Page 68

She watched him, standing frozen against the inky backdrop of the shop, looking at her like he might be hallucinating.

She had decided to stay in the house of someone who may or may not have been affiliated with the biggest criminal organization on the West Coast, someone who was not “just” a mechanic—mainly because she was an idiot. She’d considered snooping, but it felt like too big of a violation, and somehow the trust between them had become more important than his criminal status.

Riley rubbed her eyes and refocused on Saint. “Yeah. I stayed.” Her voice sounded groggy, and Cookie glanced up from where he was curled between her legs. He groaned and set his front legs on the floor, stretching as he slid off the couch.

Saint was staring at her. “Why?”

She blinked. She couldn’t be sure, but he almost looked vulnerable. It made her irrationally angry, heat burning off the lingering exhaustion. “Because I wanted to.” Even if she shouldn’t have, it was the truth.

Cognitive dissonance. That was what it was called when you knew you believed two opposing things at the same time.

Criminals are bad.

Yet here she was.

A smile lit his face, and she ignored the flip of her heart.

“Huh.” Saint slid off his boots and entered the loft, heading to the kitchen. “Did you eat?”

She rotated onto her knees, watching him cross the loft over the back of the couch.

“I’m fine.” She’d had some toast. And an apple.

Saint paused mid-step, then kept walking.

A stitch in her neck shrieked at her for falling asleep on her arm while she scrolled aimlessly. She should have just gone to bed.

Saint’s bed. Jesus, she was already thinking about it as theirs. It’d been weeks. Barely two months since they’d met. She didn’t live here.

Riley rubbed her palm on the back of the couch. Would that be so bad?

Yes, she thought. No.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked.

“They’re fine.”

His back rippled under his shirt as he reached for a glass, filling it under the tap. He was wearing a different t-shirt. His throat bobbed as he drank, and when he was done he set it on the counter next to him.

“Come here.”

She glared at him. She wasn’t sure why, but the anger was undeniable, a roiling mess in her belly.

He held her gaze until she got to her feet and stomped over, arms folded over her knit sweater. Under his gaze, she felt naked. Her nipples hardened, overly sensitive.

“What?” she snapped, meeting his dark eyes.

“Don’t say you’re fine when you’re not.”

“Don’t fuck off in the middle of an important conversation.” She froze at the snap in her own voice.

“That’s better.”

The careful darkness on his face gave way to something heated, something far worse than anger. The look in his eyes was possessive fire, and she wanted to touch it. Even if it burned.

He crowded her against the counter and then grabbed her hips, lifting her onto it.

Riley’s squeak of indignation was swallowed by his lips, hard and soft and all-consuming. She reacted before she thought, biting his lower lip as punishment while twisting her hands into his shirt to pull him closer. He had the audacity to laugh, and she bit down harder. He nipped her back, hands tightening around her hips. He pulled her against him as he absorbed all her anger, swallowing every ragged breath. He smelled like wind and dust and felt good.