Page 5 of Merciless Heir

Old fashioned? Or someone who’s pragmatic and ready for all situations? I’m not sure, but I’d like to find out.

There’s fifty dollars in two twenties and a ten, a shit load of cards including a black AmEx I itch to take, a driver’s license proclaiming him to be Kingston Jeramiah Sinclair. It’s his birthday in a month. Thirty-six. He’s got blue eyes and black hair and he’s six foot three.

The photo is of a serious man with great bones and features and doesn’t do him justice.

In person, even in a dark dive, he’s devastating. There’s something hard and darkly dangerous about him that doesn’t say real estate mogul or soft billionaire. And he’s far too arresting to be anything as boring as handsome.

He’s art.

Beyond that…?

Kingston Jeramiah Sinclair won’t notice his wallet is gone and when he does, he’ll call my number, which he thinks is an office, and he’ll threaten and whine and shout.

It’s what these rich fucks do.

He’ll—

I stop. Something hot passes through me and I shiver. Awareness coils around me, holding me, drawing my attention back in the direction the bar lies.

A man. Tall. Lean. Eyes on me.

Kingston stands there on the empty, dark sidewalk, hands in his pocket, looking at me like I’m under a spotlight.

It makes me a little off-center, that. I can make myself seen, I can make myself invisible, and right now, I’m meant to be invisible. Yet he’s seen me.

Slowly, deliberately he comes up to me and I drop my hand with his soft leather wallet to my side.

He stops, right there, inches from me, hedging me in.

“Sadie, I believe you left with something of mine.”

Then he reaches out and trails his fingers along my left arm, down to my wrist and circles it, drawing my hand and his wallet up.

He plucks it free with his other hand and tucks it away, not bothering to open it. Not letting me go.

We look at each other and a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold goes through me.

No one is around, even though we’re in New York at three-thirty in the morning. I’m still surprised he agreed to meet me at such a late hour. Not that I think his kind don’t pull all nighters. But here? Where there’s no glitter and comforts?

No.

But Kingston looks like he fits. And it isn’t his outfit. It’s him. Like he doesn’t give a fuck for anything except what he wants.

And he’s looking at me like what he wants is me.

My mouth turns dust dry for a second. What would his lips feel like? They look hard, but I’ve a feeling they can soften at the right moment. I’ve a feeling this man knows how to kiss, how to arouse.

“You’re faster than most,” I say with a cool touch in my words.

His thumb caresses that soft, sensitive spot on the inside of my wrist and his mouth turns in a cynical half smile, the shadows of the night broken by a car passing, and the beam of the headlights catch him, throwing his high cheekbones into a masterpiece of shadow and light. “Don’t play games with me.”

“How about we call it a test?”

“Or call you a common criminal.”

Now I lift my head, letting it touch the brick behind me and look at him like I’m wanting something hidden inside.

It’s probably backbone.

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