Page 9 of Silent Night

I do immediately, his command latching onto a forbidden, dark part of me that’s more than happy to obey this stranger.

His cheek brushes mine, his hairs tickling the side of my face again as he leans closer. I’m a statue of indecision, knowing I should push him off of me, but not wanting to either. He could very well kill me now, go after Bentley, and rob us. We’d be ruled as a murder scene and if he’s good, he could get away with it too.

His hands encircle my wrists, pinning them to my sides. “That’s twice now you’ve saved me when you could have gotten me in trouble. Starting to think you’re full of bad ideas, girl.”

“Maybe.” Wouldn’t be the first time. “You talk like youwantto get in trouble.”

He chuckles, his breath blowing down the front of my tank, and fuck, I’m thankful he can’t see how my body reacts. “I want you to be smart and have some sense. Letting a stranger roam your house, touch you...” To emphasize his words, his grip tightens. “Eat your food is a bad idea.”

“I know,” I breathe, my lungs feeling seconds from exploding. I tilt my face slightly, catching the glimmer from his eyes as he meets my gaze. “What’s your name?”

I half-expect him to avoid answering, but he replies, “Saint.” It was too quick an answer, so I feel he’s telling the truth.

“Why do I get the sense you’re no saint?”

“Because I’m not.” He pulls back slightly, the shadowed version of him tipping his head. “Saints are good guys, and baby, I’m everything but. They worship at altars, while I’m ready to make you mine.”

Good fucking Christ.He—Saint—needs to get out of here, out of my life before I make a huge fucking mistake. That’s what he’d be. Thecriminal sneaking into my house, who claims he won’t hurt me sounds like a lie waiting to happen.

“What’s your name, sweet girl?”

For the first time all night, I hesitate. It’s silly really because it’s only my name. Without a last name to go along with it, he can’t really gain anything from it. But it feels different. More intimate if he knows who I am.

He takes my long pause the correct way. “Not going to tell me? Finally you’re being smart. I like that, though it’s a shame I won’t know the name of the girl who’s saved me twice. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.”

That comment makes my heart pang. He sounds so lonely, so lost. “Why do you keep saying I’ve saved you?”

His hands release my wrists, and one trails up the inside of my arm as he replies, “Because you could have locked me in your father’s office until your parents got back, and then had me arrested. Tonight, you could have fought back, told your stepbrother about me hiding in your pantry, called the cops yourself…so many options, but you didn’t do any of them.”

“Night’s not over.”

He chuckles, the sound way too dark, dangerous, and delicious for my libido. He’s still touching me, still standing close. I need to breathe something that isn’t him—my newest bad idea.

“I want out of here.”

Saint, for all he’s said, keeps his initial word about not hurting me and immediately backs away, pushing open the pantry door. He steps out first, not meeting my eyes as I follow, walking to the other side of the room, breathing in much-needed air.

“Stay here,” I murmur as I head down the hallway, wondering if he’ll listen. He’s played the friendly thief well so far, so is this where he follows and murders me? Or will he bolt, scared I’ve changed my mind andescape while he can? We’re both skirting a tentative, precarious line, neither one willing to fully make the jump.

After checking that the living room is empty of stepbrothers, I use the bright Christmas tree lights to illuminate my path to the tree, finding two presents I know he’ll make money off of. Mom FaceTimed me the other month, raving about the things she bought Dean for Christmas, and thankfully, knowing Mom, I’m very familiar with her wrapping skills. Or lack thereof, which means anything in a gift bag beneath the tree is from her because she sucks at using wrapping paper. I double check the tag, pleased with myself when I’m correct.

With the presents in hand, I carry them back to the kitchen, to Saint who’s lingering in the same spot I left him.

“These are—were—gifts from Mom to my stepdad, and she told me what’s inside them, so I know they’ll be helpful to you. This is a chain.” I hand over the smaller bag. “Worth a lot, knowing the kinds of places my mom shops at. And a new cell phone.” I slide the larger bag into his hand.

He doesn’t peek inside them, just stares at me, his brows lifting and scrunching together. “You’re giving me these?”

I shrug. “You were going to steal from us anyway. If you are, may as well get the better of the gifts beneath the tree. If she wanted him to have these, she shouldn’t have disappeared last minute. Serves her right.”

Saint slowly shakes his head. “My fuck, you really are full of bad ideas. How have you survived life this long?” He breaks his stare with me to peek inside the bags, looking through the pile of tissue paper my mother not-so-artfully placed on top of the items. “Merry Christmas to me then.”

“I figure you can use them better than my stepfather can. Now that you have what you’ve come for, I should ask you to leave.”

His crooked grin sets my insides on fire. “Suddenly so polite, but you have it, Miss.” Then he bends slightly in a mock bow before tucking the bags beneath his arm and re-zipping his jacket, which looks pitifully thin.I wonder if I should steal one of Dean’s heavy and expensive coats for him but also wonder if too much charity will offend the man used to stealing what he wants on his own terms.

Saint walks to the back door, opening it as a burst of winter air blasts inside. I resist from running off, my pyjamas pitiful against the cold weather. It goes to show how heated this house is compared to the outdoors, and immediately, I feel bad for the guy I’m sending out into it.

But asking him to stay is probably the worst thing I could do. Worse than anything else I’ve done tonight.

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