Absorbed an inhalation.
Then forced myself to calm down.
Because panic gathered in my throat, choking me on a reality I didn’t know how to handle.
I crumpled the pleats on my thoroughly wrinkled skirt.
He’d told me not to take the pill.
I hadn’t this evening.
“God, you’re insane, Catriona. Certifiably insane,” I croaked, feeling the hangman’s noose around my throat. “Where’s your mind gone? Did a dozen orgasms make youdumb?!”
I had access to Plan B but?—
And that, of course, was when I heard it.
That sinful, illegal voice.
Singing.
In the shower.
My heart pounded with how glorious his singing voice was.
And I recognized the song.
“Eurydice” by Killian Scott.
So fitting.
Enough for me to close my eyes and for my mind to shove aside what I’d seen.
My throat bobbed as I got to my feet and like he called to me, asiren when male sirens weren’t a thing, tempting me to move closer, I obeyed.
Grabbing the gloss from my pocket, I didn’t breach his privacy, simply stood by the doorway and listened to my own personal show of Custanzu Valentini’s performance as I soothed the balm over my kiss-sore lips.
The nuances of his heart captivated me.
This man cared so much that he’d created a drug to heal CHD.
He wanted to heal people’shearts.
But he’d chosen a destructive path to make it happen.
And here he was, dancing with me like I was his princess, fucking me like I was his personal succubus, then carrying me up to his room like I was a damsel in distress, all while wearing clothes that bore the proof of a crime committed earlier in the day. In the tiny pocket of time between him leaving me at home and collecting me…
My head ached as much as my heart did when I tried to justify what I’d seen. It only proved that I was a weak woman. Because I convinced myself. I did. Like a fool.
But it was as if fate wouldn’t let me hide from who he was, what he did—his jacket slipped off the stool too.
Quite by chance as the silk lining messed with gravity, enabling his necktie to unfurl with it.
My nightmares continued to unfold.
A clunk came next as a dagger tumbled from his pocket.
One, not yet cleaned of evidence, stained in blood. One that rammed home precisely how he’d garnered that spatter on his sleeves and at his waist. One that messed me up on the inside because what had happened on the balcony…?
