Page 51 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

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The next morning,I woke up, showered, and made sure I dressed the part—which in this case was a lilac floral dress, perfect for the summer weather. At least the yacht’s windows weren’t closed with shutters, making it impossible to see what the weather looked like outside.

It was beautiful—blue skies, crystal water, seagulls singing as they flew low over the ocean. After the discussion with Elena last night, things seemed to snap in place. Instead of thinking and acting like the victim, I needed to start being the survivor. Someone who could take even the darkest of circumstances and bend it in a way that would benefit me. Even though I’d given myself this little pep talk inside my head before, Elena just drove it home for me last night. Maybe it was knowing I wasn’t alone, that Elena had once been in the same situation as I found myself in now. She was proof this was something I could survive, although I doubted it would turn into something that could put a smile on my face thirty-two years from now.

I pulled my curls up in a high ponytail and tried to cover the dark circles under my eyes with a little make-up. Determined never to have a repeat of what happened last night, I steeled myself and squared my shoulders, prepared to face whatever came my way. If I had to play dirty in order to survive, I’d do it. There was nothing left for Saint to take, anyway, nothing sacred he could taint any more.

Saint was sitting at the dining table scrolling through his phone when I got on deck. The sight of white oak blasted memories of last night through my mind, causing me to clench my thighs.

Saint looked up, his brows slanted and forehead creased. “Sleep well?”

“As well as expected. You?”

He continued scrolling and typing on his phone. “Like a baby.”

I frowned at him, knowing all too well what he was insinuating. It made me think of what it was like feeling his warm cum drip down my thigh.

“Hungry?” He gestured to the seat next to him, and I sat down, pretending to browse all the breakfast options laid out in a delicious spread on the table.

“Starved,” I muttered and plated two blueberry pancakes with a few slices of fruit. Not once did I glance his way, but I felt his stare. It caressed the side of my neck, the exposed flesh tingling under his gaze.

“I like your hair up.”

I stilled and forgot to chew on the strawberry I just popped in my mouth.

“You should wear it that way more often.”

I moved my jaw and managed to swallow the fruit. “I will make a note of that.”

He snorted as if amused by my reply, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me as he rubbed his fingers across his chin.

I shifted in my seat. “So, I was thinking about our conversation the other day.”

“Which one?”

“The conversation about you wanting my ten percent shares.” I braved a glance his way. “The sum doesn’t add up.”

He cleared his throat and picked up his cup of coffee. “What sum?”

“Well, you said you owned thirty-nine percent shares, and my brother forty-six.”

“He doesn’t own it yet,” Saint said with a snide tone.

“If the firstborn Torres gets ten percent, there’s still five unaccounted for. Who owns the remaining five percent?”

“Investors,” he answered simply. “A few no-name businessmen who are happy to receive the little interest they get each month.”

With narrowed eyes, I watched as he sliced through the Eggs Benedict on his plate. Yesterday, he was cleanly shaven, and already this morning there was a faint shadow that painted his jaw.

I took a bite of the pancake, the subtle taste of buttermilk mixed with the tang of blueberries blended perfectly together. It made me realize how hungry I really was. Saint and I continued breakfast in silence, yet the atmosphere between us was palpable. The entire time, I was hyperaware of his every move, every breath, every bite of food he placed in his mouth. Every little thing he did reminded me of last night, how his hand felt on my heated skin. How my body responded to his touch mixed with the lethal sound of his filthy words. The memories made my core tighten and my flesh hungry for more of his touch. It was insane and unsettling, to say the least, that my captor managed to elicit such sordid desires in me.

His every glance in my direction had my skin tingling, and I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs under the table. It was unnerving the way he affected me simply by being close, simply by breathing.

The roar of engines echoed from the distance, followed by the sound of splashing water breaking against a hard surface.

Saint placed his napkin on the table and stood, the chair screeching across the wooden deck.

“We have company,” he stated and walked off.

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