Paloma Perez.
Elijah takes a glass from the kitchen just after we return from the café. He pours water into both glasses, but I barely notice until I hear the clink of one sliding toward me on the counter. My mind is still wrapped around everything that happened today but of course, as I’m not paying attention, Elijah does what Elijah always does—appears behind me like he’s some ghost with a wicked smirk. His hands snake around my waist and rests on my love handles. I nearly choke on the water.
I scan the kitchen like a deer who just heard a branch snap. It’s empty… but I’ve learned the Vega mansion has eyes. In the walls, in the sink, in the freaking salt shaker probably. This house watches.
“Elijah!” I hiss, but my voice is light and breathy, because his lips are now brushing my neck
