Page 24 of Never Die for a Sinner
I pat her hand, sitting silently beside her. This happens more often than not. Nana will fall asleep before I leave, and I’ll tuck her in and sneak out. It’s become a tradition, at this point.
“It’s okay, Nana,” I whisper, and despite myself, a tear slips down my cheek. At least she’s not awake to see it. The last thing she needs is to worry about my pain, too.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, but eventually, when she’s fallen asleep and all that fills the air is the sounds of her even breathing, and the whir of the machines in her room, I force myself to rise from the chair.
Gently, I stoop down and press a kiss to Nana’s cheek, committing her scent to memory in case it’s gone the next time I visit.
“I love you, Nana.”
I’ve always hated storms.
The kind that shakes the house when lightning strikes.
Every time the thunder rumbles, my heart squeezes in my chest just a little bit tighter.
Loud sounds have always bothered me. From arguing to fireworks, there’s always been that shot of fear that rushes through me, making me sick to my stomach.
Tonight is no different, and it’s why I’m still awake, padding down to the kitchen at two in the morning to get a glass of water.
No one’s awake, so I don’t bother changing out of the giant T-shirt I wore to bed and take the back stairs down to thekitchen. The house is dark and silent. I can’t escape the feeling of being watched. Like William Cross’s ghost is silently plotting my demise.
The Cross Estate has always given me the creeps. Just thinking about how anyone or anythingcould be hiding around the corner or watching me from the shadows sets me on edge.
Stepping into the dimly lit kitchen, I cross to the cupboard for a glass, then fill it with water from the fridge. In my haste to get a drink and get the hell out, though, I knock one of the grapefruits off the counter that Paulina insists on force-feeding everyone every single morning, and I have to bend over to pick it up.
“I hate this fruit,” I grumble when it rolls away, forcing me to chase after it, ass in the air with nothing on but a black lacy thong.
I manage to grab it and toss it back in the bowl before I turn around to leave.
And stop short when I see none other than the devil himself sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes trained on my bare ass with a hint of amusement.
I just bent over bare-assed in front of Levi Cross.
I JUST BENT OVER IN FRONT OF LEVI CROSS.
“What are you doing hiding in the shadows like a creep?” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself so he can’t see my nipples through my T-shirt.
Levi cocks a brow at me, his gaze sliding over me until it reaches my eyes.
I burn up like I’m gliding into the center of the sun.
Scratch that. That may be enjoyable compared to this.
God, those eyes . . . they could fracture the ozone.
“Are you awake?”
Still, no response.
No, of course not. I’m not one of the bubbly blondes he brings home. Instead, he stands and stalks across the kitchen toward me, forcing me to fall back into the island.
The heavy scent of whiskey settles over me, and my mouth waters. Tingles shoot up my toes, and I grip the edge of the counter behind me for support.
I definitely need it when he leans closer, until his face is mere inches from mine, his hands placed on the marble on either side of mine, effectively caging me in.
It’s been a week since that day in his room, and I can’t deny my body hums in his presence despite the trickle of fear that slides through me.
His lip is busted, and he’s got a bruise forming on his cheekbone like he was in a fight. Unfortunately, it only makes him look more devastating, especially in this light.
