Page 47 of A Sin So Pure

“Part of me wanted to cut you out. But the other part, the one I can’t ignore, can’t let you go because of this. I’ve known you too long, gotten too close,” she says. “I don’t give second chances, Mo. But I want to give you one.”

She rubs her thumb over my knee, back and forth. We sit still for a moment, each focused on the place where we’re connected.

When Nora speaks again, it’s soft and vulnerable, barely a whisper.

“You know I’m not good with this stuff.”

This stuff. Relationships. Intimacy.

“But,” she says, searching for the words. “I want to try.” A finality steels her voice, and my heart soars. She clears her throat. “I would like for you to join me for dinner on Sunday.”

My head snaps up. “But you never invite outsiders to family dinner.”

I swear I see a tinge of pink bloom on her cheeks as she glances away. “Josie thought it’d be a good idea.”

“She’s a smart girl, that one,” I say, quiet and dumbfounded.

“So, you’ll come?”

I don’t have to give it a second thought. “Of course, I’ll come.”

“Good,” she says, then stands.

“You’re not staying?”

Nora shakes her head, a fierce divot forming between her brows as she adjusts her long wool jacket. Autumn is waning, and soon we’ll all need to don our winter caps and scarves.

“I have some things I need to handle tonight,” she says, buttoning the jacket.

I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re not going to tell me any more than that, are you?”

This elicits a real smirk from her. “No.”

She steps into my space. Her eyes fall back down to my ruined bottom lip, full of restrained hunger; she reaches up and tugs at it with her thumb, the leather scraping against it sweetly.

“You need to earn the right to details again,” she says.

Gooseflesh spreads down my arms.

“I like the way this looks,” she says, thumbing my raw lip again. “But I want to be the one to do it next time.”

“Okay.” The word is hushed against her glove.

Then she leans down and places a chaste kiss on my cheek, as if she can’t help but leave her mark on me.

“Goodnight, Imogen,” she says.

“Goodnight,” I murmur.

The burn of her kiss sears me, but I hold on to the pain. It’s a comfort that I take to bed—a reassurance as I drift asleep that maybe we can rebuild what’s broken between us.

12

NORA

I’m not surprised when I walk into my home office and see the Unseelie King sitting at my desk.

Silas pokes at the perfectly lined pens next to my typewriter, nudging them out of order with a ringed finger, as if he knows it’ll make me twitch. His silver-white hair is cropped shorter on the sides than usual, freshly cut by the barber. A few strands hang loose and brush the edges of his brows.

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