Burn for Me

apologize for kidnapping you,”

“You will try.”

The man was looking at me.

Why couldn’t I find someone like that? Why couldn’t he be my guy? If he ever talked to me, I probably wouldn’t be able to string words together into a sentence.

“He killed a man,” Mom said.

“He was framed,” Grandma Frida said.

“You don’t even know the story,” Mom said.

Grandma shrugged. “Framed. A man that pretty can’t be a murderer.”

Mother stared at her.

“Penelope, I’m seventy-two years old. You let me enjoy my fantasy.”

“Go Grandma.” Arabella pumped her fist in the air.

Underneath all of that masculine, harsh beauty was cold, the kind of cold that could stab a helpless man with a knife, feel the tip of it scrape the bone, and do it again and again and not be bothered by it.

one. Since we’re having a serious discussion.”

He leaned forward, his beautiful face framed by soft hair. “Do you find my chest distracting

Maybe you should make me a list of people I can kill and ways in which they’re allowed to die,” he said.
“You are not funny.”
“I’m very funny. Just ask Peaches.”