Page 438 of The Sinner: James

He searches my eyes.

“This has nothing to do with me forgiving her. It’s about her staying away from me all these years. She knew where to find me if she wanted my forgiveness. She didn’t even try to talk to me.”

“Perhaps she feels the burden of guilt.”

“Well... In that case, I can’t wait to hear her explanation.”

I observe him for a few seconds before I move closer, my hand trailing his shoulder.

He tips his gaze down as I touch his forearm and grab his phone.

I take it from his hand and set it on the table.

“We only have a few more hours left...” I say, smiling faintly. “I want you to give them to me. Forget about this phone call. At least, for now,” I murmur, stroking his arm gently.

His features relax somewhat, and his lips pull into a soft grin before he tilts his head down and gives me a tender kiss.

“You’re right,” he says, my hand buried in his palm as he rises to his feet. “Come,” he murmurs.

I push off the sofa and follow him.

We walk into the bedroom, our hands linked.

The room is draped in the light of a spellbinding summer dusk, a mix of colors bleeding into the evening shadows.

He pivots in front of me, brings his hand to my neck, unties the straps of my dress, and lets it slide off my shoulders.

The garment hits the floor.

His fingers brush all my hair away from my face before he presses his lips against mine.

His strokes are soft and tender.

“Give me a minute,” he says after a few seconds.

He places another kiss on my lips and walks away.

A moment later, the water runs in the shower.

I enter the second bathroom, slip out of my lingerie and take a quick shower before patting myself dry with a towel, returning to the room, and sliding under the covers, naked.

Minutes later, his footsteps trail the hallway.

He swaggers in, a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes sparkling like gemstones, his face glowing, freshly shaved.

A scent of aftershave drifts from him.

“When do you have to leave?” I ask.

“At midnight.” A lustful smile creases his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the plane,” he says.

I roll the covers to the side, inviting him in.

He puts some music on before lying next to me, his towel still wrapped around his waist.

His head sinks into the pillow, his gaze going up and lingering on the ceiling.

My gaze hovers over his profile, the strong line of his jaw, his muscular neck, chest, and chiseled arms.

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