Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
After only the briefest hesitation, Saint schools his features and saunters over to me, his eyes zeroing in on my crossed legs, which are bare from the thigh slit. “What are you doing here?”
“Got a minute to talk?” I ask with a tremulous smile, nodding toward the door. “We can walk through the Jardin des Champs-Élysées, which is close by. It’s beautiful at night.”
Saint raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, I’m exhausted. How about a drink in my room?”
Nothing about his offer suggests anything but an actual drink. In fact, he looks and sounds exhausted. It makes me feel guilty for bothering him.
“Actually,” I say as I rise from the chair. “It’s not a big deal. I should get out of your hair.”
“Nonsense,” he replies, taking my elbow in his hand. He steers me toward the elevator. “We could both use a drink, I’m sure.”
I don’t argue because I want to talk to him more than anything.
In his room—an expansive suite with a living room, small bar area, and a private bedroom—he starts to make us cocktails.
He doesn’t bother to ask what I want. Instead, he mixes a gin and tonic, assuming it’s still my preferred drink.
It is, so I accept it with a murmured thanks before taking a sip.
He pours a vodka on the rocks for himself.
“Tonight went off without a hitch,” he observes, opening the floor up for conversation.
“I’m feeling a little guilty about what I did to Dennison,” I admit, circling my finger around the top of my glass.
Quizzically, he tilts his head. “You’ve never let it bother you before.”
“Not the burglary part,” I clarify, shaking my head. “I mean I feel bad about leading him on, then making him sick. He’s a nice, lonely guy.”
“What about stealing his painting? How do you feel about that?”
Shrugging, I move over to the windows to look out over the interior courtyard. It’s completely deserted at this time of night, but still nicely lit. “Never thought I’d still be a thief at this point in my life.”
“So why are you?” he asks, coming to stand beside me.
Putting an arm across my stomach, I take another sip of my drink. “I’m stuck so to speak.”
“A rut?” he guesses.
“More or less,” I intone, but truthfully… less. I’m stuck because I’m being held hostage, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Saint sips at his drink, peering out the window with a hand casually tucked into his pants pocket. He’s waiting me out since I haven’t said much of anything yet, and I’m the one who asked to talk.
He surprises me by breaking the silence first. “Mercier called me as I was on my way back to the hotel. Impressed with our work and all that. Asked me to formally join his crew for some big heist he’s putting together.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
He shifts, eyes meeting mine. “Any clue what he has planned?”
I shake my head. “Neither he nor William have said a word, but we’ve been told something huge is in the works. He’s been testing out a lot of people with jobs like we did tonight.”
Saint studies my face, obviously trying to determine the veracity of my words. I return the stare, hoping he understands I’m not withholding any information. If I had any, I’d share.
He lets his attention return to the view, casually sipping at his drink. His posture says he isn’t all that eager to hear anything I have to say.
“Do you forgive me?” I blurt out.
Saint snaps his attention toward me, his brows furrowing before smoothing out. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“No,” he replies without any hesitation.
“Do you want me?”
This time, his body physically jerks as he takes a step back. He doesn’t necessarily seem horrified by my question, but he doesn’t appear receptive either.
“Forget I asked—”
“Yes,” he says, cutting over my words. “I want you, Sin, but it’s probably a stupid idea to go there.”
“Yeah…” The resignation and disappointment in the one-word answer is heavy. I turn toward the bar, intent on setting my glass there. “Coming here was probably not the brightest idea. It’s always a bad idea for work colleagues to sleep together.”
I make it no more than two steps before he says, “We’ve worked together before and still fucked.”
Pausing to glance over my shoulder, I wait for more.
“It’s because feelings will get involved if we go there,” he continues, and there’s a fluttering in my chest. If he’s worried about developing feelings again, it must mean he forgives me.
I give a half shrug, trying for nonchalance. “We could agree it’s nothing but sex.”
“Agree not to let our feelings get involved?” he inquires as he starts to prowl toward me. Something changes within his expression. A definite interest and a hint of slyness.
“Sure.” I turn in his direction, once more shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I mean… we used to get so juiced up after a successful heist, remember? We’d go back to our apartment and fuck for hours.”