Page 18 of Cruel Saint

His tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway, his black suit perfectly tailored to his frame. His dark hair was styled messily, his intense gaze lingering on me before flickering around the room.

“I’m sorry for barging in, but I…” He shook his head, his expression strained. He paused for a beat, taking a moment to collect himself, then focused his eyes on mine. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Doctors tend to overreact because I had a heart valve replaced when I was younger. But I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders falling slightly.

It was a curious reaction from a man who was essentially a stranger.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” He held up a crisp, white shopping bag. “I figured the last thing you’d want to do after spending the night in a hospital is go home in the dress you were wearing. Don’t get me wrong,” he rambled nervously, which I found oddly comforting.

It made him appear less intimidating. More human.

“You looked great in that dress. Stunning really.” He raked his gaze over me, his pupils flaming as if I were the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

Not as if I were wearing a hospital gown, my blonde hair a disheveled mess on the top of my head.

“You just seem like more of a yoga pants and t-shirt kind of girl. There’s also a phone charger in there, since I noticed your cell was dead.”

“Thank you…” I trailed off, my brow creasing in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”

A chuckle filled the room, low and raspy. “Gideon. Gideon Saint.”

“Ginny Prescott.” I extended my hand toward him.

When he took it in his, his thumb gently caressing my knuckles, a jolt of electricity shot through me, my pulse kicking up. It was a simple touch, but something about the way his hand fit with mine was so damn familiar.

Like I’d been here before.

I stared into his brilliant blue eyes that seemed out of place. They didn’t belong on a face with a square jaw, chiseled cheekbones, crooked nose, and a three-day scruff. They belonged to a man with unkempt brown hair whose presence once lit up my entire world.

Even so, I couldn’t ignore the way my body buzzed to life from his touch.

Like it remembered something about his skin against mine.

Or maybe it was due to the fact that he was an incredibly attractive man with a sinful smile and I hadn’t had sex, apart from with my vibrator, in nearly a year.

“I prefer Imogene…” He glanced at the hospital bracelet on my wrist, my full first name prominent. “If you don’t mind my saying.”

I once did, too. My mama named me after my great grandmother, who she had a special bond with. When I was growing up, she would regale me with such vivid stories about spending her summers at their old farmhouse on a lake. It was where my mama developed her love of baking. She’d told me of her tenacious spirit, quick wit, and kind heart.

I liked to think I possessed those same characteristics.

But after my sperm donor made headlines for his horrific crimes, then escaped prison and abducted me, my name had been plastered on every media outlet across the country. Having a unique name like Imogene didn’t help matters.

After that, I started going by Ginny, not wanting the friends I hoped to make in college to realize who I was.

Being a teen girl was difficult enough.

It wasn’t until I met Samuel that I allowed anyone to call me Imogene again. I didn’t even let Liam call me that.

But Samuel had always been different. He encouraged me to take back my life. Not allow my sperm donor to continue to control me.

Not allow the guilt I still saddled myself with to control me, either.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He dropped his hold on me and stepped back, his expression turning even and detached, a complete shift. “I just wanted to let you know that a detective will be stopping by in the morning. He’d wanted to speak with you tonight, but I sent him away. You’ve already been through enough.”

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