you locked away forever.

Except you think your cage is a house, and your keeper is your lover.

Foolish. It’s foolish to believe in love when it’s nothing more than noise, thunder rumbling over our heads.

And luck is just a flash of lightning, brief and bright.

I only need one strike.

Chapter 9

Margo

Family dinners still seem foreign. Robert, Lenora, and I developed our own routine. It didn’t always involve the kitchen table—and very,veryrarely involved the dining room table or the fancy place settings—but we were usually together.

At the foster home I shared with Claire and Hanna, they got everyone together on Sunday nights. It set the week up right, they said. Although those dinners were awkward more often than not. I liked the family, don’t get me wrong. We just didn’t really know how to talk to each other.

This is different.

I sit with Caleb on one of the long sides of the table. Eli faces us. Mr. and Mrs. Black have the heads… or head and foot? I’m not sure of proper etiquette. What to call it.

All the food is in the middle of the table, and we pass stuff around to fill our plates. But there’s never a lull in the chatter. Eli mainly fills it with hockey talk. Or school. Or gossip.

“No one wants to hear about Savannah’s dad’s new girlfriend,” Caleb finally says. “He’s a sugar daddy. I’m pretty sure he pays them to date him, but that’s not news.”

My eyes widen.

Mrs. Black—who told me to call her Norah, but that still feels weird—coughs. “Perhaps we should discuss something else.”

Caleb glances from her to her husband. “Maybe we should discuss Detective Masters.”

Mr. Black grimaces. “I hadn’t wanted to say anything earlier.”

“But?” Caleb presses.