Page 40 of Sin

Hmm. That could work to my advantage if whoever found me enjoyed doling out discipline. I could feed.

I held my breath as the door soundlessly slid open.

I have to admit I was a little disappointed when no stern brunch daddy was waiting for me on the other side. Nor psychotic wife or Tor-like beast.

Le sigh.

Some other bitches got all the fun.

Where was my fun? I deserved fun.

Instead I killed anyone who tried to give that to me.

Again, le sigh.

Having a proper pity party now, I crept out of the elevator and took in the expensive but understated furnishings. Every wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, offering unimpeded views of the city lights.

“Wow,” I breathed, walking forward on instinct, my feet sinking into plush carpet so soft I was surely leaving footprints. I noted the grand leather sectional that seemed to dominate this den—living room didn’t seem like the right word for the space. The cushions were so deep they could fit at least two of me comfortably.

“You and I totally have a date later,” I whispered, giving the sofa a little finger gun before starting toward what looked like it could be an epic rooftop balcony. Before I made it more than a couple of steps, the whisper of two voices met my ears.

I dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Fuck.

I wasn’t so good at the sleuthing thing. I think I was much more of a Scooby than a Velma. Or maybe I was more Bumblebee. You know from that one movie where the giant robot car guy tried to hide himself behind a tiny boulder? That was me right now with this ottoman.

“This can’t happen again,” a smooth, deep British voice said, the timbre skating over my skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“It won’t. I’ve reinforced the firewalls on every one of your servers. I also hacked into the cyber-pirate’s accounts and returned every cent they stole from you, and a little off the top for me. Their systems will be fried the moment they attempt to access any of their banks.” That was a voice I knew much better. Malice.

That must mean the other smooth-as-butter Brit must be the infamous Grim. Why did that excite me so?

Rising to my feet, I padded closer to the sound of their voices, most definitely eavesdropping with zero shame.

“Good. We can’t afford any distractions right now. Not even some petulant wankers who think they can steal from me.”

“Are we sure they’re not working for someone else?” Malice drawled.

“You think they might behisminions?”

There was a slight pause where I could only make out the rustle of clothes and the sound of fingers moving quickly over a keyboard. Then Malice sighed. “I think it would be foolish of us not to consider the possibility. He is a problem we have to solve.”

“He? He who?” I blurted, stepping through the open doorway and crossing my arms over my ample chest.

I had the briefest of moments to take in the surroundings. A dark and moody office, walls of books, another of windows justlike in the den, and more importantly, a stunner of a silver fox standing there, only adding to the view. Malice was seated at the desk, half-hidden by the sleek computer monitor.

“How did you get up here?” the man, who could only be Grim, snarled. His silver hair was artfully tousled, the thick locks holding just a hint of curl. His face was beautifully sculpted, the sharp angles of his cheeks matched by his bearded jaw. And then there were those eyes. Whew. A dangerous liquid silver, framed by ridiculously long black lashes.

“I scaled the windows, obviously,” I said with a roll of my eyes, annoyed with myself for drinking him in like a fine wine while he was being an absolute prick.

A snorted laugh came from Malice, but he didn’t say anything.

Grim narrowed his eyes at me, his jaw setting in a harsh line.

“Uh, the elevator. No one said this floor was off-limits.”

“Well, it is.”

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