Page 38 of Art of Sin

“Annoying.” He takes a step toward me. “Self-serving. Pompous. A brute.”

Another step and he towers over me, even my spiked heels no match for his formidable height. He could break me. Physically, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

I’m not afraid, though. Inexplicable—this feeling that swells inside me. As though the closer he is, the more relaxed I am.

You’ve never felt safe, have you?

He doesn’t know what danger feels like. He’s never been where I’ve been. Lived through what I’ve endured.

Goddamn him and his effortless superiority.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, and it comes out a strangled whisper.

His voice is just as low. “I’m still not entirely sure.”

I jerk when his fingers touch my face, the contact electric. Shocking. His thumb traces my cheek, his other fingers lightly gripping my jaw. With the lights from the hotel lobby behind him, his eyes are shadowed. Dark as sin.

“Come home with me, Deirdre.”

My breath catches, my body ignoring the divide between what I want him to mean versus what he surely does. Since I refused his offer to pick me up, my car is at his house. What he really means is, Don’t take a taxi, you idiot.

“Fine. But stop touching me. It’s confusing.”

I look away, annoyed at myself for revealing more than I wanted to. My face burns.

His hand falls, humor crinkling his eyes. “As my lady wishes.”

He gestures toward a limo down the line with its back door open.

Teeth clenched, I go.

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