Page 90 of Cross My Heart

The moment I realized that Saint was likely involved with the Blackthorn Society, I should have stayed the hell away from him. But instead, I couldn’t resist his charms. Not just the wild, reckless sex, as unbelievable as it is, but the way he makes me feel—like the woman I was before tragedy turned my world dark and full of rage. He urged me on, made me laugh, encouraged me to follow my passion for the Ambrose Foundation job… Unlocking a new direction I didn’t know I wanted. Swearing to protect me, even when I insisted I didn’t need him to.

My heart aches from the bitter words we just exchanged, but still, I find myself returning to his townhouse and using my key to let myself inside.

I pace, restless, conflicted about what to do next. Should I pack up my things and leave, or stay, and wait it out to talk some more? Not because I want whatever information he can give me about the Blackthorn Society, but because I need him to understand that I didn’t set out to hurt or betray him.

I care about him. More than I’ve wanted to admit. And if there’s even a chance he might feel the same way, despite all my lies… I have to take the risk. Otherwise, I know, I’ll always wonder. Did I give up on him too soon? Assume the worst about him, the way he accused me?

My gut tells me, the connection between us is real. But real enough to weather this storm? I don’t know just yet.

So I stay.

The hours pass,and still Saint doesn’t return. The night darkens outside the windows, and my fears run riot. He could go straight to his friends in the society and tell them everything. Warn them about my investigation, and ensure that I’ll never find the truth...

I try to calm my nerves by lighting some candles and running a bubble bath. I sink into the steamy water, wondering if I’m a fool for even thinking he might choose my side, when I hear a key in the door downstairs. Footsteps sound, and then Saint enters the bedroom. I see him throw his jacket on the bed, before he turns and notices me.

He moves to linger in the open doorway. He has a bottle of whiskey and a glass in one hand, already worse for wear. “You’re still here,” he says, with a faint slur in his voice.

I nod, feeling self-conscious in the tub, naked save the bubbles up around my chest.

Saint leans against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting there, sprawled on the floor. He looks about as torn up inside as I feel, with his shirt rumpled, and his hair in disarray.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, finally looking at me from across the room.

I blink. “What?”

I was expecting more fighting and recrimination, not the low sincerity in his voice.

“What do you want to know about Blackthorn?” Saint asks me, point-blank and direct. “Because if you think it was somehow involved in your sister’s attack… I’ll help you. We’ll find the answers. Together.”

My heart leaps. Still, I fight to keep my head. “But… They’re your friends.” I venture, unsure. “What about your sworn loyalty and oaths? You’ve known all these guys for years.”

Saint pours a measure of whiskey into his glass and knocks it back, looking grim. “If any one of them did this, hurt Wren…. They’re no friend of mine. Whoever this bastard is… They need to pay for what they’ve done. You can count on me to help.”

He’s on my side.

The realization rolls through me, and I exhale in a rush, relieved. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I admit. “I just didn’t know if I could trust you. Wren trusted the wrong people,” I add, feeling an ache. “And look how that turned out?”

Saint gets up. He crosses the room, kicks off his shoes, and then, before I can protest, he gets in the tub with me, fully clothed.

“Saint!” I exclaim, as water sloshes to the floor. “What are you doing?”

He sits opposite, facing me, and takes my hands. Soaked through all his clothes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he promises, gazing intently into my eyes. “I swear, Tessa, you can count on me. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

His mouth covers mine in a searing kiss, heated and full of a passion that pulls me into its whirlwind. I sink into his embrace, kissing back hungrily, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I’ve been worried if he would even believe me, or just try to brush off what happened to Wren, and close ranks with his buddies in the society. Boys being boys.

Loyalty over justice, just like it always is.

But Saint holds me tightly, promising that we’ll uncover the truth, together. However uncomfortable that truth might be.

He’s choosing me.

Saint dips his head to my collarbone, trailing fire through my bloodstream with every kiss. I moan as hands move to cup my wet breasts, caressing them, lifting to lavish them with his tongue.

“Saint…” I gasp in pleasure, as his closes his lips around my nipple and sucks. I arch up against his mouth, writhing, not caring that my restless movements send more water sloshing out of the tub.

“God, look at you,” Saint lifts his head long enough to sweep his gaze over me, half-masked by the bubbles, my hair falling wet into the water. “My sweet, dirty girl. I could worship you forever… That mouth of yours… These perfect tits… andhere,” he slips a hand between my thighs and strokes, curling his fingers up into my slick heat.

I shudder, clenching around him. “More,” I gasp, and he chuckles.

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