Free Poisoned Kisses by Stephanie Draven Page B

the oven split the night. Kyra turned toward the kitchen, but Marco grabbed her by the arm. He was fast, just like he’d been when they’d fought in the hotel. And remembering his strength, how they’d brawled, Kyra flinched. “You are afraid of me. Did you think I was going to hit you?”
    Of course, he had hit her before. Mind you, he’d been fighting for his life at the time… “No—no,” Kyra stammered, unable to spin a quick lie.
    Marco swallowed, letting her go. “Get dressed.”
    “Maybe I don’t want to get dressed,” she said, nostrils flared.
    “Who knows how long you were floating in that ice water before I pulled you out? You could have hypothermia. Put some clothes on.”
    “Oh, is that an order? ” she asked sarcastically.
    “Ashlynn—”
    “You’re not a soldier anymore, Marco, and I don’t take orders from you. I don’t care how much money you have, I don’t care how many guns you own and I don’t care how many governments you’ve helped topple—”
    He reared back. “Is that what you think I do?”
    In spite of their argument, maybe this was an opening for her to persuade him to give up arms dealing. To warn himabout Ares before it was too late. Wasn’t that the whole reason she was here? “Yes, Marco, that’s what I think you do.”
    He looked as if he were going to deny it, but then he started coughing. “What’s that smell?” She smelled it, too. It was smoke. Dinner was burning. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Get dressed.”
    Kyra fetched a robe while trying to think of what to do next. She hadn’t planned to sleep with Marco and now everything had changed. For now, she didn’t need to chain him up—the storm had trapped him here with her. But what would happen when it let up? How could she keep Marco away from Daddy and the other war gods who would try to use him for their own purposes?
     
    “So I noticed you aren’t wearing a ring,” Marco finally said, cutting around the burned edges of his dinner and into her thoughts. “Didn’t you marry that asshole?”
    Kyra didn’t know anything about Ashlynn’s life and wasn’t sure she could keep faking it. Should she just reveal herself as a nymph now? Marco had told her his secrets, so why shouldn’t she share hers? Because he might kill her, that’s why, and she was every bit as trapped here by the storm as he was.
    Kyra stirred the mashed potatoes in the tray. “Things didn’t work out.”
    “Sorry to hear it,” he said, taking a bite.
    She glanced at him and saw his smug expression. “No, you’re not.”
    “Sure I am…” His body language was all arrogance.
    “You’re not sorry, Marco.”
    “Okay, so I’m not sorry. I hated that guy. There’s nothing worse than being in a war zone knowing that your buddy is back home stealing your girl. And you know what else? While we’re telling the truth here, I don’t remember you caring so much about toppled governments. I must’ve written you ahundred letters about Rwanda, and you never took an interest. All you wanted to know was when I was coming home and what flavor wedding cake we should have. Remember?”
    Kyra was developing a distinct dislike for the woman who she was pretending to be. What kind of silly, self-absorbed little girl had Ashlynn Brown been? But maybe that wasn’t fair. Marco was remembering a teenage girl, not a woman grown. “Don’t you think people can change?”
    He stared down at his fork. “Sure. Just not usually for the better.”
    He was going back to that dark place inside himself where he was so much harder to reach. She had to stop him, distract him. She slid her tray over to him. “You can have the rest of mine… It’s all burned and…really terrible. I guess it’s not exactly the kind of fare a big shot like you is used to.”
    “Maybe not, but I’ve seen too much starvation to turn my nose up at food,” he said, taking her tray. “This would be a feast for some kids. And when I’m out in the field,