Page 35 of Widow's Walk

His chuckle is low and knowing. I gawk at him as it grates on my every nerve. “Boy, that girl has you by the balls already.”

I shake my head sharply. “No, it isn’t like that.”

He leans forward with his elbows on his desk and eyebrows lowered. “Growing feelings for your fiancée is not the issue, Blackwell. It’s letting it cloud your judgement, especially in a situation like last night. It will only get you and possiblyherkilled.” His words slam into me like a physical blow. “I understand you wanted to protect her. But don’t you ever forget your role in this family. Where your duties lie.”

A surge of resentment pulses through me. I feel offended he would imply my duties are above Sinclair. But he’s fucking right. The family is first. Always.

“I understand,Baba.” I bite down the urge to argue or explain. But I know he doesn’t want excuses.

I can’t let Sinclair be the reason I fail him or our family. Even if there’s a part of me that knows it’s already too late.

After clearing things up with my father, I leave his office in silence. I head next to the kitchen to have some breakfast made, balancing it on a serving tray myself to deliver.

Despite every warning ringing in my head and every vow I made to my father, I need to see her. To remember she’s still breathing. That she made it out alive and she’s still here.

I arrive back to my bedroom and close the door behind me still balancing the tray of food. The unmade bed is empty, but the sound of running water coming from the bathroom pulls my attention.

Placing the food down on a table, I follow the trail of steam inside the bathroom. The air is thick and warm, fogged up from the hot water in the shower. Through the misted glass, Sinclair’s figure moves. So graceful and devastating. I lean back against the counter and cross my arms to refrain from going to her.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t do the walk of shame without washing off all the makeup and dried-up sex on me,” she says, her voice lazily amused.

I snort, biting back a grin. “No worries.”

A glass sitting on the sink’s vanity catches my eye. I pick it up to inspect the soapy and bloodied water. Inside, her rings sit at the bottom, glinting ominously through the suds. I fish one out and rest it on an open palm to study closely. What looked like a simple gold band last night is anything but. A tiny dagger folds neatly down, retractable like a switchblade.

A slow grin curves my lips as I drop it back into the glass. Sinclair Ortiz, always armed. I finger the other ring out and it too looks like a completely different one as well. Last night it was a gold band with a golden rosebud. But the flower is gone, revealing a small, needle-like spike.

Shaking my head with a chuckle low under my breath, I drop the second ring back into the sudsy water and turn my attention back to her in the present. “I have breakfast for when you’re done.”

“Oh, good. I’m starving.”

I’m about to exit the bathroom when the water cuts off. She opens the glass door to stick her head out, her face bare and flushed from the heat. “Can I have a couple towels?”

I’m momentarily struck. It’s a rare thing to see her without her armor of dark lipstick, winged eyeliner, and the scathing edge she hides behind. Just bare skin, damp hair, and a raw kind of beauty that hits like a physical punch. She’s somehow even more lethal like this.

I have to wrench myself back to the present and grab two towels. When I hand them over, I’m careful not to brush her skin. One touch and I know I’ll stop pretending I can resist her. Then I flee, escaping the bathroom before I do something reckless. Just imagining her body bare, wet, it has my fists flexing with a want I can’t bury.

Adjusting my stiffening cock through my pants, I take a seat and wait for her to join me. Moments later, she comessauntering out wrapped in a towel and using another to dry her hair.

I don’t comment when she drops the wet towel on the ground, leaving it there, before taking a seat across from me with her legs tucked under her. She takes a napkin to lay over her lap like a fucking princess before snagging a piece of bacon for herself.

She is a walking contradiction, and it truly vexes me. Her good manners and bad habits so tangled together, I never know which to expect. Her unpredictability is frustrating yet alluring.

“Not hungry?” Her arrogant tone snaps me out of it. The smug smirk and knowing spark in her eyes have me slightly shifting and clearing my throat to buy a second of composure.

I don’t answer her and begin digging in. I cut my eggs with too much force, causing the knife and fork to scrape against the plate. The high shriek is somehow less suffering than the silence stretching between us. How she can sit there without a goddamn care in the world when all I can do is bottle it all up and keep it together. It has my teeth aching.

“You can’t ever do that again,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level.

“Do what?” She’s so calm as she stares back at me, all wide-eyed innocence, sipping her coffee as if we’re discussing the weather.

I set my fork down and flex my hands on my thighs, so they won’t shake. “Sinclair.” She doesn’t even blink. “You are not invincible.”

“Neither are you,” she bounces back.

I ignore her comeback. “You could have gotten seriously hurt—”

“I’m still standing,” she cuts me off.

---