As if I’ve been slapped, my breath hitches. Oh, that was low. Not only to me but to North as well. My face feels tight and hot. And for an instant, something that looks like guilt flickers in Macon’s brown eyes, but it’s quickly smothered by stubborn self-righteousness and a pugnacious lift of his chin.
“Well then,” I manage, “I guess that leaves you out of the running too.”
The second I say the words, I want them back. Horror whips through me, cold and bright. Why did I say that? Why? Why?
And, God, the smug grin that creeps across his firm lips. His lids lower a fraction, that smile growing—the picture of a self-satisfied male. “Nice to know you were considering me, Tot.”
With that, he turns on his good heel and gracefully limps back into the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Macon
“I’m in trouble.”
North glances my way. We’re in the media room of my house, looking over sword-fighting footage from last season’s Dark Castle. In a week or so, my wrist and ribs will be healed enough that I’ll be able to take up modified training again, but until then, I’m staying fresh by watching and discussing moves with North.
“You’ll be fine,” he tells me. “I don’t know a person in the stunt business who hasn’t broken a bone or ten. Sure, it’ll hurt like hell at first, but you’ll bounce back. Besides, you’re the star; we’ll work around what you can’t do when the time comes.”
I should let him believe I’m talking about getting into shape, but clearly I’m in a mentally weakened condition because I elaborate. “Delilah is the trouble.”
North’s grin is small but smug. “Ah. The pretty Ms. Baker is throwing you for a loop, eh?”
“Pretty?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What?” That smug grin is growing. “You don’t think she is?”
“I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”
Delilah is pretty. Quietly pretty. She will never be the first person everyone looks at when entering a room. Especially not in LA, where beautiful women bloom like flowers in a well-tended garden. But among a bouquet of perfect roses, Delilah is much like her namesake flower—unexpectedly vivid and complex—making you realize that roses are boring in comparison.
I don’t tell North that. Instead I glare at him. “Touch her, and we’ll be wearing matching casts, even if I have to pay someone to put you in one.”
He laughs. “You’re getting in a twist for nothing. But don’t worry; I’ll stay far away.”
I grunt but then shake my head. “No, don’t keep your distance. The crazies are still out there. I won’t have her hurt because someone wants to get to me.”
For one cold second, I’m back in my car, the road falling out from under me, knowing I am going down. Despite the terror, the main emotion that grips me is regret. I regret too many things in this empty life of mine. Delilah getting hurt because of me will not be another. “Watch over her whenever she leaves the house.”
North’s lips compress. “Understood.”
I know he does. North is golden like that.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to keep her here?” he asks.
“Probably not. She drives me nuts. Just this morning, she kept me arguing for thirty minutes on the difference between clarified butter and ghee, which I finally said means fuck all to me since my stupid diet doesn’t even allow me to sniff butter, much less taste it.”
North chuckles.
I rub a hand over my mouth, hiding my smile. “And then she has the nerve to tell me that’s too bad since she’s been cooking all my meals with clarified butter anyway.”
Fuck if I hadn’t loved every second of our argument. Yep, we’re definitely flirting. Angry flirting. Is there a word for that? There should be.
“What the hell is ghee?” North asks, earning a sidelong look from me.
“Man, explore the multicultural soup that is the American experience.” When he just stares me down, I elaborate. “As far as I can tell, it’s like clarified butter but prepared differently and used in Indian cooking. You’ll just have to google the rest because I am not going through Delilah’s lengthy explanation. Once was enough for a lifetime.”
Which is mostly true; witnessing the pink wash of color on Delilah’s cheeks and the irate flash of her eyes made it worth it. That and every time we argue, her tits tend to jiggle. Call me a pig for noticing, but I do, and I enjoy it every damn time it happens.
North’s smile fades. “I don’t know why you’re keeping up with this pact. It’s goddamn medieval.”
My insides tighten uncomfortably. “I’m not breaking our agreement. It would hurt Delilah’s pride.” And I’ve stomped on that in the past enough to never want to do it again. “Besides, the arrangement will likely draw Sam out of hiding. Even she isn’t heartless enough to disrupt her sister’s life to this extent.”