Page 26 of Secrets Unveiled

“You’re right,” is all he says. Nothing more, just “You’re right.” Good, that was easy. Then he continues on, “Let’s forget about how well my cock fits in your pussy and just go about our lives hating one another. Sound good?” His hard eyes freeze me to the spot. My jaw drops and the heat of my core increases from his vulgar words. “Because right now, you and I both know the wet spot forming in your sweet little panties isn’t from spending the evening looking at paintings.” He unbuckles and leans into my personal space, making me hold my breath. “No, I think it’s there from the thought of me on top of you while I thrust my cock so deep inside you, you forget your own name. Am I right, baby?” He pauses for a moment, but my brain can’t form words, let alone a full sentence. “Don’t act like you haven’t touched yourself reliving what we did that night. Because every night since, my cock has been painfully aware that it’s not inside you, and soon enough, it’s going to need relief. I don’t know how to move forward as if everything’s the same. Maybe I just need to fuck you over and over again to get you out of my system, but know this, I’m hungry. No, I’m starving, and eventually, I’m going to need to eat, baby. And there’s only one person whole will curb my appetite.”

A knock on my window has me jumping so high I practically headbutt Saint due to how close he is to me. Fuck.

“Sage, I’m going to head home. I need to shower this wine off my skin. I feel gross,” Ophelia says through the glass. I unbuckle hastily and jump out of the car, needing to get away from Saint before I do something I’ll regret.

“Yeah, yes, of course. Thank you for going with me today. I’m sorry about how it turned out. Maybe one day we can both act normal and get through an evening without making fools of ourselves.” She laughs her contagious laugh as she walks to her BMW.

“Yeah, I don’t think you and I will ever be normal, babes. Call me tomorrow!” She climbs in her car before giving me a wave, and I notice at the last-minute Owen is in her passenger seat. What the hell? Why is he going with her?

A hand grabs mine, gently leading me to the front door of the house. I don’t protest. I follow him up the stairs and through the door before he drops my hand and closes the door behind me, locking the locks one by one.

“You hungry?”

“What?” I ask, thrown off by his question.

“Hungry. Are you hungry?” Oh, yeah. I hadn’t eaten at the show since everything happened so fast. The sound of my stomach growling answers his question for me. He laughs before he heads into the kitchen.

“I’ll make something to eat. Why don’t you go clean up? I’ll be down here.” I watch him disappear into the kitchen before making my way up to my bathroom and starting a steaming hot shower. I need to wash this night off my body. How the hell was I going to explain myself to Dante? And why was I so wet from what Saint said in the car? Fuck. Me.

SAINT

As I squeeze the lemon juice over the salmon filets, I imagine squeezing the life out of Dante for touching what is mine. Fuck, Saint. She’s not yours. You had sex once. That doesn’t make her yours. I was being too protective of Sage, more so than would be normal for our friendship. Everyone knows I am protective of her because she’s Saxon’s little sister, but my protectiveness is fast becoming an obsession at this point. Even Owen has started asking questions about my intentions towards her. I shut that shit down immediately. I can’t have rumors starting, especially rumors that could easily make their way to Saxon.

When I saw Dante’s hand brush against her face, I swear the devil himself entered my body and sparked a rage that only demons could possess. The moment she backed away from him, and I saw her breathing pick up, I knew she was cresting on the start of a panic attack. I know her like the back of my hand, and I’ve been there with her when she’s had these episodes. They’re terrifying and incapacitating for her, but mostly she’s consumed by an overwhelming sadness that’s been forced upon her due to the trauma of the fire. She would never have to experience those attacks if it weren’t for the bastard who planned the fire. That’s why Saxon and I will stop at nothing to figure out who caused the death of her father, and almost Sage herself. Because not only did her father die, a piece of Sage died as well. She will never cope with the loss of her father or the fear that strangles her whenever she sees a fire, a candle lit, or even a match being stuck. The painting of her scars sparked the start of her attack today, and all I wanted to do was eliminate the person who caused it.

Dante.

