Page 122 of Only Mine
“I stayed.” His eyes find mine. “I gutted the place, rebuilt it from scratch. Named it after Ivy. C’est Trois means ‘it’s three.’ Just me, her, and the restaurant.”
The simplicity of it breaks my heart.
“I’m sorry about Celine,” I say.
“I’m not the man she married anymore.” His voice is flat, stripped of emotion. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
I slide off the stool and step between his knees. His hands find my hips automatically, steadying me. I cup his face, thumbs brushing along his stubbled jaw.
“I like this version of you.”
Saint lowers his eyelids to half-mast. “Even when I’m an asshole?”
“Especially then.” I lean in, resting my forehead against his.
Our lips meet in a kiss that’s softer than anything we’ve shared before. His hands slip under the borrowed shirt to rest against my bare skin, warm and solid.
“You shouldn’t,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Like me. Any version of me.”
I pull back just enough to see his face, the shadows under his eyes, his gorgeous bone structure, the tension in his jaw. “Too late.”
“Stay,” he murmurs.
Saint stands, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom.
“Ivy will be thrilled to find you at breakfast when she gets dropped off tomorrow morning,” he says between crushing our mouths together.
“I’d like that.”
He kicks his bedroom door shut behind us, both of us pretending this is just about convenience, about not wanting to drive home late, about Ivy’s happiness in the morning.
Both of us knowing it’s something else entirely.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WRENLEY
Iwake up to the sound of someone pounding on Saint’s front door like they’re trying to break it down.
Saint’s arm tightens around my waist, his body going rigid beside me. The digital clock on his nightstand glows 7:23 a.m. Ivy won’t be back from her sleepover until ten.
“Expecting someone?” I whisper.
“No.” His voice is rough with sleep and something sharper. Suspicion.
The pounding continues, followed by a voice that makes the blood freeze in my veins.
“Wrenley! I know you’re in there! Your car’s in the driveway!”
Brenda.
I bolt upright, clutching the sheet to my chest. “Oh god. Oh no. This is bad. This is so fucking bad.”
Saint sits up, instantly alert. “Who is that?”
