Page 16 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

She was easy prey. The kind I’d only use on the lowest of days. Days when I had no goddamn time for games. Days when I was just too damn drunk to care.

A day like today.

“Bartender,” I called without breaking eye contact with her, “two tequilas. Make it doubles.”

Her cherry-red lips curved into a smile, and she bit her bottom lip in a bid to be provocative.

My gaze dropped to her thigh as she uncrossed her legs, leaving them just a few inches apart—an invitation for me to touch should I want to. Even though she was making this too easy, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have some fun and take what she was so eager to give. Besides, I had already given Mila her freedom. She was probably long gone by now, and I had instructed James to never, ever tell me where he took her. Not even if I held a gun to his head.

“Tell me, Lillian,” I placed an elbow on the counter, my hand just close enough to have a fingertip brush against her knee, “have your parents never told you not to talk to strangers?”

“Many times.” Her breath hitched as I traced my finger across her naked skin. “But how can I stay away from strangers when it’s the danger I crave?”

I shifted closer and slipped my hand between her knees inconspicuously so no one else could notice. She bit her lip, her cheeks already flushed, and I had barely even begun to touch her. “Play with fire, and eventually you will get burned.”

“What do you care? As long as you don’t have to tend to the wounds, am I right?”

Oh, she was good. I’d give her that.

The bartender placed our shots on the bar, and without removing my hand from between her knees, I reached for my glass with the other.

She picked up hers and settled her gaze on mine, her dark irises filled with so much lust, I was sure she’d come the second I slipped a finger inside her.

Our eyes were locked as we shot back the tequila. The alcohol burned as it moved down my throat, settling in my stomach. She didn’t even flinch as she swallowed her double shot and turned in her seat, bringing her body closer to mine. “What number?”

I frowned in question.

“What is the number of your hotel suite?”

I grinned, the buzz of alcohol flowing through my system. Her eyes remained pinned on mine, and I could feel the skin of her thighs heating up against my palm. This would be so easy.

So. Fucking. Easy.

I leaned closer to her ear, easing my hand up between her thighs, that action alone earning me a soft whimper that caressed my cheek. “You see, Lillian,” I started, “your panties are already soaked, your cunt swollen with need after I have barely even touched you.” She sucked in a breath. “I can already tell you how this is going to play out. You are so fucking horny you’ll start sucking my dick in the elevator on our way up to my suite, where you’d do everything I ask without question. Your body would be like putty in my hands, and I would bend it to my will while I fuck you so hard you’ll cry like a little bitch with every thrust.” Her breathing became labored, her body tense. “But here’s the thing.” My lips touched her earlobe, and she whimpered. “You’re every player’s wet dream, Lillian. But to a predator like me, you’re nothing but dead prey whose flesh is only good enough for the vultures to tear through.”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

I tore my hand from her thigh and swallowed the last of my drink. “Go home, Lillian. It’s far past your bedtime.”

“You son of a—”

I walked off, the profanities she spat at me fading to the background. I might have had too much to drink, but even as tempting as it was, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d pull my cock out for a tramp like her, or any woman, for that matter.

Truth was, Mila ruined me. There wasn’t a woman in this entire goddamn world who could compare to her, which meant I was fucked for the rest of my motherfucking life.

Because it was her.

It was Mila.

And it would always…be her.

7

Mila

His touch feltlike silk and broken glass. Soft and light with razor sharp edges that cut deep and left open wounds—wounds only he could heal. He was the venom and the cure. The one person who could destroy me yet make me feel more alive than ever.

Saint was a destructively beautiful contradiction. I couldn’t hate him without loving him. And I couldn’t love him without hating him. He was an enemy and ally all rolled into the one man I had fallen irrevocably in love with. No matter how loudly the voices in my head screamed at me to take the freedom he so willingly offered, my heart demanded I stay. Just thinking about leaving and living a life without him was unbearable enough. Facing misery with him would be easier to survive than living in misery without him.

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