Page 231 of Sinister

More than anything, I can’t bear the thought of confronting him only to see disappointment in his eyes. Of being accused of not trusting him . . . of assuming the worst.

So, I lie.

“I found some old papers. Newspaper clippings. They were in one of the locked rooms.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The one at the end of the hallway,” I say casually. “There were articles about Rutherford’s and Underwood’s murders, as well as the mass suicide in the town square.”

I conveniently leave out the mausoleum deaths, hoping he won’t ask.

“I see. You haven’t wasted any time looking around.”

I shrug. “This is serious, Sin. We need to figure out who’s doing this. Because at this rate . . . I mean, what if we’re next?”

He sobers instantly. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. You did good—really good, Petra.”

Momentarily, I find myself lost in his gaze, my cheeks flushing at his words of praise. I’ve always considered myself a perfectionist, always striving to do well in . . . well, everything really. Unfortunately, praise has never been my parents’ strong suit.

“Thank you,” I murmur, suddenly bashful.

He leans in to kiss my cheek. “You’re so smart,” he whispers. “I love that sexy brain of yours.”

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. Sexy . . . brain. That must be the best compliment anyone’s ever given me.

“Did I make you blush?” he drawls with a grin.

“What? Of course not. Check your sight, Arnoult,” I say playfully, hiding my face in the crook of his shoulder.

His chest rumbles with laughter, and for a brief moment, I forget all about my worries, my suspicions, my fears.

How is it that his mere presence has the power to make me feel so safe even when my brain doubts that? It’s almost as if my body reacts to his on a cellular level, getting me to lower my guard when logically I should not.

The paper slides to the floor as he pulls me into his arms.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs as he trails his nose down my neck.

“Mhm,” I say as I pull his face to mine for a deep kiss.

“You drive me crazy, Petra. So fucking crazy . . .” he pulls back just enough to whisper the words against my lips. “Sometimes I’m amazed at my restraint.”

I raise a brow at him.

He smirks as he continues. “If I had my way, you’d be on your back, legs spread, my cock inside you twenty-four-seven. Alas, perhaps I will indulge in that after our little one is born.”

“I think that can be arranged.” I wink at him. “After my back won’t hurt like hell anymore.”

“It does?” he suddenly asks, concerned.

I shrug. “Sometimes.” More often than not.

“Damn it! I should have given it more thought. You have such a small frame; of course, the added weight would affect you.”

“It’s not really that bad. I just get tired more easily.”

His lips flatten into a thin line. “And that is unacceptable. From now on, you tell me every time you feel tired or uncomfortable, all right?”

“It’s fine, Sin. It’s not like you can be with me every hour of the day.”