Page 37 of Twilight Sins

He’s reading way too much into this, but I don’t give a shit. If this little furball is going to keep Luna from crawling up the walls and sticking her nose in my business, then a little cat hair will be worth it.

Whatever it takes to keep her safe—and as far away from me as possible.

14

LUNA

Trust your gut. Listen to your heart. Follow your intuition.

People spout abstract nonsense like that as if it solves everything. If it does for them, then whoop-dee-freaking-doo. What about people like me?

I’m supposed to trust my gut? The same gut that said it was fine that Benjy would leave every time we got in a fight and then be gone for days? He definitely isn’t cheating on you, my gut used to say. He loves you.

Don’t even get me started on my heart. I listened to that son of a bitch every time Benjy got mad and screamed things he would later swear he didn’t mean. Things like “you’re a worthless piece of ass” and “you’re the reason I drink.” When he told me I was like an anchor dragging him down, my heart told me that was the price of love.

Because I thought I loved him. Despite all of that, I thought I was in love with Benjy until the very end.

Which is exactly why I’m sitting across the kitchen island from Yakov, watching him make scrambled eggs and toast, with no idea what to make of the man in front of me.

I think he’s telling me the truth about whatever danger is lurking out there waiting for me, but I can’t be sure. He could also just be some garden-variety sociopath who locks women up for fun. His house is big enough for it. There could be women chained up in rooms all over this place and we’d never cross paths.

He cracks an egg with one hand like a professional and suddenly, my lady bits want to chime in and give the rest of my confused body some direction.

“Is there another room you want me to sleep in?” I ask, trying to distract myself.

“No.”

“But it’s your room I’m in, right? It’s where all your clothes are.”

I already know the answer because I had a front row seat to him taking off his shirt yesterday afternoon. The night he brought me back to the house, it was dark and there was a lot going on. I didn’t get a good look at him.

But it wasn’t dark yesterday. I saw every dip, ridge, and valley of Yakov’s midsection in full, unfiltered sunlight. And oh, mercy. What a midsection it was.

“Your skills of deduction are impressive,” he drawls.

Every perfect set of abs has to have one flaw. This one’s is that it’s attached to an asshole.

An asshole who is making me breakfast right now.

An asshole who went to my apartment last night and got me clean clothes and saved my cat from starvation.

A complicated asshole. The worst kind of asshole.

“I’m just saying that I can move into another room if you want me to. I don’t have to stay there if?—”

“If you’re in my way, I’ll make sure you aren’t. Until then, eat.” He slides a plate towards me.

The eggs are impossibly fluffy and I didn’t know it was possible to make toast without burning it, because Lord knows I’ve never managed it. I’m hungry, so I take a few bites before I pick up the conversation he wishes I’d drop.

“It’s hard for me to be in your way when you don’t even sleep in there.”

Based on the dark circles under his eyes, I don’t think he slept anywhere.

He plants his palms on the marble countertop and leans forward. “Did you miss me last night, Luna?”

It should be illegal for it to feel that good when he says my name. Like he’s stroking a finger down the column of my neck.

My body heats and I practically bury my face in my plate. “I’m just trying to hold up my end of our deal. You went to my apartment and brought me some of my things, so I want to be a good captive. A model prisoner, if you will.”

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