Page 47 of The Sinner's Bargain

I hadn’t taken her to the dining hall with the others, not looking like that. A short sweater that showcased her beautiful legs was one thing, but I wasn’t about to share anything else with the rest of the house. Only, now that I was alone with her dressed like that, I wasn’t sure that was any better.

“The house does that to you. It makes you feel crazy,” I told her, not at all upset about the previous night. I’d already been up reading when her first scream tore me out of bed. I’d been prepared to rip the fucker to pieces with my bare hands. “Eat your breakfast.”

Her gaze drifted to the oil painting of my great, great, great, great grandfather Hael Lacroix, the designer and architect of Lacroix manner hanging over the fireplace. The man who started the curse.

“The house doesn’t make me feel crazy. I love the house.”

I didn’t think there was anything else she could have said that would have broken my heart more.

All the women loved the house.

They all wanted to fix it and make it a home. That was what the house did, it lured them into a false sense of security before claiming their soul. It was the vilest sort of love.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart.” I could hear the plea in my own voice. “Don’t fall in love with this place.”

Her head jerked in my direction. The softness in her face replaced by mortified horror. “Oh, I only just meant it’s a gorgeous house.”

No longer able to concentrate on the small mountain of paperwork accumulating at my elbow, I got to my feet. I kept my focus on the angelic lines of her face, unable to look away as I tugged down the cuffs of my shirt and started towards her.

Her big eyes watched me approach with understandable trepidation but when I extended my palm, she gave it a fleeting glance before accepting it and letting me draw her up to stand before me. Her face upturned and so vulnerable.

Fuck, how badly I wanted to kiss that mouth. It was always just there. Always just slightly parted as if waiting.

“You need clothes,” I said instead. “And you shouldn’t be walking around this place without shoes.”

“I really can’t pay you back,” she murmured.

Against my better judgement, my attention slipped to her mouth again. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

The object of my painful fascination tucked between her teeth and I almost groaned.

I was so fucking close.

Just one dip of my head.

One taste.

But it wouldn’t stop there. I knew it. Once I had my mouth on hers, my hands twisted in her hair, I would pull her down on the sofa and rip the shit out of my favorite top. I would have the tattered pieces splayed around her like torn wings while I demolished and violated every inch of her.

Blood brightened beneath the creamy skin of her face and spread down her throat the longer I stood there lost in her. I followed it until I was stopped by the buttons closed neatly at her throat. I wondered just how low the flush went. If it covered the swells of her breasts.

If her nipples were hard.

If her pussy was wet.

My imagination was fire and skin and the smell of me still on hers, and her eyes and the fact that she was only safe from me by a scrap of fabric.

“Fuck,” I growled without thinking.

The tiny fingers still clasped in mine trembled and I tightened my hold because she was not fucking getting away from me.

“Boss?” Cyrus, hands folded at his back, his blue eyes on the ground at his feet stood awkwardly in the open doorway.

“What?” I snapped.

“We’re leaving in ten to meet Laszlo.”

I cursed under my breath; I’d forgotten about the meeting.

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