Page 41 of SINS & Lies

What in the actual fuck?

In disbelief, I shoot a glance down at the little dog at my feet. Do you believe this shit?

He returns a clueless stare.

My attention shifts back to the insane woman turning down a trip to Italy. “So, let me get this straight. You’re rejecting a trip to Italy because of...me?”

Kennedy’s stance is resolute, hands planted firmly on her hips as she speaks. “We both know that if you take me to Italy, this”—she gestures between us—“isn’t exactly a PG arrangement.”

I don’t bother arguing back. The ringing in my ears has started up, signaling the onset of a jackhammer about to tear through my skull. Still, I hold my ground, silent but present, a lesson deeply ingrained within me by my mother.

Kennedy keeps going. “You’re the kind of guy who gets his way and will want things from me...”

Her words drift as she thinks, nibbling her lip in that alluring way that manages to capture my attention despite the throb along my temples. “Things?” I ask, trying to sound thoughtful when I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck she’s saying. “You mean sex?” I ask flatly.

In silent agreement, she nods, cautiously adding, “And I could get, well, hurt.”

Hmm. I’m not sure if she needs a safe word or a limit list or what, but then it hits me. Eyes narrowed, my head tilts. “Are you a virgin?”

“No.” The blush is so red, I wonder if she’s lying. Not that it matters. I’ll find out soon enough. Yet beyond my control, out of my mouth flies, “You’re not my prisoner, Bella. You’re my guest. You can leave at any time. Now pack.”

Kennedy doesn’t back down. “If I’m going, which is still a big ‘if,’ by the way, then I want something in return.” She folds her arms, a move that would typically captivate me, but right now, the vise grip on my head is strangling my libido.

I rub my temples, trying to push back the pain. “Fine. Name it.”

“No sex.”

“What?” I snap, because the hell that’s happening.

I think real fucking hard because the entire point of whisking Kennedy away to Italy is to bang her senseless. Not frolic around the Italian countryside, hand in hand, lazily reading cozy romances to each other.

Then, almost timidly, she adds, “I mean, no sex...not unless I see Riley.”

“Riley.” I know all about her—the sister. The one I’ve secretly hidden halfway around the world under the guise of a full ride scholarship program. Not that I have an altruistic bone in my body. I just needed her safely out of the way.

I figured Italy was far enough. My mistake.

“For every day I’m your ‘guest’”—she air quotes—“I’ll be taken to and returned from Riley’s place. I will spend a full three hours of uninterrupted time with my sister. Any time, day or night.”

I smirk. Her little request isn’t without risks, but it makes me grin all the same. “Considering I plan to wreck that pretty pussy of yours several times a day, Bella, what do you suggest? Shall I move her in? Perhaps pour her a drink, offer her a chair to make herself comfortable, and let her watch?”

She narrows her eyes. I narrow mine back. The air between us is damned near combustible.

“Three hours a day,” she bargains, braver out of the silence. “Take it or leave it.”

No one speaks to me like this. Ever. Because if they did, I’d end them. For a beat, I study her, intrigued. Someone didn’t get the memo.

A low, satisfied growl emerges from my chest, and I’m not sure who’s more surprised: her or me. Despite the deepening furrow across her brow, and delicate hands that suddenly aren’t sure where to go, she straightens, pouting those gorgeous lips against a defiant chin.

What did it take for her to demand this? Kennedy is telling me exactly what she wants—what she needs—and I fucking relish it.

“Is that it?” I ask.

Her fingers weave through several strands of hair, a feeble attempt at smoothing them over a faded scar near her left brow. She’s done this before. Tried, and failed, to cover her flaws.

Because she’s stupid enough not to know that I see everything. All of her.

From the heart-shaped freckle on her neck to the nine scars lining her skin like a constellation—three on her face, four on her arms, a cigarette burn on her wrist, and another on her leg.

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