Page 138 of Sinful Desires
I exhaled, rough and ragged, as her hand slid lower, brushing the edge of my abs. My cock stirred.
“The worst,” I said, voice wrecked.
Her hand dropped away, leaving heat behind. She looked up at me, lashes thick, lips parted. That white silk dress clung to her hips, her hair twisted into a braid, cardigan slipping off one shoulder. No makeup.
Just her. Bare. Painfully beautiful.
The girl who had once asked if I’d let her drown. The girl who I was supposed to protect but who had ended up saving me.
The girl my dead heart had chosen to fucking wake up for.
“Why?” she whispered.
Because I’d do anything for you.
I looked at her. At the mess she’d made of me. At the ruin I’d become just by breathing her air.
My eyes drifted to the sea. “What do you want, Miss Harper?”
She tilted her head. “Why do you hate Nice?”
“Who says I hate it?”
She crossed her arms, lips twitching like she already knew the answer.
“Your body did. I speak fluent asshole, and yours was screaming. The fists, the murder brows, the way you looked at that plane, like it owed you blood and dared to breathe.”
When she told me we were coming here for four weeks, I had almost set her condo on fire, dragged her to my underground range, and locked her in.
It took every last thread of restraint I had to come back here a year ago. I’d barely lasted two days. I wasn’t supposed to come here again.
But she wanted it.
A break, she’d said. Peace. Somewhere quiet.
And I had followed.
My brain had run in crisis mode the entire eight-hour flight. I’d sat there, spread out and silent, staring at her like she was the only thing keeping me sane. She’d ignored it, flipped through her books, and scrolled her phone like she didn’t feel the heat of my eyes locked on every fucking inch of her.
Creepy? Maybe. But I didn’t give a fuck.
Her lavender shampoo had been the only thing in that cabin keeping my fists unclenched.
And now we were here. On cursed soil. The same old ghosts gnawing at my spine.
I’d run for two hours. Done a hundred pushups in the sand until sweat had blinded me. It hadn’t helped. Nothing did.
Not until I saw her again.
And now my chest felt fucking lighter.
“It’s a cursed place.”
She turned, squinting into the pink-gold sunset bleeding over the horizon, mouth twisted in amusement. “Cursed? Please. It’s giving honeymoon brochure. I could rot here in peace.”
I grabbed the bottle of water that I’d left on the sand and took a long swig.
“Palm trees, warm sand, and an endless sea.” She turned to me smugly. “We’ve been here two days and I’m already picturing myself retired. Silk robe, tan lines, maybe a little French boyfriend who isn’t paid to babysit me.”
