Page 12 of Break My Rules

“For being a good man,” I reply, trying to ignore the wave of emotion rising in my chest. Trying—and failing. Because every instinct in my body is telling me to throw myself into Saint’s arms, and never let go. Things have been moving so fast between us, I don’t even know what we are to each other anymore. But I know for sure, we left ‘casual sexy fling’ way in the rearview mirror.

This is something real.

I clear my throat, feeling self-conscious. “So, what do we do now?” I ask, relishing the feel of the word ‘we’ in my mouth. “Who are these friends of yours with the tattoo, anyway?”

Saint sits back. “There were five of us,” he says, and counts them off. “Me, Hugh, Max, you already know them. Plus Sebastian Wolfe, and Felix Western.”

“Four suspects,” I say, feeling a shiver of purpose. I’ve been looking for a needle in a haystack all this time, but now, suddenly, the list has gotten a whole hell of a lot shorter.

But Saint shakes his head. “Felix died that summer, before graduation. Got drunk at a party and decided to take a midnight swim in the lake.” Saint shakes his head, rueful. “It was a fucking tragedy.”

I offer a sympathetic smile. “So that leaves three.”

And one of them is already on my radar. Max Lancaster: rich playboy, heir to the global media empire—and a man who’s already lied about how well he knew Wren. They were hanging out together during her time in Oxford, maybe even dating.

What else has he been lying about?

Saint’s phone buzzes. “The doctors have new test results,” he reports, checking the message. “I should get back.”

I walk him up to his father’s room, and Saint pauses in the hallway. “Thank you for coming down here,” he tells me. “I know you’ve been slammed with studying.”

“Of course, that doesn’t matter. I can stay as long as you need,” I add, but Saint shakes his head.

“Go back to Oxford, hit the books, and keep my bed warm for me,” he tells me, his smile turning smoldering. “I’ll be back tonight after they discharge him.”

“OK,” I smile. “I’m just sorry I can’t be more of a help.”

“You are,” Saint reassures me, drawing me into a hug. “Just having you here… It’s more than enough.”

He wraps his arms around me, just holding me for a moment, solid and warm. Then he draws back, tipping my chin up to claim my mouth in a slow, tender kiss. I melt into it, needing him close.

God, I’ve missed him.

Finally, Saint pulls back, looking reluctant. “Go, before I change my mind and drag you into a cupboard,” he says with a wink, as a woman in a white coat walks by, heading for his father’s room.

“Doctor Heller?” Saint asks, and she nods, so he follows her into the room. I hear their voices talking, low, about test results and treatment plans.

That’s my cue to exit.

I take the stairs down to the lobby, feeling like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Saint’s father will be OK, and the two of us are back to being… Well, whatever it is we are. Except this time, there are no more lies or deceptions between us. I can be totally honest with him about my mission. I can trust him.

Trust him, andwanthim, too.

I shiver, still feeling the burning imprint of his kiss on my lips. I’m lost in thought, eagerly anticipating when we can be alone together again, when I almost bump into someone outside the main hospital doors.

“Sorry,” I chorus, before I see that it’s Saint’s mother, Lillian. “Oh, hi Mrs. St. Clair,” I say, awkward.

“I was looking for my son,” she says, eyes drifting over me. I grabbed the first clean clothes I could find in my rush to make the train, so I’m wearing jeans and a wrinkled shirt under my jacket, looking a total mess, I’m sure.

“Saint’s up with his father. The doctor just arrived to talk,” I add.

“Thank you,” she says thinly, then she pauses. "You should know that Saint will be very busy now, with all his family responsibilities. He’ll be stepping up to help at the company, it’s long overdue.”

I nod slowly, not sure where this is going.

“I dare say he’ll be taking a leave of absence from his teaching at Oxford, too, and moving down here to London full-time,” she adds, looking smug. “Of course, he’s enjoyed his freedom, having his fun, but that was never going to last. He’s the future Duke of Ashford. There’ll be no more time for tawdrydistractions. His family will always come first.”

It’s clear she sees me as one of those tawdry distractions. In other words, back the fuck off.

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