Page 124 of His Reckoning

Which means she’s likely doing one of two things.

Either writing … or plotting revenge.

I smile slightly to myself. Both feel entirely consistent with her personality.

The truth is, Kayla has been easier to read than she thinks.

She’s stubborn and competitive. She is also completely incapable of ignoring a challenge.

Which is exactly why I know tonight isn’t the end of this conversation. She’ll come back out eventually, probably ready to argue again.

Maybe even ready to prove me wrong. The idea almost makes me look forward to it.

I carry my plate toward the living room and drop onto the couch.

The city glows beyond the glass wall of windows. It’s still quiet and calm … for about thirty seconds. Then I hear the bedroom door open.

My attention shifts down the hallway immediately.

Kayla appears a second later, marching toward me with purpose. Laptop tucked under her arm, her expression determined.

She doesn’t appear angry, which is new.

I set my fork down slowly. “Change your mind about dinner?”

She doesn’t answer. Just stops a few feet in front of the couch, watching me. Studying me, like she’s the one running the experiment now.

That gets my attention immediately.

I lean back slightly against the couch cushions.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Her lips curve faintly. “You like experiments, right?”

Instinct immediately tells me this is going to become dangerous. Kayla suddenly looks very confident … and very dangerous.

“Depends on the experiment,” I say.

She sets the laptop down on the coffee table, then steps closer. Close enough that I can see the shift in her breathing and smell the faint scent of her shampoo.

Her eyes flick briefly to my hands … then back to my face.

“You’ve spent the last week trying to prove you understand how I work,” she says.

“That’s one way to describe it.”

She tilts her head slightly. “So, I figured I’d run a little experiment of my own.”

My attention sharpens. “Oh?”

Kayla takes another step forward until she’s standing directly in front of me, nearly in between my legs.

I stay seated on the couch, looking up at her now, which is an unfamiliar position.

“Careful,” I murmur. “You might not like the results.”

Her smile deepens slightly.