During my research on his background, it was hard to find any flaws with the guy, which made me despise him even more. He graduated with honors from Berkeley in business with a minor in the arts. He has two siblings, Amelia and Josephine, from their parents, Luis and Marina Macari. Growing up in Miami, his family moved to California when his father took a position in the Silicon Valley, where he became a very well-known entrepreneur dealing with massive public relations companies. His mother, Marina, was a stay-at-home mom due to Josephine having disabilities that kept her from attending public school. Bound to a wheelchair, Marina was her caregiver 24/7. All and all, a pretty normal American family living the dream and working hard, right?

However, when I reached further into his family history, I couldn’t find anything about his grandparents, paternal or maternal. It was as if Luis and Marina magically appeared one day and had kids. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was found about any family member outside his immediate family. Which struck me as odd. It felt odd enough that I decided to go to the exhibit myself. Owen insisted he come with me, and I was so focused on getting to her I didn’t care who the fuck came with me. I just needed to get to wherever Sage was.

As I stand in her kitchen now, I couldn’t be happier that I trusted my gut. Her panic attack happened moments after I let myself into the exhibit against the door man’s wishes. I told Owen to get Ophelia and wait for me outside while I took care of Sage and Dante.

I put the salmon in the oven and grab the tossed salad out of the fridge, along with the vegetables I need to chop up. Before I can even lift the knife to start prepping the rest of our dinner, a deep feeling of anxiety pools in my stomach. I slap my hand down on the counter and drop my head for a long moment, counting my breaths to try and stop the war that’s raging inside.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Why, why now? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my feelings for Sage changed, but they have, obviously. I’ve always loved her, but always been able to keep myself from going too far with her. I can’t control that aspect of myself anymore. It’s becoming harder and harder not to touch her. The feeling of helplessness as she struggled to breathe, the fear that was clear as day on her face, and the thoughts of her house engulfed in flames as she struggled to escape has my stomach twisting in a way it’s never done before.

I know I started off being friends with Saxon, but I’ve been with Sage for so long I can’t remember a life where she wasn’t a part of it. I can’t fathom a world where she’s not in it. A world without Sage Wilder is no world I want to live in. She’s got my head all fucked up. I want her and need her, but I also don’t want to deal with the emotions she brings out of me. I just want things to go back to what they were. The bickering and constant insults we slung at each other seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality, it was all of two weeks ago. I want things to rewind. At least, I think that’s what I want, right?

“I know you don’t like vegetables, but damn, you don’t need to cry over them.” Her voice floods my brain, and I turn to see Sage; she’s fresh out of the shower, wearing her pajamas. Her tiny night shorts expose her long, lean legs while her tank top does little to cover her stomach and breasts. She also has her fluffy white robe lazily draped off one of her shoulders. Fuck, I’m really screwed. I give her a weak smile at her comment, but go back to chopping some carrots and tomatoes, tossing them in the lettuce bowl as I go.

The room is quiet for a long moment, only the sound of my Spotify playlist on in the background fills the kitchen. She sits at the island in front of me, wrapping herself in her robe as she watches my hands at work. I can’t help but steal a glimpse of her every now and then, but her face remains lowered, her eyes transfixed on my hands.

“Saint?” Her voice is so low I almost don’t hear her.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come to the exhibit?” I stop mid-cut into a carrot and put the knife down. Planting my hands on the island, I look into her eyes; silver meets silver as I try to think of an answer.

“Sage, I… I had a weird feeling about this Dante character and felt like I needed to—I don’t know—investigate, I guess.” I sound utterly ridiculous, stumbling over my words, trying not to sound like a total stalker. I hold her gaze, waiting for her counter, but she stays still, not giving any indication she is going to talk.

“That’s it then? You had a weird feeling?” She is fishing for something other than the answer I gave her, and I’m torn between giving her more or staying locked up tight like I always do.

“Yeah, it’s called listening to your gut, and the moment I saw you leave the garage, something didn’t feel right. It’s my job to take care of you while Saxon is away, and I wasn’t going to ignore my gut—it’s usually right.” I went back to chopping the vegetables. The heat of her eyes remain on my skin.

“I see.”

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