Page 105 of Gravehouse

Glancing over my shoulder, I find the little red dot tucked into the corner of the room and flip it off.

My smirk barely dies before the front door swings open and Devon walks in carrying a bouquet of sunflowers. The bright yellow petals are almost offensive against the muted tones of the entryway.

Devon is tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist, and has blonde hair that looks dirty even though I know he showerstwice a day. He’s handsome, with blue eyes and—Blah, blah, blah.

“Honey, I’m home.” He waits, grin spread wide.

I set down the knife and cross the kitchen to meet him, rising on my toes to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “How was the flight?”

Devon sets the flowers on the counter and shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Meeting was fine, the trip itself wasn’t.”

“Poor baby.” I turn back to the cutting board, resuming my chopping. Celery next. Then onions. “Must be hard, staying in five-star hotels and drinking champagne with export executives. Switzerland is beautiful. One of my most favorite places.”

He kisses my neck, wrapping an arm around my stomach. “I didn’t know you’d been?”

I pause, hesitating.Whoops. That was fucking sloppy.

“The champagne was Dom Pérignon. And the executives were boring as shit.” His hand lands on my waist, and he pulls me back into him. Devon loves to be touchy. A lot. Kind of miss the part about Parker where he fucking despised me as much as I did him.

“I missed you.” His groan vibrates through my body.

I hum, noncommittal, and pop another carrot into my mouth.

When I don’t answer, he brushes his lips over my ear. “Did you miss me?”

No.“Obviously.”

Devon laughs against my neck, before he releases me to grab a beer from the fridge. I watch him in my peripheral as the news station drowns out his words.

He doesn’t notice.

I finish chopping the vegetables and slide them into the waiting pot on the stove.

My eyes flick to the corner again, meeting that blinking red light like an old friend.

Devon leans against the counter, beer in hand, watching me stir. “You seem different.”

“Different how?” I sweeten my tone, praying he backs the fuck up.

He takes a slow sip of his beer. “I don’t know. Fitter. Have you been working out more?”

Every day.Six hours minimum. Combat training in the morning. Weights in the afternoon. Cardio at night until my lungs burn and my legs give out and I’m too exhausted to dream about pale blue eyes and scarred throats.

I shrug, playing nonchalant. “A little.”

Devon’s mouth curves, his bottle clicking once against the granite. “It suits you.”

I don’t answer. The fuck does he mean it suits me? I know it suits me.

Movement catches the corner of my eye as Daniel’s silhouette passes. He lifts a hand in a subtle signal that only I know meanswe got a problem.

I turn the elements off. “Be right back.”

Devon barely glances up from his phone. “Where are you going?”

“Just need to chat with my assistant.” Daniel is the most unserious assistant ever. I can’t believe I didn’t dignify him with a more accurate job description. He also doesn’t find it funny.

I wipe my hands on the dish towel, toss it over the chair, and slip through the glass doors, pulling my cardigan tight against the cold. Winter is a cruel bitch this year.