Page 33 of Sinful Desires
I poured the sludge into a glass, tipped it back, and swallowed in three long, rough gulps. When I looked at heragain, she was still glaring, a frown carved into her forehead, lips pinched tightly.
Her hand settled on her hip and my gaze dropped unwillingly, but not unwilling enoughto look away. It was too much, toofuckingmuch. Every inch of her screamed to be noticed, and I couldn’t stop myself from following the line of her body.
Six fucking months of blue balls and self-control I wouldn’t wish on a priest.
I had to tear my eyes away, like I was scorched by the sight of her, and turned my back quickly, hands fisting at my sides as if that could block her out.
Behind me, she hummed. Softly. Aimlessly. The same tune from the night we’d met. I gripped the counter hard enough to crack it.
“Why are you drinking that crap this early? Haven’t graduated to solids yet?”
“It’s past noon, Miss Harper.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still morning for me,” she grumbled, yanking open the fridge.
She was anightmare.
Not just for my sanity, but for my goddamn routine. Discipline had always been the one thing keeping my demons at bay, the thing that had kept me from unraveling completely. I wasn’t about to let some fiery redhead mess that up.
I was up before five every damn day, without fail. It was a habit, one drilled into me during my time in the military. By the time I’d finished my workout, it was barely eight in the morning. Not long after, I was showered, dressed, shake in hand, sitting at my laptop, ready to hit the day.
Meanwhile, Sleeping Beauty probably had about five hours left in her slumber.
A few days ago, I’d found myself in the kitchen just after seven. I’d skipped my workout for once and thought I could get a moment of peace.
Instead, I had walked in on her with armsfull.
A bucket of vanilla ice cream had been tucked under one arm, two different bags of chips hanging out of the other. She froze when she saw me, eyes wide and guilty, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
Her red hair was a mess, barely held together in her lazy braid, and her pretty eyes, half lidded with exhaustion, had that same mischievous gleam I always saw. I could tell she hadn’t been to bed yet. The little bags under her eyes weren’t even trying to hide it.
It was the same look she’d worn the first time I saw her. Half alive, half haunted. And somehow, I kept looking.
Her face had turned even redder, and she’d practically sprinted away, still clutching her junk food like it was her lifeline.
It was probably for the best that our lifestyles didn’t overlap much. It kept her out of my way, which was better for my head, soul, and most definitely my dick.
Or that’s what I kept telling myself.
That keeping her at arm’s length would be enough. That, if I avoided her long enough, I’d stop remembering the girl in the fountain. The one who had looked at me like I was something worth holding on to, even for a breath. The same eyes I still saw every goddamn time she wasn’t looking.
“Oh,” she said, twisting off the cap of the apple juice container and taking a deep gulp. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes, by the way.”
I raised an eyebrow, mentally flipping through the day’s schedule. She’d been killing herself in rehearsals every damn day for her upcoming tour, from three to midnight.
But today? It was her only day off. Nothing was on the schedule.
“Where?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
She shrugged and took another swig.
“You’ll see.”
With a wink, she sauntered off, leaving the juice container wide open on the counter and disappeared down the hall, humming that same melody. The same one she had breathed into my ear while half dead in my arms, trembling and soaked, tasting of sin and surrender.
I had drowned in her once.
And God help me, I was already slipping under again, dragged back into her waters.
