Page 78 of Buried Beneath Sin

My knife, having been tucked under my pillow, slams into the doorframe beside Sagan’s head as he makes it to the door.

“Don’teverwalk through that fucking door and wake me up before ten ever again,” I snarl as I sit up and glare at the back of his head.

Sagan doesn’t even flinch. He glances at the knife as he keeps walking, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

“Get up, Knox.”

“I’m going to kill you for waking me up this early.”

He snickers as he descends down the stairs. “You have five minutes to get into the shower. If you’re not downstairs in twenty minutes, I’ll come back up and touch you.”

For a second, I think about mutiny. About getting up, yanking my knife out of the doorframe, and chasing downSagan. He’s lucky my bed is way too comfortable. I flop down onto my back with a heavy sigh and savor the few minutes I have left before I have to get up and work.

I hate working.

I was kind of hoping that the twins would just do most of the work once we took over. Was it too much to ask to just be the pretty mascot for Bright Starr Funeral Home? Apparently so, because Thatcher and Sagan decided to actually give me duties around here.

Thatcher makes me vacuum and mop the entire building, take inventory of supplies, and then dust the caskets. Sagan has me clean out the supply closet then help build several wired shelves to go into the small storage space. By the time I get a break around noon, it’s spent hunting down Beatrix and dragging her into the office where Thatcher has bunkered down to analyze the workload for the week so that she can see that I’m not only pretty, but smart too.

“Here, this is what I plan to do to this place.” I drop the laptop into Beatrix’s lap once she’s situated herself on the old, worn leather couch.

She spares me a glance through thick, long lashes. Because I’m looking at her, I notice the blossoming of pink beneath her warm brown cheeks. I frown just as she jerks her gaze away to stare down at the screen. Her shoulders hunch forward as she attempts to make herself smaller, then she flicks both of her braids over her shoulders.

What the hell is all this fidgeting about? And the blushing? What in the world—Oh. She’s thinking about last night. About what transpired between us. My cock stirs at the same time I scowl at her.

“Hey, cut that shit out,” I tell her, perhaps a little more sharply than I should’ve judging by the hard flinch that causes Beatrix to recoil away from me. Her head snaps up and her large brown eyes widen with alarm.

“What did I do?” Her question is a little breathless and the words are twinged with nervousness.

“I mean it, Starr Girl. Last night was some good old-fashion pussy eating among friends.” I work to keep my voice light and teasing despite how much I want to snap at her.

Of courseshewould turn last night into a thing. Beatrix Starr seems to be the epitome of a wallflower, shy and reserved. I wonder if anyone’s ever eaten her out before last night or if I was her first. I guess it doesn’t matter. Clearly she’s conjuring up some fairytale romance in her head about the entire thing. Why else would she be blushing?

And so the fuck what if my dick is semi-hard as it recalls being between her thighs? That has nothing to do with anything.

With a smirk that I know doesn’t reach my eyes, I add, “Don’tmake it weird.”

Beatrix’s face pinkens again before her head ducks and her eyes return to the laptop’s screen. “Sorry.”

I’m about to turn my attention back to the design and the materials I plan to use to turn Bright Starr Funeral Home into a business worth being proud of when an ugly thought slithers through my head.

What if she’s not making up a romantic story of what transpired? What if she’sashamedof what happened? I look down at the long, bright pink maxi skirt I’ve chosen to wear with the navy blue sweater with blue fuzzy cuffs. The cluster of goldbracelets I wear daily now dangle at my wrists, quiet due to the lack of movement. Does Starr Girl see me and try to wrap her head around the fact that I’m not the typical man you’d find between a woman’s legs?

A bitterness wells up swiftly. Sure, this could be my insecurities from a lifetime ago welling up. But there’s a very good chance, given that she grew up in a town eerily similar to mine, that she’s not attracted to me at all. That my unusual nature is too out of the realm of what’s normal for her to understand or find it endearing about me.

Fucking bitch.

Stifling the urge to lash out, too aware of Thatcher in the room with us, I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

“Thatcher wanted me to show you the changes I’m planning to make, so here. Tell me what you think,” I push her fingers out of the way of the mouse and click a few different screens. Leaning closer, I sneer into her ear, “Not that I fucking care what you want from this.”

Beatrix doesn’t look up from the screen, but she gives me a tight nod.

Starr Girl studies every inch of the plans I’ve drawn up on a fun CAD program I’ve been playing with for months. When she’s done, she checks out all the digital shopping carts I’ve filled with the materials I’ll need to see my plans come to fruition. She scrolls, analyzing each and every item—reading their descriptions and checking reviews. Itryto contain my growing frustration. It’s not like I need her approval or anything in the first place. My finger is going to hit ‘checkout’ here in just a second when I snatch the laptop back. Still… My attention jumps back and forth between the computer screen and Beatrix as I wait for something—anything—from her. She’s been silent for so long that, finally, my irritation boils up and explodes.

“Well?” I snap.

Starr Girl jumps in her seat, her head jerking up so that our eyes meet. “Well, what?”

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