Page 22 of Secrets Unveiled

The slam of Saxon’s bedroom door has me flinching another time as the loud slam filters down the stairs. I let my eyes close, trapping the tears from escaping at all.

“He loves you, Sage. That’s why he doesn’t want you involved. He can’t bear losing you too.” Saint’s voice is full of empathy, soft, smooth, and caring, as his hand slides over my thigh and gives it a little squeeze. This gentle touch shouldn’t feel so good. The heat of his palm and the tender squeeze of his hand tells me he’s here with me and has my stomach twisting in a way that it shouldn’t. Especially towards Saint.

I jump off the bar stool, averting my eyes from him as I make my way to the foyer and stairs.

“Um, I’m going to bed. Good night, Saint.” I reach the foyer before I hear the scraping of a barstool against the tile floor. His footsteps come up behind me before a deep voice has me stopping with my hand on the railing.

“Sage.” My name on his tongue has shivers traveling up my spine, his sultry voice making me hold my breath. I don’t look back towards him. I just wait for whatever he has to say next.

“I had fun tonight.” His voice is low, careful to not let it echo through the foyer. My lips part just slightly, unsure of what to say back.

I had fun too, in so many ways we shouldn’t have. I don’t regret what we did, and I’m craving more, is what I want to say, but we’re already on thin ice, and I don’t want to fall under and drown.

“Good night, Saint,” I whisper back. I take the stairs two at a time before I reach the safety of my room and gently shut the door behind me. What have I done?

SAINT

It’s been three days since the quarry, three days since the break in, and three days since Sage and I allowed ourselves to cross the invisible line of our lust. We haven’t seen each other since that night, and I can only assume she’s trying to avoid me. I can’t say I blame her though; I’ve been doing the same. However, as much as I’m avoiding her, I can’t escape the images of her beneath me as I pound into her over and over again. The sweet sounds of her moans, the softness of her skin, and the taste of her lips have my mind in a frenzy. I need more, so much more. She’s the strongest drug there is, and one taste wasn’t enough. I want to taste every inch of her skin. I want to be inside her, relishing in her warmth. Fuck, I need more of Sage Wilder.

I’ve been at the garage all morning, working with Owen and Brooks on a rebuild, but my mind has been anywhere but here.

“You’re holding it crooked. Lift your end up a bit more,” Owen grunts to Brooks as the pair of them try to align a front tire correctly for the axle to fit through.

“I’m holding my end up!” Brooks grunts back, frustration laced between each word. As the pair of them continued bickering, I’m finally able to thread the axle through, securing the tire properly in place.

“Are you two girls done yet?” I ask, standing from where I was crouched down and grabbing a hand towel to wipe away the grease coating my fingers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Owen grumbles, wiping his hands on his jeans while giving Brooks a side-eyed glance.

“Hey, we don’t claim them as girls. I know a girl or two that can change a motorcycle tire all by herself.” A familiar voice filters into the garage, and I turn to see Sage and Ophelia strolling in, looking like they’re off to a five-star restaurant.

“I’m pretty sure Sage did her own rebuild by herself. Isn’t that right, Sage?” Ophelia elbows Sage, who hasn’t looked at me since walking in.

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Sage drawls, the pair of them giving Owen and Brooks a hard time. Sage is wearing black dress pants and a small white tank top that’s exposing just a sliver of her abdomen and doing little to hide her breasts. A black blazer and heels give her an extra three inches. Her hair is down with loose waves that cascade down her back. Her makeup is subtle, but her mascara is dark, allowing her eyes to pop even more so than normal. Fuck, she is stunning. My cock starts painfully straining against my jeans. Where does she think she’s going dressed like that?

“What’s up, girls? Why are you two all dressed up?” Brooks asks. I look at Owen, but he is too taken aback by Ophelia—he hasn’t picked his jaw up off the garage floor since they walked in. Unlike Sage, Ophelia is wearing a long white dress that reaches her ankles and has spaghetti straps that are holding on by a thread to support her breasts. Her dress has a slit that goes up her leg, exposing her thigh and black heels that lace up around her calf. Ophelia’s hair is in a low messy bun, allowing several strands to frame her face. She’s a beautiful girl, don’t get me wrong, but to me, she’s got nothing on Sage.

“An art exhibit. Sage got invited by a guy she met at the club; he gave her a plus one. Lucky me, right?” Ophelia claps her hands in quick succession in excitement, but my eyes stay on Sage. When she finally decides to look my way, her face wears an apologetic expression. Her red lips lift into a half smile before slightly parting.

“I needed to come by and grab the tickets I left in the office.” She gestures to the garage office and begins walking towards the door. I don’t hesitate. I follow close behind her. She smells of vanilla and strawberries, and I inhale a deep breath as we step through the doors. I close the office door behind me, harder than I should have, but I’m not too sure about this so-called art exhibit, or the man who invited her, for that matter.

“What’s his name?” I ask her, my tone low and murderous at the thought of her dressing up for this man. Like hell am I letting her go out with a man I know nothing about. I’d seen Sage go on dates before, ever since we were kids. It never phased me. Well, okay, it did phase me, but not like it does now. Having had a taste of her has made my feelings for her more possessive by tenfold. There is a weird sensation in my chest that I’m unfamiliar with. Almost like a tightening squeeze that’s bringing on the feeling of nausea, and I don’t like it, not one bit.

“Whose name?” She’s rummaging through the desk, looking for said tickets, but they’re already burning a hole in my pocket. I found the tickets earlier today, and when I saw they were for tonight, I felt the need to hang on to them—for safekeeping, you know?

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I practically growl out. As she continues searching through every drawer, I decide to grab her attention.

“Are you looking for these?” I pull the tickets from my pocket and hold them between us as I watch Sage’s spine stiffen as she turns to face me. Extending her hand towards me, she cocks her head to the side and gives me a lazy look.

“Can I please have my tickets, Saint?”

“What’s. His. Name?” I ask again, not handing over the tickets until I get my answer. She lets out a long sigh, dropping her hand to her side and admitting defeat.

“His name is Dante.”

“Dante, what?”

“Dante Macari.” I study her facial expression for a long moment. Her lips and cheeks are soft, but her eyes are shifty, as if she can’t hold my stare for too long. Almost like a child when they know they’ve done something wrong and they can’t look you in the eyes. I have so many more questions to ask her but don’t want to sound crazier than I already feel. I need to know more about this Dante character. Where the exhibit is, how long it is going to be, are they doing anything after the show? I need to ask her all of this, but I don’t.

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