Page 200 of A Vicious Love

The way she said my name had changed since the pool, less cold than before. Dangerous. I could become addicted to that.

“I bought them,” I said.

“All of them?”

“No, the estate happened to be suffering a floral invasion at the same time I arrived.”

“There are so many.” She stared at the terrace.

“They multiply when unsupervised.”

Her brows drew together, trying to decide if I was joking. I was. Unfortunately.

“Why?”

Because I don’t know how to apologize without humiliating myself. Instead, I didn’t answer her. I reached the patio doors and found them unlocked.

My mood darkened instantly.

“Sienna.”

“What?”

“Your doors were unlocked.”

“It’s a private family retreat.”

“Jesus Christ,” My girl had no fucking sense of security. I stepped inside, water dripping onto pale oak floors that probably cost more than several people deserved to inherit.

The interior was worse than the outside.

High ceilings, enormous glass walls, a sunken lounge facing the lake, soft ivory couches. A black marble fireplace. A curved staircase led to a loft bedroom above, partially screened by slatted oak.

The kitchen was sleek with cream cabinetry, and a ridiculous vase of flowers on the island.

More flowers from me, judging by the scale.

I kicked the door shut behind me. Sienna startled at the sound. I looked down at her instantly. “Sorry.”

Her eyes searched mine again.

That word was going to become a problem if she kept looking surprised every time I used it. I carried her across the living room toward the couch.

She stiffened. “I’m going to get everything wet.”

“I’ll replace it.”

I sat first, keeping her in my lap. Her knees ended up on either side of my hips again, straddling me on the wide cream couch. I should have moved her beside me.

I did not.

Again: sainthood had limits.

Sienna’s cheeks turned pink. “Jamison.”

“Yes?”

“I can sit on the couch.”