Page 32 of Burned

But upstairs, she looked me in the eye and said she would not be the girl outside the room.

And I told her I would try.

I despise trying.

It implies the possibility of failure. And with Erin, I’ve been failing a lot.

She wants to live her life. She doesn’t understand that everything I do is because I want that, too.

I swear I’ll get her the cutest little bulletproof vest money can buy.

I want to lock her up, small and tight and untouchable, like a fairy in a charm I wear around my neck. When we finally return to New York, the minute they open the doors of that freshly built Bachman’s Jewelers, I’ll call them up and place my order; one locket big enough to fit a girl.

Erin moves toward the table slowly enough to seem casual, fast enough to settle in before I’ve decided whether she stays. She pulls out a chair across from Rafe. The legs scrape against the floor as if issuing a challenge.

The war cry before the battle.

Every man in the room goes still.

She sits.

Then she looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes that contain absolutely no innocence.

“Sorry,” she says. “Was I supposed to wait for you to pull my chair out for me?”

Blaze coughs once.

It could have been a laugh.

I give him a look.

I walk to the head of the table and remain standing. “You can stay until I tell Mack to escort you out.”

She nods. “Which won’t be before this meeting ends.”

Her name in my mouth is a warning. “Erin.”

Unless it’s a cry of passion, it usually is.

Mine in hers is a dare. “Lucian.”

The air changes.

It always does with us. Heat slips in where tension should be. Even now, with Isobel’s name still hanging over the house and Carlos moving pieces, my blood responds to the challenge.

If she pushes me too far, we all know this gathering will end with every man in this room leaving to get some air outside while I lift her out of that chair, bend her over this table, and punish her until her voice breaks with need.

I stare at her across the table.

I don’t need words to remind her which of us gives orders.

She has just enough fire left in her to test me, holding my stare for one beat too long before turning back to Rafe.

Naughty little thing.

If I can’t get a locket, can I at least put her in a backpack?

Blaze, as loose-tongued as ever, says, “This should be fun.”