Page 31 of SINS & Lies

I ignore the heat rising up my neck and steady my breath. “The Chasse. It’s supposed to be a gliding step where one foot chases the other.”

Now, his lips graze my temple. “Is the chasse supposed to look like a herd of ponies in tutus galloping about?”

“Absolutely.”

Then, his voice lowers to a smoking-hot growl. “We need to talk. Privately.”

I bite my bottom lip as vivid pornographic images of us flash through my thoughts. I’m pretty sure if the man read the dictionary in that tone, he’d have half the women in Chicago dropping to their knees for him.

Even me.

I cross my arms, covering the goosebumps scattering up them, and redirect his attention to the girls clambering for his attention. “They’re doing this for you, you know. Showing off.”

His finger draws a soft line from my neck down my spine. “Is that why you’re wearing this? To get my attention?”

“No,” I snap aloud. So loud that all the girls stop and look up at us. “Perhaps you should go,” I suggest. “We can talk later.”

“We can talk now.” Brash as all day, Enzo pulls out a wad of cash and fans it. “Twenty bucks to every girl who lines up in sixty seconds to go play with Mrs. Weston,” he declares.

The girls squeal with excitement, forming a neat row. Enzo tosses the wad out the door, and twenty-dollar bills flutter like confetti.

“What are you doing?” I ask, puzzled.

“Giving us privacy,” he replies. “Play with them,” he orders to Mrs. Weston across the hall as if he owns the place.

And, for all I know, he does because nervously, she nods. Her pasted-on smile is so wide I’m genuinely worried she might be drunk.

Before he closes the door, with the smallest semblance of authority, I yell after the girls, “Only take one each.”

Okay, that sounded weird, right?

Enzo shuts the door behind him and turns the lock, the sound echoing in the small room, making my heart race. His presence fills the space, and it feels suffocatingly small.

And when he takes a step closer and gazes down at me like that—like a man escaping a year in the desert, welcomed by a scotch over ice—I can’t breathe.

We stare at each other for a long minute, as invisible, unspoken words swirl all around us.

Then, with a heavy sigh, his face falls as he says whatever he’s come here to say. “I came to say goodbye.”

CHAPTER 11

Kennedy

Did he just say he’s saying...goodbye?

What in the actual fuck?

My heart pinches, but I can’t make a scene. And goddamnit, I will not cry. “Oh,” I manage to say, trying to conceal just how deflated I feel inside. And I don’t know why I can’t just shut my mouth at a moment like this, but I add, “Will I see you again?”

“I doubt it,” he replies, emotionless.

Meanwhile, I’m gutted from the inside out.

The longer I gaze at him, the more the desire to be closer to him intensifies. So much so that without permission, I tenderly caress his cheek.

“Look,” he starts, interrupting the moment. “The debt you owe my uncle?—”

“Is about to be paid off, thanks to you,” I cut in, bubbling over with gratitude. “I owe you my life.”

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