Page 74 of The Sinner's Bargain

“My heart? My soul? Fucking just take it, love. It’s fucking yours. I’m at your mercy.”

Delighted and flooded with relief, I chuckled. “Is this okay to wear to breakfast?”

Thoran shrugged. “I couldn’t give a shit if it wasn’t. I’m not letting you change.”

“Vance might—”

“Vance can kiss my ass. If he’s got a problem, I’ll deal with it.” He softened his voice. “You look fucking gorgeous, sweetheart, in case that wasn’t clear.”

Warm all over as if I’d sunk into a warm bath, I offered him a smile. “Thank you.”

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of my cheek with his nose. Landing a solid kick start to my chest when his lips followed. The spot burned as if he’d lit a match to my skin.

“Come back to the office,” he breathed into my skin. “Sit in my lap and let me feed you.”

Maybe it was the nerves, but I burst out laughing. Thoran smirked, lopsided as he drew back. His eyes danced in the filmy, morning light. He took my hand and led me out of the room.

Vance and Oliver were already seated when we arrived. Cyrus was just inside the door, practically a statue in his position. I greeted him in passing and got an inclination of his head in return.

Oliver rose politely as Thoran pulled the chair out for me.

“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?”

I slid into my spot. Felt the brush of Thoran’s fingers ghost over my unbound hair before he moved to take his place.

I smiled at Oliver. “I did. Thank you.” I turned to Vance who was actively focused on slicing into a grapefruit. “Good morning.”

His dark eyes flickered up only briefly with a dismissive, “Miss Smith.”

“How are you liking Lacroix House?” Oliver asked, passing me a bowl of strawberry jelly.

“I love it,” I said. “It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”

Oliver smiled indulgently. “Has Thoran told you the history?”

I stole a glance in Thoran’s direction, my heart already hurting at the memory of him standing before those paintings, his expression haunted.

Mother had aesthetically pleasing photos of family displayed strategically along corridors and neatly arranged across the mantel place, but all their stories were so ... normal. So safe.

Two people met.

They got married.

Had children.

Died of old age.

Sure, there was the odd, distant relative who died of something unavoidable like my great aunt Josephine who died of cancer when I was a child, or Mother’s third cousin Monty who tumbled down a flight of stairs during a drunken state.

But a steady cycle of tragic and unnecessary deaths astounded me, just not as heartbroken as I’d been seeing the shattered defeat in Thoran’s face. The loss painting voids in his eyes. He had held all their pain in his voice and all I had wanted was to pull him back. Pull him away from that place. If I had any right or thought it could do any good, I would pull all the portraits off the wall and hide them where he would never see them again.

“Yes,” I managed at last.

“It’s not all sad,” Oliver assured me as if reading my thoughts, but he said nothing else to prove his comment.

“What Oliver means is that all families come with tragedies and losses,” Vance murmured almost kindly. “We can’t change the hand we’re dealt.”

I considered that while the conversation continued without me. I stared at the full plate I hadn’t filled and wondered if it was true. Was the hand we were given it? Were we given no chance to correct a bad situation? If that were the case, then was I only prolonging the inevitable? Sooner or later, Jarrett would find me, and I would be his to do with as he wished.

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