Page 34 of The Sinner's Bargain

Oliver beamed. “Oh, wonderful. Wonderful, Thoran. I’m so happy to hear you’ve thought this out logically.”

I had. I’d spent the last few hours before dawn going over the pros and cons of keeping her. The cons had won by a landslide when the only pro I could list was because I wanted to.

“But not yet,” I said.

There were too many unanswered questions. Too much mystery. It may not have been any of my business who she was or why she was running, but I needed to know because nothing about her made sense. Not a thing.

“Not yet?” Oliver mimicked weakly. “Why not yet? What are we waiting for?”

It crossed my mind to point out that I didn’t need to explain anything to him or anyone.

My house.

My rules.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that when Cyrus returned and the conversation dissipated somewhere to the back recess of my mind.

It was just him for a moment. His dark shape the only one in the doorway. I felt myself beginning to rise when she appeared behind him, head tipped back to take in the faded colors that once represented the ascension to heaven through a maze of pink and blue clouds. The plaster was dry and cracked. The cotton candy colors were patched with age and cobwebs, but hints of its previous grandeur was still visible beneath the neglect.

She followed the arch over to the windows and blinked. Her head cocked to one side to study the three sheets of grimy glass overlooking a stone patio. I thought of her comment about following the windows and wondered if she just liked architecture; the house was one of the most elaborately designed in the country. But she studied the frames and where the center glass opened. She seemed lost in her thoughts, an opening for me to take in her small, bare feet and long, slender legs. She was clad in only my sweater and miles of soft, creamy skin. Skin I knew was fully naked under that top. It did nothing to curb images of me pulling her to straddle my lap and prop her up on the table in the place of my plate. My hands physically itched to feel her warmth under my touch.

As if sensing the hungry prowl of the thing living inside me, pools the cool blue of a summer sky pivoted directly in my direction and held.

Fuck.

The things those eyes did to me harbored on dangerous. I should have been terrified by their sheer power, but all I felt was want. A deep, carnal need to watch them darken with every thrust of my cock—

I blew out a slow breath before I blew something else. I mentally shook away the satin web of heat wrapping around me and pushed a little too aggressively to my feet. The chair under me screeched against the marble, echoing with violence through the silence.

Her flinch didn’t go unnoticed, but I let it go as I moved to pull her chair out. The one next to me. The only other one with the soft cushion. I tried not to think of her bare pussy leaving marks on the seat as she gingerly lowered herself down onto it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and I resisted the urge to tell her not to thank me. If she had any idea the thoughts flooding my mind, she would think I was sick and run out of the manor screaming.

“Hello,” Oliver said the moment I stepped back to regain my place. “I’m Oliver.”

I saw her mouth take its natural shape, the familiar layout it was used to before she pressed her lips together and cleared her throat.

“Katie.”

I had to school my face to mask my annoyance.

While I had nothing against the name Katie, it wasn’t hers and every bone, cell, and nerve in my body was desperate to know it. To taste it in my mouth. I wanted to growl it into her ear as I pinned her under me and fucked us both over the edge.

There was something definitely wrong with me.

Maybe I needed to get out more.

Maybe this was my body’s way of reminding me it had been six fucking years since I’d had a woman. Six years of fighting to keep a pile of rock and glass and ignoring everything else.

“Where are you from, Katie?” Vance piped in, helping himself to a slice of toast.

The woman at my side — Blue as I decided to call her — shifted, gaze lowering to her empty plate. “I moved around a lot.”

Vance glanced up, a square of butter posed on the edge of his knife. “With no clothes or belongings?”

In her lap, her fingers picked at the sleeve of her top. I could just make out their nervous fidgeting over the edge of the table.

“I lost them.”

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