Page 56 of Burned

“Lucian,” she says.

His name in her mouth is familiar.

I hate it.

That isn’t fair. I don’t know her at all.

I think it anyway.

Lucian’s body has gone rigid beside me. No emotion. None.

Which means too much.

He’s holding it in. Because he’s feeling something strong, and that’s dangerous.

For me. For us. For my family’s future.

For my delicate heart.

Her gaze moves over him, lingering on his mouth a beat too long.

Her voice is so smooth as she delivers her line, “You still stand like you’re waiting for the flames to start again.”

Something passes through him like electricity. Is it grief? Horror? Anger?

Regret?

Her hand moves to her waist, passing over her stomach. Not dramatically. Not even fully. Just a small, aborted motion, fingers pressing once against the soft fabric of her borrowed sweater before she drops them again.

Lucian’s face changes. The space between the two of us changes. I hate it more than the way she says his name.

Lucian finally finds his voice. “I’m not waiting for fire. I’m waiting for you to tell me the lies Carlos sent you here to say.”

Isobel looks at me then.

I feel it like a touch. Ice creeps over my skin. My muscles freeze.

Her gaze is pale green, I think. Or gray. Something cool and assessing. She looks at the place where I stand beside Lucian, close but not behind him. Her eyes drop to the tender spot at the nape of my neck.

Then to my left hand. And the naked fourth finger resting at my thigh.

She smiles.

Her focus goes back to Lucian. Only Lucian. And with eyes locked on his face, she waits.

Even for the men who don’t have the state of the ring finger on their left hand resting on this woman’s existence, the tension is too much.

Blaze steps forward. “You were both searched? You and your driver?”

“They both were.” Rafe nods. “No weapon. No wire. No phone. No tracker we found. The driver is now contained out back.”

Isobel’s gaze flicks to Gregory, then back to Lucian. “You keep different company now.”

Ignoring the statement, Lucian’s voice is flat. “Carlos let you go.”

Not a question.

Isobel’s mouth tightens. “Yes.”