Page 46 of Heaven Help Me

Valentina sits up straighter. “That’s me.”

The guy gets all his tubes and needles lined up. I shift uncomfortably in my chair. An elastic thing is tied around Valentina’s upper arm as she sticks it out and flexes her hand. She looks over at me and puts her hand up to stop the guy.

“Wait. Deuce. You should wait for me in the waiting room.”

I’m flattered she remembers my little phobia, but I shake my head, despite feeling a little lightheaded. “No, I feel fine. I’ve got this.”

I’m determined to stay and be here for her. Surely blood in a tube won’t set me off, right? I meant what I said. It was my condom that broke that led to this appointment. I should be here with her every step.

Valentina gives me a look, but nods at the guy to continue. He does, wiping alcohol across the crook of her elbow and then holding a needle near her skin. My vision goes dark around the edges, but I start counting my breaths, forcing air in and out of my lungs. A cold sweat breaks out along my forehead when he plunges that needle into her arm. A line of red threads through the line and sprays into the tube. It’s the spray that gets me. Bile rises to my throat and I swear my heart stops beating.

I wake up on the floor of the exam room with Valentina standing over me, waving her hand in my face. Georgia is also there, laughing at my misfortune. The phlebotomist waves something foul smelling under my nose.

“I told you to wait in the waiting room, honeybear,” Valentina drawls.

“Just shut up and help me off this dirty floor,” I growl right back.

I don’t miss the way Valentina is fighting back a smile. Even at my own expense, I love to see it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Valentina, AKA Landry

“Oh great heavens,” I mutter, surprising even myself when I don’t let out an expletive. I tug at the skin next to my eyes. I look tired. Older. Is this what aging is going to be? Just categorizing all the ways your body is slowly falling apart?

Stepping away from the mirror, I tie the flouncy bow on this floral blouse a little tighter around my neck and decide I don’t care where I’m sprouting wrinkles. I have a job to do, and I’m going to kick ass doing it. My A-line skirt perfectly matches the lavender flowers on the blouse and the white sandals with the cork heel aren’t exactly stilettos, but I do like the extra height they give me.

“Deuce!” I holler as I exit my room.

We’ve both been on edge all week, engaging in extra safety precautions and keeping an eye out for that gray sedan. So far, no other windows have been shattered and there’s been no further word from Bettina about the situation in New York. Add in copious hours of organization to pull off this Battle of the Boutiques, and we haven’t exactly had any free time for steamier extracurricular activities.

It’s a damn shame.

“You called,” the man drawls from the base of the stairs, looking dapper and fully refreshed in a deep green suit that should look stupid in that vibrant color but absolutely doesn’t.

In fact, as I make my way down the stairs, I realize the suit brings out the color of his eyes to a startling degree. Why does he have to be so good looking? Why couldn’t he be just a tiny bit trollish? We could have fucked to scratch the biological itch and then I would have forgotten about him. Instead, I’ve spent all week obsessing over him while trying to act as unbothered as he’s appeared. I even pleasured myself late at night, his ethereal eyes staring back at me in my erotic dreams. Twice!

“All these vendors better show up on time,” I growl, breezing past him when what I really want to do is lean into his hard body and breathe in his cologne. I want to feel his arms around me, telling me he’ll take care of everything. Let my muscles relax into his hold, knowing he’s got me.

But he doesn’t got me, because I’ll never allow any man to be a soft resting place for me. Too many ways to get screwed over when you let a man in like that.

“I highly suggest you leave the knife at home.”

I spin and see Deuce standing there at the base of the stairs, arms now folded across his chest, giving me a look like he’s the principal and I’m the naughty student. I’d like to explore that scenario when we have more time.

“I don’t have a knife.”

“Valentina,” he warns.

Oof. I like that growl. It sends a shot of awareness through my whole body. Guess that itch didn’t exactly get scratched. Or maybe it needs further scratching.

I reach down to the hem of my skirt and inch it upwards. Deuce’s eyes drop, and I watch his jaw go slack. Aha! So I’m not the only one feeling that need for more. Pulling the knife out of the strap on my thigh that I keep it in when wearing short skirts, I slap it down on the coffee table and straighten.

“Fine. Satisfied?”

Deuce prowls over the thick carpet and stands so close to me I almost sway forward just to bridge the gap and feel those strong arms against my chest. One eyebrow hikes just the barest bit, his eyes sparkling as he gazes at me. Deuce emanates a vortex, the bewitching kind that sucks you in before you realize you don’t have your feet planted. Get too close and there’s no hope of pulling yourself back out. Not without consequences. I learned that at seventeen when he broke my heart.

“Oh, I’m not satisfied, Valentina,” he growls. “Far from it.”