I put on my best ‘sorry for your loss’ impression as I respond, pretending this isn’t common knowledge to me. “Sloane, I’m sorry.” I place a hand on her right knee instinctively, drawing her eyes to the unexpected contact.
“It’s fine. We weren’t exactly close,” she responds, bringing her eyes back to mine. She shifts on the bar stool. I doubt this break-in could be related to her father’s case. I was pretty careful tying up those loose ends.
“Do you have a crazy ex or anything?” I ask, tone light to ease the mood.
She laughs. “No. Beau, my ex, and I broke up a few years ago. We’re still friends. There was no animosity. We just weren’t compatible.” Good. His loss is my gain, I think.
“What about your work? Investigative fieldwork could certainly land you a few enemies,” I say. My words strike a thought. Herwork.Why the fuck did I not think of that before now? One name pops into my mind and has me suddenly on edge. My hand that’s resting on Sloane’s knee suddenly squeezes on impulse.
Sabel.
“Riven,” Sloane says my name, and I reflexively loosen my grip. “Are you okay?”
I cough, clearing my throat. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.” I stroke lazy circles over the inside of her knee. I’m not even sure why I do it … or why my hand is even still there.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m okay. Better now.” She brings her right hand up to her earring to fidget with it, causing a smile to pull at the corner of my mouth. “Can you stay tonight?” She looks up at me shyly, with a light in her eyes that I haven’t seen since I walked in. I know I can’t deny her now.
“Sure. I’ll sleep on the sofa,” I answer.
“No,” she says, biting on her lower lip. “Stay in my room. I don’t want to be alone. Please.”Please? Fuuuuck. She’s going to be the death of me.
“Are you sure, Sloane?” I’m trying to mask the intensity that I feel in this moment.
“Yes.” She grabs the hand that’sstillresting on her leg, stands, and starts walking toward her stairs. I follow her up them and straight into her fuckingbedroom.
We walk across the marbled white and gray flooring, embellished with a black-and-white vintage rug. On top of the rug sits a king-size Gothic-style black bed frame adorned with a dark green duvet. Black bedside tables rest on either side of the bed. A vintage-style gold and black lamp sits on the table to the right, casting a warm glow across the room. There’s a floor-to-ceiling sliding glass door to my left thatdefinitelyneeds a security alarm. Her master bathroom is to the right, door ajar, allowing me to see a large porcelain claw-foot tub sitting in the center of it. I notice a bookshelf in the left corner that’s covered in tons of books and other various trinkets. I double-take at something that catches my eye on the third shelf, sitting in front of what appears to be a collection of books sporting similarly styled words down their spines. I think I spotThe Ritualfrom here. Is that a … tiny pair ofhandcuffs? I grin. Naughty, naughty girl. My little nightmare is full of surprises.
“Do you need to shower or anything?” she asks, sitting down on the corner of her bed, folding one leg under an outstretched one.
“Nope,” I say, still standing at the foot of the bed. I showered before my planned outing, which she interrupted. Not that I’m complaining, though. This ismuchmore fun. I don’t allow myself to expand on that thought.
“Okay, wanna … lay down then?” she asks, motioning to the side of the bed closest to the sliding door.
“Yeah,” I say, walking toward that side. I remember that I’m still in sweatpants and a black hoodie. I go to remove my sweatshirt and shirt, opting to keep the pants on for … boundaries, or whatever. Sloane’s pushing herself backward toward the headboard on her side when she looks up to the sound of my clothes hitting her floor. She swallows, her cheeks flushing that pretty shade of pink as she trails her eyes down my body.
“Is this okay?” I ask, hand paused on the green duvet that I was about to turn down.
“Mhmm,” she murmurs, pulling the covers up to her waist and lying back against the pillow. Her shirt rides up slightly, allowing me to catch a glimpse of a tiny sliver of skin.
I climb into the opposite side of the bed and lie back, turning my head toward her. She rolls onto her side to face me, curling into herself. Her vibrant red hair falls in loose strands down her side, a stark contrast to the green duvet. The green that’s also bringing out her eyes in themostdevastating of ways.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Sloane,” I say softly. She bites on her bottom lip, her eyes darting back and forth between mine. I want to know what she’s thinking. I’m about to order her to use her words when two things happen at once.
One, she quickly slides over and wraps her arm right around me.
Two, I lose control.
19
Sloane
What have I done?
Maybe it was the bottle of wine that I drank earlier tonight, or maybe it was a temporary loss of sanity that caused me to move to his side of the bed and wrap my arm around him. However, now my predicament ismuchworse … or better. It depends on how you look at it. The illogical side of my brain is having a field day right about now. No sooner than I put my arm around hisverymuscular body, he was reacting faster than a boa constrictor going in for the kill.
He flipped me around so fast that I barely had time to register it. Now, my back is pressed firmly against his too-toned chest, and his too-large hand is wrapped under me and around my throat, pulling my head back. His mouth is against my ear, and his breath sends a shiver straight down my spine. My chest heaves, and before I can stop myself, a moan escapes my lips.
