Page 125 of I Am Sin

“Sorry. You told me to tell you one thing. I told you.”

I can’t argue with his logic. I just didn’t expect his answer to lead to more questions.

What is his story? Why is he the way he is?

How does one become an addict?

There are about a zillion answers to that question. Not that I would know any. Dragon is the first addict I’ve known. I knew people in college who overindulged, but none of them were addicts. They’d go back to class on Monday and continue getting straight As, only to party hard again the following weekend.

That’s not addiction. That’s letting loose.

Addiction is another thing altogether. Since I hardly drink and I never took drugs—at least not knowingly—it’s not something I understand. But Iwantto understand. Because I want to understand Dragon.

But if he won’t tell me who the hooker reminded him of, he’s certainly not going to indulge me if I pepper him with questions about addiction.

Dragon is a very private person, and it probably irks him that I even know he’s an addict.

“Fine,” I say. “I won’t ask any more questions. At least not tonight. But as I said, I’m not kicking you out of here. If you want to leave, leave on your own.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says. His voice is low, almost menacing.

I can’t help a slight smile. That’s the first time he’s said anything like that. That he actually wants to be with me.

“Then don’t.”

“Show me your silk scarves,” he says darkly.

The two halves of my tank top are still hanging around my arms, my breasts totally exposed. I walk to my dresser, open the top drawer where I keep my scarves and other accessories. I choose a dark-blue one. Not because of the darkness in Dragon, but because it’s on top.

I hand it to him.

He gazes at it, moves it in his hands, fingering the fabric. “You have another?”

“I do.” I grab the next scarf, which is light pink.

Darkness and light.

Dusk and dawn.

I hand it to him.

He takes it, gazes at it for another minute, fingering the fabric once more.

“Lie down on the bed, Diana. Lie down and grab two rungs on your headboard.”

His voice is low and dark, and for a moment, I feel like it’s the dragon on his chest talking to me. As if that’s the true person he is on the inside. A fire-breathing dragon.

But he’s not.

He’s simply a man. A troubled man. A man for whom I’m rapidly developing feelings I shouldn’t have.

It’s more than just his dark good looks. Hell, I come from a family of men with dark good looks. It’s more than just his gorgeous hazel eyes. Even though they’re so unique, like a cascade of water falling over soft moss.

It’s the beast within him. The storm-tossed animal trying to get out.

And it’s focused solely on me.

It tells me to obey him. To obey him without further questions.

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