Page 19 of Tempted By Sin

“If it wasn’t for him, I’m not sure I would be here right now.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Liam says. He walks forward to stand beside me, his hand coming up to rest firmly on my lower back. “All I did was aid the police in finding Pae by offering information on her last known whereabouts and whatnot. Once they managed to gain access to the local cameras around her office, it was easy sailing from there.”

“But still,” Mom says, warmth in her tone, “you helped find my baby girl, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

Liam grins. “Thank you, Ms. Jones. I would do anything for Pae.”

I pat her hand covering mine and smile. “Okay, enough about me. I want to hear what you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone.”

Mom is hesitant to change the subject from me to her, given everything I’ve been through, but I’m tired of having the spotlight trained only on me. I’m not anyone of importance, besides being the fiancée of a politician, so I don’t feel it necessary to have everyone around me focused on my situation.

Instead, I would rather listen to my mom tell me about her treatment—which we can only afford thanks to Liam continuing to pay for her medical bills—what she has been watching on TV lately, and how she feels given her diagnosis.

But as she tells me everything I want to hear, I find myself getting lost in thought. It’s unintentional, but I can’t help it.

The man who kidnapped me has been plaguing my mind ever since I was rescued. Thoughts of him make themselves known at unexpected times, and no matter how hard I try to force them from my thoughts, they come right back. The way he touched me, licked me… God, it’s been driving me insane.

Where is he right now? Has he been caught?

I shouldn’t care whether he’s dead or alive, but my body refuses to allow him to leave my subconscious. Instead, he’s been firmly planted in a small corner of my mind, refusing to leave. I wish I could forget about him because I know it’s wrong to think about the man who kidnapped me that I betrayed my fiancé with.

It’s not beyond me how fucked up the situation is.

But as Liam listens intently to my mom speak about the TV show she’s watching currently, the same women’s perfume I’ve smelled countless times on my fiancé’s collar wafts around me like a storm cloud. And for a brief moment, I wonder just how worried he was about me the past seven days.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Paetyn

Utensils clingingagainst porcelain plates echo in the back of my mind. It’s a sound that wouldn’t normally annoy me, but when it’s mixed with Liam and his father’s nonstop chattering about politics and how Liam is doing in the polls, it’s now irritating the hell out of me.

I sigh. I’ve only taken two bites out of my medium-rare steak, though it is cooked to perfection, and I haven’t touched the roasted veggies beside it. I haven’t been able to eat much since I’ve gotten home. I don’t know if I got used to eating sandwiches and soup while being held in the shack or if my lack of appetite is due to my mind constantly thinking about that damn masked man.

Either way, Liam’s mom is starting to notice my full plate compared to theirs.

“Paetyn, honey. Are you okay?”

I lift my eyes from the cold food and meet Angie’s gaze. Her light blue eyes hold a quizzical look about them as they search my face. Angie lowers her cutlery beside her empty plate and clasps her fingers together on her lap. She is the epitome of class with her diamond jewelry, ironed beige blouse, and black chinos tailored to fit her frame. Not a strand of blonde hair is out of place from the styled up-do.

In one word, she's beautiful, but I suppose that’s what money can buy you.

I clear my throat and force a smile on my face, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It never does when I speak with Liam’s mother. “I’m okay, Angie. Just tired.”

Liam and his father, Pat, are still conversing across the dining table, neither of them stopping to take a breath and listen in on our conversation. I mean, there isn’t much to listen to, but I know I’m tired of hearing about what politician is doing what and who is tanking in the polls.

“Well, that would explain your lack of appetite,” Angie comments, her lips set into a thin line. “Unless the chefs did a terrible job of cooking your meal.”

I shake my head. The last thing I need is for one of their many chefs to get in trouble for something they didn’t do. “The food is fantastic, really. I’ve just had a long week, as you can imagine, and it seems the exhaustion is creeping up on me.”

There is no way in hell I’m going to mention my inability to forget about the masked man and the things he did to me. The way he touched me; his eyes peering into mine as if I were the only woman in the world. Or the way he told me he would find me. His tone wasn’t threatening, but it was a promise. A promise that sent a shiver down my spine and heated my core to almost boiling temperatures.

And when I have a fiancé, thinking about another man fucking me is the last thing I should be doing. I know I should forget it ever happened, like water under the bridge, but I still feel the ghost of his fingers grazing my skin when I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to Liam snore beside me.

No matter how many times I tell myself it’s wrong to think about him, I can’t stop. And I have no idea why. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe I’m just fucked up.

As a psychologist, you would think I would understand what’s going on in my brain, but the truth is, I’m beyond clueless, and it’s driving me insane. It’s enough to make me not want to eat anything.

“Good,” Angie responds, breaking me from my thoughts. “If you’re not feeling well, I will make sure the chefs don’t bring a plate of dessert for you. The last thing you need is to upset your stomach.” She raises a perfectly shaped brow at me and leans across the table. “I mean, unless you’re… you know what…”

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