Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (36)

“Right. The batch oven.”

“Exactly.” Lark glances over her shoulder at me as she continues swirling the sander across the table. Her gaze lingers on me for a long moment and I should probably mention something about how she’s about to make the table surface uneven, but it feels like the words have slipped right off my tongue. “We’ll need to be convincing with my family,” she says before I can cobble a sentence together. “Do you think you’re capable of that?”

One corner of my mouth turns up in a cocky grin. “Are you?”

Lark rolls her eyes. My smile spreads. Something about getting under her skin is addictive. Every time I do, it feels like I’ve sneaked beneath her defenses to run amok in a place most people never even see.

But as I’ve quickly learned, she’s never one to be outdone. “Bitch, please. I’ve had years of practice,” she says.

My laugh seems to startle her. The sander growls against the table to accompany the lethal look she gives me.

“I can’t wait to see how quickly this whole thing will be feckin’ banjaxed.”

“I’m guessing ‘banjaxed’ is bad?” she asks, and my brows raise in affirmation. “Well then, if it all goes tits up, it won’t be because I’m the one who couldn’t pull it off. And I can guarantee it won’t be me in the batch oven. So I guess you’d better not fuck it up.”

Lark gives me a saccharine smile beneath her mask, one I can see in her eyes, the way they narrow and crinkle at the corners. I reply with a dark smirk of my own. If she thinks I can’t play this game with her folks, she’s wrong. I’ll make this the best goddamn parental first meeting she’s ever had, so good that even she’ll think she’s fallen in love with me.

… Probably.

Fuck.

Lark pulls me out of my spiraling doubts when she says, “What about your boss? I’m assuming we’ll need to meet him too.”

All that amusement I felt while teasing her only moments ago snuffs out as though she just flipped a feckin’ switch. The thought of taking Lark to meet Leander has slithered around in my mind since Sloane and Rowan’s wedding. It’s swum in the murk of all the other worries that came along with this insane plan, but this is the first time it’s landed a bite.

“Yes,” I reply, my grip on the blade handle so tight that my hand aches. “He doesn’t expect to see an actual romance—”

“Thank God.”

“—but he will want business assurances. Likely a financial commitment.”

Lark gives me a single sharp nod. Her gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “Give me the paperwork. I’ll get it done.”

“Leander Mayes is seriously fucked up, Lark. Even if he wants something from you, you can’t count yourself as safe, yeah?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, her eyes narrowing behind the safety glasses. “I said I’ll get it done, and I will.”

Though I hate to admit it, I admire her determination. Lark doesn’t falter, even when I expect her to. But I don’t know why I keep thinking she’ll break apart when she never has, not once since the first time I met her. She could have cowered from me that night, but instead she got all up in my face with her Budget Batman shite. I trapped her in my trunk and she feckin’ escaped. The moment I realized she was gone, I double-backed and zigzagged the country roads, searching for her until dawn. Every time I’ve argued with her since then, she’s either hit back just as hard or let my barbs slide over her shoulders like they were nothing more than silk.

“All right, duchess. Once you sign your soul to the devil, we’ll use Leviathan resources to track down this killer of yours. We’d better get on with meeting Leander as soon as we can after your family. He travels a lot, so I’ll get the details of what he wants and when he’ll be around so that you can have it ready in advance.”

Lark nods before she pulls her attention away from me. The moment she looks down at the table, she jolts as though shocked, her gasp audible despite the sound of the machine.

I’ve taken two hurried steps toward her before I even realize what I’m doing, my blade forgotten on the floor and the belt tapping against my thigh. I’m nearly at her side when that giant dog jumps to his feet, again putting his body between us.

“Are you okay?” I ask as she switches the sander off. Lark has the machine still clutched in one hand as she slaps the other down on the table, her gaze caught on the surface. She lets go of the sander to pull her safety glasses and mask off, but she doesn’t look my way. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. Nope. Totally fine.”

She doesn’t sound fine at all. “You sure about that, duchess?”

“Very sure.”

“Something wrong with the sander? I can have a look.” I take a few slow, careful steps around Bentley, but Lark tries to wave me off. “I’m pretty good with taking things like that apart, I can probably fix it—”

“No. I’m good. I just …” Lark’s entire body is tense, from the palm she presses her weight into, to her tight shoulders, to her lips that are set in a grim line that traps whatever words she was about to say.

“You just …?”

“I just realized I should put a star right here.” Lark nods down to her hand where it’s splayed across the scoured epoxy, but she doesn’t lift it away, not even when I edge into her space to stop at her shoulder. “Yep. Right there. A big black glittery star.”