Page 113 of Tempting Little Thief

A sharp breath races through my nostrils, and he gives a little squeeze.

My heart feels the tiny tug, and worry wrapped inwhat the fuck am I doingwhirls in my head. The feeling is foreign, dangerous.

Love kills … not that I love him, but I might like him too much, and while this, whatever this is, might be free, it will still cost.

What if I do love him, though?

Needing a distraction, I ask, “Do you go to school?”

“When I feel like it.” His lips curve, and when mine don’t, he jerks a shoulder. “Missed a lot my freshman year when my dad lost his job and took it out on me, so I should have been done last year, but it doesn’t matter. Took the exit exams not long after I got to Brayshaw.”

“So you’re a smart badass then?”

The corner of his mouth hooks up. “I am. I only go now so it doesn’t raise questions. Social workers come by the group home from time to time, dropping off or picking up kids, andcouldn’t have them wondering who I am and all that. Best everything seems in place, so I deal.”

“And I imagine it’s good for … business?”

He nods. “It’s great for business. Just like a secret little club for gangsters and the mob.”

Every muscle in my body stiffens and Bastian laughs, his free hand gliding over his chest. “Come on now, girl, you already knew I knew.”

He’s right, I did, and he’s still here. Still breaking into places he shouldn’t.

Still calling me his.

“My dad would kick my ass if I even thought about not showing up to my classes when I felt like it.”

“He could try.”

My eyes snap up to Bastian’s.

He lifts a dark brow, daring me to question him, and a low laugh leaves me. His rough palm falls to the curve of my hip, tugging me closer, so I lay my head on his chest, my fingers drawing along his heated skin. “Good thing I enjoy my classes then, huh?”

“Such a good girl,” he teases, his lips sliding along my temple.

“Always.” I close my eyes, but as soon as my body settles, the sex haze officially fading, my mind is back on high alert. “I need to clean up.”

Climbing to my feet, I lock myself inside the lavatory and quickly clean myself up, allowing my head to clear a little more as I wash my hands, gazing at myself in the mirror.

My skin is flushed, my neck and chest marked too many times to count, and I smile as I towel my hands dry. Of course the man who’s marked all over would want to leave his all over me.

As I step out of the room, I find him glaring at the wall ahead, his eyes slowly moving to mine as I lift one leg, slowly sitting near his hip.

I trace the tattoo just over his left peck, a small scowl building. “You know if the Grecos let you in here, they haveto be punished, right? We can’t allow them to put the manor or our operations at risk, no matter the reason.”

“Good thing they didn’t then, huh?” His tone is detached, but I keep my attention on his body.

“No?”

His gaze burns into my cheek. “Nope.”

“Then how?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

My hand stills at his words and curt response, my eyes snapping up to meet his. “Yes, it does. Did they let you in or not?”

His eyes narrow, searching. “No one let me in, Rich Girl.”

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