“Is that …?” I mumbled through my fingers. The disc pulsed like a strobe light at a disco. My eyes snapped to his. He stared back, lips tight, jaw ticking, eyes stony grey. He didn’t need to answer. I knew what it was.

“Why is it … so bright?”

“Because I’m very good at making you miserable.”

“SJ …” I whispered, my hand falling from my mouth to my sternum, pressing against the sudden ache there. His gaze dropped to the Soul Token, and he fisted it in his big palm, his knuckles going white. “You know, this morning, you made me the opposite of miserable. And last night, too.”

“Last night I made you so sick you could barely stand!” he rasped, his face pale.

“Accidentally!” I shot back. “And you apologised to me, which no man has ever done before! And you … you listened.” My voice broke a little on that last word, and the Soul Token between us flashed blinding white for a second before going back to fluorescent pink.

“Mouse … I am trying to steal your soul. And when I’m not, I’m having thoughts about you that are so … indecent, I … I must go.”

He manoeuvred around me, heading for the living room.

I dove in the opposite direction. Following a mad whim, I scampered back into the bedroom and scooped up the Devious Devil book.

“Oh my … well, good morning!”

And now Ezra was home! I stifled a groan, racing for the living room.

SJ stood in the centre of the room, clutching the ruins of his clothes to his crotch. Two spots of pink blazed high on his cheeks, and he turned to me, his eyes a silent plea.

My heart stumbled in my chest.

“Morning Ezra, I didn’t expect you home so early!” My voice sounded ridiculously, falsely bright. Ezra turned to me, his grin cheeky, his eyebrows waggling.

A lump popped up in my throat. I knew what he was thinking—that SJ and I had been about to make the most of having the house to ourselves by christening the living room.

I almost wished he’d caught us about to do that, rather than the reality …

“Please, don’t mind me, I’ll just … grab some old clothes and get out of your way. Humphrey teaches a Monday pottery class, and I’m tagging along. We’re going to learn how to throw a vase today.” He smirked lewdly at me, and I wanted to shriek with laughter, recalling our little euphemisms about vases and stems.

But all that happened was my eyes got very hot. I blinked rapidly. No crying, Jemma! Especially not when I could feel the intensity of SJ’s gaze, hot and possessive and all the things that I wanted it to be, but desperately shouldn’t want from him.