Page 45 of SINS & Riley
A dozen times I carried Riley through every hall in the house. Eleven times I almost took her to my room—a reckless move that there’s no turning back from.
And one that would’ve fucked up both our worlds.
And yet, it’s the only thing I’ve wanted since the moment I dragged her here. Her. Shackled right where she belongs.
My room. My bed. My Riley.
Because when faced with the voodoo hex of Riley’s body, my brain short-circuits.
So around and around the castle we went. Her, with those soft curves and smart mouth. Me, the idiot letting her ride me like a carousel.
Dominic steps closer, still waiting for a response.
I give him one. “I’m fine.”
The vein in his temple says otherwise, pulsing like it’s about to burst.
“Someone could’ve seen you,” he grinds out, and I know he’s not talking about my midnight lap with Riley.
He means the town.
“People see me all the time, Dominic.”
“On camera?”
Calmly, I swirl the scotch, letting the amber catch the firelight. “I dealt with the cameras at the clinic.”
“Nice of you to mentioned that.” He shakes his head. “And that doctor got a good look at you.”
“A washed-up junkie drowning in coke and escorts saw me. In my mask. What’s your point?”
“The point is, you should’ve let me handle it.”
“Riley was at the doctor because I did let you handle it.”
“Wrong. Riley was at the doctor because you backed her into a corner.” He presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got a man bleeding out in the basement and a meeting with your uncle in two weeks. If we don’t squeeze him for everything he knows, we lose our leverage. And he’s already circling the drain.”
“Then keep him alive,” I say evenly. “IV, vitamins, saline—hell, battery acid if that’s what it takes. He breathes until I decide otherwise.”
Dominic’s eyes cut to mine. “You’re distracted.”
“I’m not distracted.”
Who am I kidding? I’m more distracted than a senator at a strip club.
I drain the glass, but the scotch doesn’t burn the taste of her off my lips.
Enzo always said scotch could wipe away almost anything—regret, reason, restraint.
But never desire.
Riley is pure, defiant, breathtaking desire.
And tastes a million times sweeter buck-naked and coming all over the alabaster bishop.
The oversized French relic was an indulgence of my mother’s. She blew two hundred grand on, with full bragging rights of its lineage to the court of Versailles.
Christ, the girl came so hard I thought she’d shatter it.
