Page 29 of The Sinner and the Scholar
I grind against her, and she does the same. I glance at her lips—my mouth waters. My mind wanders into a dream, remembering a part of the gospel I’m asking her to relinquish—sinners deserve a second chance—everyone does.
I’m no fool. Bad people did everything possible to ensure the gospel never saw the light of day. I’d assumed it was to stop a dangerous prophecy from leading sinners to holy relics of power, but now I’m unsure.
Now I fear I’ve been blindsided.
Maybe the prize is this letting go of hate, this division between our genders, because the tiny kernel of warmth in my heart seems to grow despite my excuses. It’s as though that part of me knows something my mind doesn’t.
Thea’s vulnerability is beneath the hard exterior, and I worry about it. I worry about what made it hide far away and what’s keeping it there.
We hear male voices filter from somewhere close. Zeke. Cisco. Dom. I’m instantly reminded of what I’m here for, and it’s not love. Lust. Whatever this is.
I’m here to save the life of someone I care for. And to dismantle this organization. An unwanted sense of grime slices through me, but I ignore it. I’m not alone in this mission. Although it pains me, and every cell in my body screams for me to do the opposite, I step away from her.
She almost had me there.Almost.
I adjust my erection so it’s not tenting my slacks and catch a genuine glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. Something about this moment begs to be savored, studied and understood.
Another time. In another life.
I have to do something drastic to gain her trust without being manipulated. Before I can talk myself out of this incredibly foolish move, I dig beneath my collar and tug out a charm I haven’t removed in years.
“I have something for you.”
“What?”
“A gift. Here.” I show her the small colored stones linked by a silver wire and threaded onto the leather. “It’s a good luck charm.”
“Luck is for the lazy,” she blurts, then shuts her mouth. “It’s what the Rev always says. But frankly, she’s right. Sinners can’t hope for a strike of fortune or the hand of God to bail us out. We make our own luck.”
She’s blabbering, trying to throw up one last defense. I find it strangely endearing. It makes me think she’s as confused about her feelings as I am. I remove the charm and belligerently lean toward her. Her breath hitches as I get close. My hands pause at her neck, my face beside hers. I want to give her time to decline, to say no, but her lips angle toward me. Despite everything, I have a surreal moment of thinking she wants me to kiss her.
Tie the cord. Don’t blow this, Wes.
My senses catch fire when I brush her skin with my knuckles. I push her hair aside and knot the cord, barely suppressing a shiver.
When I’m done, I linger and stare into her eyes. I find something that wraps around my chest and squeezes. Bloody hell, it rocks me to my core. It’s not hate. Nor is it defiance or derision. It’s the earth-moving realization that I’ve done something meaningful for her. She doesn’t even know the full power of this gift, but she accepts it.
Because I gave it to her.
I want to feel triumphant. I want to know that I’ve won this round. But instead, I feel humbled. I clear my throat and step back. “It’s wise to always wear it, even when you sleep.”
She frowns at the tiny charm. A million thoughts cascade through her mind, none of which I’m privy to, but I sense her hesitation. If I tell her the truth about that charm, she’ll take it off. I know it.
“Don’t overthink it, Thea.” I echo her words from earlier. “It’s a peace offering and for lucky dreams.”
Then I adjust my spectacles, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk away.
Something big is happening between us. Big enough to destroy my world… or finally mend it. If only I knew which one.
Twelve
Thea
Ispend the following evening in my cell, avoiding responsibilities, resisting the call of my vibrator, and knowing consequences are coming for my behavior. But I don’t seem to care. I’m stuck in a weird mental space. Wesley has me tied in all sorts of knots. I’m on the verge of hunting him down, tossing him against a wall, and screwing his brains out.
To get it out of my system.
I don’t know how Mercy does it. She’s a sex junkie, but she manages to control her impulses every minute of the day while here I am, positively dripping and panting after a close encounter with a man I hardly know.
