Page 94 of Cross My Heart

“Is that where your portrait will hang?” I ask, nodding to the end of the line. There’s a space beside his father’s painting,

“Fate would say ‘Yes,’” Saint replies, and I know he’s thinking of his dead brother, the man who was supposed to inherit it all.

I squeeze his hand. “You should mix things up, all these somber oils,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “How about something more modern, a graffiti artist? A nice Banksy, it’d fit right in.”

Saint manages a wry laugh. “Oh, they’d love that one.”

He looks around, and then draws me back into the shadows of the velvet drapes, claiming my mouth in a slow, sizzling kiss.

I shiver against him. Despite all the emotions whirling inside me, there’s still nothing that transports me like the touch of his lips—and the slow, intoxicating slide of his tongue, delving sensuously into my mouth.

“Fuck, you’re delicious…” Saint nips my lower lip, his hands already skimming over the silk of my hips. “I’ve half a mind to yank this dress up and eat your sweet cunt right here. Give those dusty old men on the wall something to watch,” he adds, with a playful squeeze of my ass.

My pulse kicks. “Saint,” I whisper, a little scandalized. “We can’t.”

“Why not? Nobody’s around,” he adds, smirking at me with a dark seduction in his eyes. “No one but the portraits to watch you come undone…”

He inches my skirt up my thighs, fingertips creeping higher as I sway closer, ready to surrender—

“Excuse me, this wing is—Anthony?”

An icy voice rings out across the hall, making me freeze. Saint releases my skirt, letting it fall back into place before he turns, sighing.

“Mother.”

Oh shit.

I gulp. It’s Lillian St. Clair herself, outfitted in pearls and a chilly smile. She moves closer, eyes shooting between Saint and me. It’s clear from the purse of her lips that she knows exactly what we were doing just now—before we were interrupted.

And how I would be halfway to mindless pleasure against her son’s mouth if she hadn’t just walked in.

“Teresa,” she says coolly, “I wasn’t expecting to see you join us tonight.”

“It’s Tessa, mother,” Saint corrects her. “And I cleared it with the committee.”

“Oh.”

I look back and forth between them, confused. “You have a lovely home, Lady St. Clair,” I say politely. “Saint was just showing me around.”

“Thank you. It’s been in the family, safeguarded for almost five hundred years,” she replies. “Many outside forces have attempted to wrest it from us, but we stand firm against all invasions. Some more subtle than others,” she adds with a glare.

It’s clear she sees me as one of those outside invasions.

“Your father is looking for you,” she says, turning to Saint.

“He always is,” he replies blandly. “Mother.”

He yanks me away, back out to the patio, and grabs a drink from the nearest waiter. “Andthatis why I moved out after boarding school, and rarely return,” he says, swallowing with a gulp. “Too many fucking ghosts in this house.”

Before I can reply, an excited shriek echoes across the terrace.

“Tessa!”

I barely have time to react before Annabelle is smothering me in excited air-kisses. “Come on, Max has commandeered the good whiskey, and we’re all avoiding all the olds.”

She takes my hand and drags me through the crowd, as Saint follows. We find Max and Hugh posted up on the edge of the terrace, sprawled comfortably on the elegant chaises.

“Tessa, darling, what a vision you are!” Max greets me.

---