Page 92 of A Taste like Sin
toward the bottom of the bed. “I may require your assistance,” he says, a wry smile tilting his mouth,
visible even in the dark.
I help him unfurl the blanket and he draws it around us both, resuming his previous position of holding
me.
“You’re shaking,” he says, running his hand along my arm.
“It could be shock,” I playfully counter. “I think I’m relaxed for once.”
Despite everything. All I feel is his heat sheltering me from another storm raging beyond the confines
of the suite.
“One day, I will take you south,” he murmurs as his fingers creep up to my hair, sinking into the
strands of it. “The storms there are fiercer, but the sound… Here, it’s just loud, aimless noise, but
there? Out in the country, it’s like a symphony when it rains. The animals howl. The trees creak. You
would never feel alone, of that I am sure.”
A tired laugh escapes me, sinking into the sheets. “It sounds beautiful. Do you miss it there?”
“Sometimes…” He stops stroking me, but his arm tightens, drawing me farther against his chest.
“Maybe in some ways I’ve stopped myself from going back—at least alone. Not because I fear the
memories, but…”
“But?” I retaliate for the intimate way he’s touching me by sliding one of my hands back to rest on his
hip.
A low sound rumbles from his throat. “But I don’t want to become the person I was when I lived
there,” he admits. “He was violent. Cold. He could do unspeakable things without hesitation. There
was no poise…no patience. I’ve left that man behind and I’ve taken great pains to become someone
else. Even if that someone is a reformed‘criminal mastermind who uses his paintings for money
laundering.’”
My lazy smile falls flat. “Tell me about it. I…I won’t judge you,” I add in a rush.
“It’s not a part of my life I like to relive,” he admits. A hitch disrupts his deep baritone—a rare,
fleeting slip in his façade.
“But you know about my past,” I say softly. “I want to know about yours.”
“Fair enough.” His heavy sigh bastes my skin in warm breath.
I inhale it, feeling that one wrong move may shatter the fragile trust he’s willing to extend my way.
“Start with where you grew up,” I suggest.
