Free Pretty Perfect Toy -- A Temptation Court Novel (Temptation Court, Book 2) by Angel Payne Page B

refuse.
    “Stop.” I dictate it as her posture surges forward, already writing me an advance check of the shit. “Just stop the fucking cart right there.”
    For one exhilarating second, a furious scowl replaces her sorrow. Then she’s all mush again. “Stop…what?”
    “The cart full of your pity.” I fold my arms. “The weeping wagon, feeling ‘awful’ for the poor husband of the drug addict.” My teeth clench hard enough to hurt. “It takes two to make a baby. I was not a goddamn victim in the situation.”
    “Hmm.” It’s her base coat expression, used when she wants to start with neutrality but color the meaning into something else. This time, it’s a reprise of her anger, given in a swift jump of her brows—to which I respond by crunching my own.
    “I watch over my own, dammit.”
    “I am well aware of that.” Her posture straightens, fused with the same fusion of strength and serenity that bowled me over when meeting her the first time, back on Arcadia. Just like then, I’m flooded by gratitude—but unlike then, it’s for a different reason. In that reception hall in the Palais Arcadia, my soul knew she was different…remarkable. This time, my mind confirms it too.
    Which should scare me.
    And does.
    For a disgusting ton of reasons. But right now, I can only address the first.
    She deserves the rest of this story.
    Every damn, ugly detail.
    I glance upward. Hey big guy…could use a little help in the fortitude department. But the Almighty isn’t fond of my endearment right now, even if I did borrow it from Mom…
    Until He drives me to my knees again.
    Using the one weapon He knows I won’t refuse.
    My sweet little Arcadian.
    “Come here, Cassian.” When she gestures to the floor next to the chaise, I drop down without second thought. Let her twine our hands together in the middle of her lap. I gaze at the union of our fingers, her slender tapers wrapped against my long logs, and soak in every fortifying drop of the sight.
    Thanks . This time, I know the “big guy” has heard. I’ve found my strength. Now I’ll find the words. Somehow.
    “To this day, I have no idea what the shit even was,” I begin. “Even the coroner said it was a designer mix…a pharmaceutical cocktail intended to make her feel pretty damn good. Well…her idea of good.” I stare across the room—and swear I can still see Lily there, a smile finally lighting her face, the day she walked into this little room for the first time. I would have done anything to keep that look on her face forever—and I sure as hell tried. “For a while, the bubble had finally returned,” I rasp. “And it was more breathtaking than before…probably more so, since I actually thought she’d gotten her shit together after just two weeks in rehab.”
    Her fingers twist tighter around mine. “You believed the best in her,” she murmurs. “Because that is what you do when you love someone.”
    Dammit. Her words are as good as a tether—in the exact moment I long to break away. Not. Happening. “Yeah,” I snap, letting the frustration speak. “That’s why they call love blind.”
    She yanks my hand harder—forcing me to whip my head up, directly impaled by the conviction of her huge blue stare. “Being blind just means you get sharper in other ways.” I bark out a scoff, but she uses her other hand to snare fingers into my hair. “How do you explain all the ways you know me ? All the ways you can simply read me, anticipate me?”
    I lower my head. Lean in until our gazes are just inches apart, and I’m lost in the perfect warmth of her touch, her closeness. “Magic is easy to see when it’s just there, sorceress.”
    Her face dissolves with emotion. She’s so breathtaking, I’m almost glad I decided to finally do this. Almost .
    “So what finally happened?” Her prod is suffused with a conflict of tenderness and toughness. She’s beginning to see the quicksand, in all its vile shades—and realize that the