Page 47 of Left-Hand Larceny

But I don’t.

I hold her eyes instead, and let her feel the weight of my words as I say, “Y-your feelings are v-valid.”

She blinks up at me like I’ve slapped her.

“You’re a-allowed to b-be frustrated,” I continue, voice low. “A-allowed to be m-mad. F-family’s m-messy.”

She lets out a shaky laugh. “God, you make it sound so simple.”

I grin, a little crooked.

“It’s n-not. But y-you deserve to h-have your emotions. E-even when their m-m-messy. N-no justifications n-needed.”

Her face crumples for a second before she smooths it out with a brittle laugh.

“I’m fine,” she says, voice too high, too tight. “Just… tired. Really tired.”

The ache in her voice makes something sharp twist in my gut. Sadie laughs, watery and sharp. I think it would be less painful to take a skate blade to my carotid than to hear her fight back tears.

“I just feel so selfish.”

She’s not, but I keep that thought to myself for now. I don’t want to discourage her from teasing this apart. With me.

“I feel guilty even being mad at them.”

Sadie presses her forehead to her knees and I smile a little, even though I know it’s not funny.

“F-family is supposed t-to be c-c-complicated. You c-can love them and s-still want to throw s-something at their h-heads sometimes.”

That drags a genuine laugh out of her, shaky but bright. She peeks up at me from under her thick dark lashes and something deep in my gut contracts.

“They stress me the fuck out Ragnar, and I don’t really know what to do about it.”

“I c-could h-help,” I offer before I think better of it.

Sadie’s head snaps up so fast her glasses almost slide off her nose. It’s so cute I smile.

“Help?”

I nod, “W-with the s-stress.”

The way her face goes beet red immediately tells me she’s not hearing “talk” when I say “help.”

I want to tease her, except I don’t tease women. I don’t talk to them. It’s surprisingly easy to use eye contact and body language to reign in a willing partner. With Sadie, it feels different. I want to push about what she thought I was offering. I know she thought it was sex.

I’m not surprised, mostly because I am offering—always—except it wouldn’t be just for stress-relief. I’d want to take care of her. Ruin her for anyone else. The urge is simmering beneath my skin. To cup her jaw in my palm, see her bronzed skin of hercheeks against my pale hands. I want to stroke my thumb over the curve of her lips and draw them to mine, taking the words and the doubt from the depths of her mouth.

It would cross a line.

Right?

This careful partnership we’re dancing around? Sex would topple it like a house of cards. Because nothing about sleeping with Sadie would be routine. Ruin her… that’s laughable. It would ruin me.Cut me down at the knees. And if the opportunity ever presented itself, I would take it in a heartbeat.

“If y-you want to t-talk. Or do s-something to take y-your m-mind off it. O-or,” I add, trying to feign an unaffected laugh, “we c-could do a c-c-crossword p-puzzle.”

“Oh my God. I thought—” Sadie blinks. Then groans, burying her face in her hands again. “Geez, I’m a pervert.”

I don’t mind, Sadie.

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