Page 64 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

I grabbed a fresh shirt from my drawer. “Go take a shower.” I glanced at her wet thighs. “You reek of cum.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes, and her cheeks went from a flushed pink to a pale white. But I refused to let myself feel even a sliver of remorse. I steeled myself against it, against feeling remorse, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

Jesus, I was so fucking angry. At her. At me. At this entire fucking situation. Marrying her was the plan. Seducing her, fucking her, and treading on the edge with her was not.

I was on my way up the stairs to the deck when I spotted James sitting by the bar, a brown envelope resting on the countertop.

“What’s that?” I pulled the shirt over my head.

“A copy of Francesco Torres’s will.”

“I already have a copy of it.” I poured myself a drink and offered James one, but he shook his head.

“It seems there was a newer draft we didn’t know about.”

I almost choked on the mouthful of bourbon. “What?”

“The Torres family lawyer was instructed to be discreet about it, to not reveal it until absolutely necessary.”

“By who?”

“Katarina Torres. Mila’s mother.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

James slid the brown envelope toward me. “You should read it.”

I stared at him warily. James wasn’t one who could easily be read, but right now the man’s face was painted with worry lines.

Placing my drink down on the table, I opened the envelope and pulled out the pieces of paper that suddenly felt like they weighed a ton.

“The last paragraph.”

I glanced at James then flipped through the pages. It took me twenty seconds to read the paragraph James was referring to. Twenty fucking seconds, and it tore the world from under my goddamn feet.

Anger exploded and burst through the cries of shattered glass as I threw the crystal tumbler across the deck.

I bit down on my lip, my jaw clenched, and fists balled. “This is going to ruin everything. Every-fucking-thing.”

23

Mila

It had beendays since Saint and I lost ourselves in one another. Days since I gave in to depraved desires I never knew I had. My body came to life under his touch, as if it no longer needed air. Just him, his kiss, and the way he felt inside me. But clearly the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Days had passed since he spoke more than five words to me. Most of the time, he was behind closed doors in his study, and the only person allowed to go in and out was James. Even Elena seemed to get the cold shoulder from her nephew.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. That I didn’t lie awake at night secretly hoping he would come for me. Take me. Touch me. Kiss me.

My body had become its own enemy, and flames were reignited every time I thought about how roughly Saint had taken me, how raw it was to be with him and fall apart by his hand. He was right that day on the plane. I’d had sex before, but I’d never been fucked. Not like that. And now that I knew how it felt like to have no inhibitions when it came to sex, experienced the freedom of letting your desires control you, it was all I wanted. All I thought about. Every day, more and more, I wanted him, my body aching to be consumed by him again. But his absence was a cruel reminder that I was nothing to him but a signature on a piece of paper.

I glanced at James, who sat under the roof of the deck pretending to read some car magazine while he kept an eye on me. He was like a guard dog. When I moved, he moved. It was stupid, really. We were on a yacht. Where the fuck was I supposed to go?

I put my sunglasses on and settled back into the recliner, doing what I’d been doing for the last couple of days. Soak up the sun and at least enjoy the Italian summer. I refused to sit in my room like a prisoner and let the walls smother me. When I asked Elena foraswimsuit, she had three bags of swimwear sent in from the mainland. The price tags on some of those were ridiculous, judging by the tiny amount of fabric they used to put it together. After wasting an hour of my life going through them all, I opted for a strapless black bikini. It wasn’t like I needed to grab anyone’s attention around here.

I closed my eyes and tried to silence my thoughts when I heard the high-pitched noise of a Jet Ski engine growing louder and louder. It was only when the sound idled right by the yacht that I opened my eyes. Saint dived from the Jet Ski into the water and came up at the edge of the flybridge. He pulled himself out of the water, strong arms ripped and wet, his all-year-round tan glistening. He straightened and pulled a hand through his midnight hair as water continued to drip down his body. Jesus. It was like a scene from a goddamn Calvin Klein ad. With shredded abs, wet and tempting, every toned muscle on his body sun kissed and practically bathed in sin, I was thankful my eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. I’d already embarrassed myself enough when it came to him.

Saint grabbed a lounge chair and placed it next to mine before settling on it. My pulse raced instantly, every inch of my skin caressed with his presence. God. I hated that he affected me simply by being near me.

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