That might be the last flame needed to set me off if he’s known the entire time I’ve been here. My earlier mentioned safe circle might disintegrate into a dot, because if I can’t trust Saint, I’ll lose my faith in everyone.
The bedroom door opens, and I hear his heavy, sluggish footsteps boom across the floor.
A spray of water sounds in the distance, letting me know he’s in the shower.
I stay on my side of the bed, but I already know his eyes are on me from the other room, not even needing to turn round to confirm it. My skin erupts in goosebumps as I feel the gaze trail over my bare shoulder.
The moment it’s gone, they simmer, and I stay there until I hear him getting in.
Dragging in the air and hoping it’s laced with courage, I get up and make my way inside to brush my teeth.
The glass to his shower is steamed all the way up, but his gigantic figure stands stark against the light walls. His hands are pressed to the tiles, head dipped between his shoulders as the water runs over them, the hidden makeup on his tattoos long gone as the swirls of ink run down his entire frame.
He stays like that for an age, mirroring the same musk of emotions I tried to wash away last night, but it’s no use.
They’re embedded in us.
Eventually, the water turns off, and I turn to place my toothbrush back and splash cold water in my face. I need to be completely aware of my surroundings, because one look in that man’s eyes can disarm me.
When I glance back, he’s already out, wrapping a towel around his waist; that aforementioned gaze pins me in place,but he looks exhausted. Shadows creep beneath his stormy grey eyes, that lingering weight from the events which unfolded still heavy in his features.
“Morning,” I whisper, watching him lazily stroll towards me. When he reaches me, his hand snakes behind my nape, pressing a kiss against my forehead.
He doesn’t speak, just picks up his own toothbrush and gets to work.
My skin itches with the questions I want to ask, one holding more weight than the others, its answer with the ability to collapse my entire world.
When I hear him rinsing, I move to lean on my hip, but he’s already there.
Saint cages me in with his arms pressed to the counter behind me, staring down at me through his thick dark lashes. The heat from his warm skin radiates onto mine, almost making me stumble in my composure.
The tone of his voice is always a contradiction; it’s rough, but like honey being poured over me. “Ask me.”
I steel my spine, puffing my chest out, but it just presses his wall of muscles against my breasts, setting my skin on fire. “Did you know Louisa and Barry were in the Omnia?”
This time, instead of sending his gaze elsewhere like he did last night, it centres on me, unwavering, and stable. “No…However”—my heart feels like razor-sharp teeth have bitten into it—“at the bar, I saw your sister in a room.”
The jaws latching around my heart retract. “So, not any time before that?”
“I’m not fucking lying to you, Indie.”
My mouth clamps shut, along with my eyes, and tears well again along the rims of my eyes. Saint’s hand ghosts along the tattoo on my ribs, the other slipping under my chin, tilting me heavenward, and I follow the silent command to open them.
His voice is like a feather against my skin. “Sorry, darling.” His thumb soothes my jaw, and the crackle in his eyes from the electricity dims to a low hum.
I don’t think this man has ever apologised for anything in his life.
“The only time I’d ever willingly hurt you is with the truth, never with a lie,” he says, guiding my lips to his as he presses a delicate kiss on me. “Even then, it would kill me to be the bearer of it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Jenna?” I ask. His hands wrap around my waist, lifting me on to the counter.
He leans away, grabbing a towel to rub through the dripping locks of hair, a hot sigh leaving him. “If I told you, and she wasn’t there, or worse…I didn’t want to give you false hope.”
My heart twists painfully in my chest. I want to be angry at him for keeping Jenna a secret, but his reasons are well intended. “Was she in those files you found before?” I ask.
Dawson said they had managed to infiltrate the Omnia files before. I don’t even want to think about how many missing women are in them.
“That, along with the book you were about to look through in the bar. It was a catalogue for what was on offer.”
