Page 73 of The Sinner's Bargain

“I could have a talk with him,” Cyrus offered.

We all knew what his idea of talk was.

“As much as I love that idea, the will is clear; no suspicious deaths. The estate will get broken up and divided amongst several charities if there is even a hint of foul play. This close to the deadline with Thoran’s failed attempts, it would definitely raise suspicion. He unfortunately must remain alive.” Oliver’s thin mouth twisted as if the idea greatly displeased him. “Our only option is getting a woman to marry you who doesn’t know the ... situation.”

“Miss Smith—”

“No!” I growled before Cyrus could even finish. “I won’t let this cursed monstrosity have her.”

“What if it’s only for a little bit,” Cyrus prompted. “Hear me out,” he said hurriedly when I bared my teeth. “Marry her for a year. That’s how long the contract states. After a year...” he let his sentence trail off. “You can set her up with a nice settlement and you both move on. Thoran, I really don’t see another option here. No one is going to marry you after what happened.”

“Not true.” Vance tapped his pen thoughtfully, dark eyes focused on something in the far distance. “There is one way, but you’re not going to like it and it’s going to take some doing to put it together.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

NAYA

I was dressed in a fluffy sweater the color of red wine — the color Thoran seemed to really like — and tights the next morning. Black ones that hugged all manner of places. They reminded me of stockings, but thicker. Less sheer. Amari had very clearly put the two together and assured me it was normal to wear without a dress.

I was beginning to disagree as I stood before the oval mirror with the wooden carvings around the frame. They were so revealing. It left nothing to the imagination, and the top barely grazed the waist. A full strip of flesh peeked out every time I moved or reached too high or bent down.

Combined with the strappy, black sandals with the spiked heel and crisscross straps across the top of the foot, I felt like a whole other person. This was not the Naya I was used to. I had never even worn pants. Not once. Mother hated them. Said they were for men.

But I liked it.

I liked the way they hugged my legs and outlined my hips. It was probably too much, and I was wearing it wrong, but it was too late to change when a quiet knock filled my room.

Nerves a riot of nervous snakes in my gut, I hurried over and pulled the door open.

Thoran said nothing.

Dark, focused eyes rolled down the length of me to stop at where my toes peeked out. Then traveled back up to find my face. My lips. The same red as the night before.

Finally, he settled on my eyes.

“What do you want from me?” he said at last, voice a cyclone of gruff emotion.

That wasn’t at all the reaction I’d been expecting. Hoping for.

My fingers brushed the soft material of the sweater. Twisted together inside the baggy sleeves to curl into themselves out of habit. My palms itched to feel the burn of pain.

“What—?”

He closed the single step between us, nearly coming flush against me. His heat slammed into me like a brick. The heady scent of spices swirled around my throat, keeping me captive to the man consuming all my air.

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