room. With a flurry of motion, I scooped up the papers and shoved them
haphazardly in the desk drawer. “I don’t care what you’re up to, I’m not
letting you dictate my life.”
My gaze landed on the dozens of pictures I’d drawn of Jaxson. They were
some of my best work. While the illustrations of the sorcerer were scribbled
with desperate, frenetic energy, every detail of Jaxson’s face and body had
been replicated with soft, meticulous strokes of the pencil. His strong jaw and
handsome beard, his dark, wavy hair and radiant eyes. The powerful contours
of his body.
What had I been thinking?
There was no way to forget the embarrassment and regret on his face after
he’d kissed me in the woods. It still made my cheeks burn with shame and
fury. I wa
s, after all, just a dirty LaSalle. A sorceress with dark, tainted
magic.
He thought I was so insignificant that he’d cut me out of his investigation.
Treated me like a pawn. Kept me on a need-to-know basis. So why the hell
was I drawing pictures of that jerk and leaving them around the room?
That was the million-dollar question.
“You don’t get to dictate my life, either,” I murmured, snatching the
jumbled sketches off the dresser and bedside table and shoving them in the
drawer with the creepy sorcerer, face down. I slammed the drawer shut with a
satisfying thunk. “Enjoy each other’s company, assholes.”
Feeling slightly relieved at having completely and deftly rid myself of all
my problems, I headed to the shower. I peeled off my sweat-soaked uniform
and undies and dropped them on the mildly fragrant pile of clothes in the
corner of the bathroom. I’d practiced three nights in a row and desperately
needed to do laundry.
A quick shower drained the last of my residual adrenaline, and soon after,
I slipped naked between the sheets and fell asleep on the rickety old bed.