Page 18 of Princess of Thieves

“Proper sleep and hygiene will do that to a girl,” I say, “plus a little nutrition.” I lift my fork.

Guy’s jaw tenses. “It sickens me to think of what you went through,” he says, “a lovely woman like yours—”

“I’m tough,” I cut him off. “Uncle John was a bastard, but I’m past it. And it sounds like he’s going to pay for his crimes, which is all I ever wanted.”

Guy shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Well, it’s some of what I meant, but—” His eyes drill into me, even across the length of the table. “You... locked away with Locksley and his gang.” He clicks his tongue. “I know men like that, and I know what they do with someone like you, and it isn’t right.”

My throat goes dry. I swallow water, but it’s useless, because it isn’t untrue. Rob, Will, Tuck, LJ—they all had some...masculine needs, you could say. They all...took advantage of my body. Not in the sense that I was unwilling, but in the sense that, I don’t know...

Like they couldn’t help themselves.

Like, once I was there, it was almost an instinct to take me, to claim me.

Heat churns in my belly unbidden. I cross my legs, glad that this time I’m wearing underwear. In spite of myself, in spite of the lies, in spite of all they kept from me, I’m never going to be able to deny the pleasure that I felt with them, how badly I wanted it, how much I will probably still crave it for the rest of my life. No matter whether I ever find anyone else or fall in love, there just doesn’t seem to be any way I’ll ever achieve that kind of peak again.

I rub my lips together.

In a flash, I picture myself in bed later that night, in nothing but my nightgown, imagining my time with them, allowing myself to revisit it, pure and untainted, hot and urgent.

Suddenly, I feel like I might cry. Is this heartbreak? Hormones? What the hell is wrong with me?

I grip the edges of the table.

“Maren?” Guy’s voice jolts me back to reality.

“Sorry,” I choke out and blink a few times before meeting his gaze.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” he says politely.

The reality hits me. No matter how far I get from them, no matter how much I establish myself, forge my own path, make my own life—which I’m hopefully closer than ever to doing—I’m never not going to crave them, all four of them. They put a burning void in me that only they can fill. I could never admit it out loud, but it’s the truth.

I feel the gentle weight of Guy’s hands on my bare shoulders. His skin is supple, smooth, not the hands of someone who works outside or handles weapons.

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” he says gently. “They can’t get you here.”

Words escape me, so I simply swallow and nod.

“And mark my words, Maren, if I can ever get a bead on them, I’ll—” His fingertips press just a tad harder into me, causing me to look up into his face. His eyes are flinty, focused. The set of his jaw is determined.

“You don’t need to,” I say, half-whispered. “I just want to move on as much as I can, anyway.”

I think Guy doesn’t move, doesn’t drop his resolve.

“I do have to,” he says. “That’s the kind of thing I can’t abide. Maybe it’s too hard for you to understand right now, Maren, but—” He looks down at me. “They’re animals.Animals.”

The word sends a shiver to my core.

Chapter Six

Friday night settles in, temperate and beautiful—just warm enough for short sleeves, the air just crisp enough to make being outside tolerable. Guy’s house is alight with soft lanterns and gently burning candles, white tablecloth high-tops, an old-time bluegrass quartet playing in the corner of the patio, and liquor flowing freely. I’d spent most of the day in my room watching workers come in and out to set things up, only finally emerging at the appointed hour.

I didn’t see any point in resisting because, right now, I just need to survive.

The day after I first emailed Dawn—well,Guyemailed Dawn, so she thinks—I got a reply that the request was in and that it would take about two weeks to get the certified copy, but it would be in the office when it was ready. I permanently deleted the chain. Now all I have to do is wait, spend the remaining days of June doing what I can to prepare myself, and not draw any ire from Guy.

A white-coated bartender hands me a flute of champagne, and I accept it. Across the patio, Guy, casual yet polished in a light summer suit, speaks with a jowly businessman and nods to me. I lift my glass in acknowledgment. The businessman’s deep-set eyes follow Guy’s gaze to me and linger for a minute, almost hungrily.

I straighten my shoulders. Well, I guess I can’t blame him.

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