Page 17 of Saint Valentine

Aria

The maze incident had left me feeling raw and vulnerable, like someone had taken a knife to my emotions and twisted it. I wanted a hug from someone who loved me.

I settled for wrapping my arms around myself.

The hours after Saint left felt like a blur of sleeping, eating, numbing myself. Saint had left me alone, and I was grateful for that, but I knew it wouldn’t last, so I enjoyed it while it did.

But as soon as evening started to settle in, the tension crept back into my body, causing my muscles to coil and ache again. I felt like I was living in the calm before the storm. The calm before sitting down to break bread with a man I’d hated since I was eight.

Saint’s father represented the worst time in my life.

A knock on the door pulled me out of my head. The maid who had been helping me all day, a short Afro-Latina woman with a heavy accent, stepped in. She was the only other person I’d seen. I think she was Saint’s only staff. Inside the house was always so quiet. She was carrying a dress. She placed it on the bed. “Saint wants you to wear this for dinner,” she said with a soft smile. She set down a collection of hair products beside the dress, then paused. "You'll be beautiful, Mija. You remind me of my granddaughter," she added, like she was trying to calm mynerves. "Don’t worry, okay? Everything will be alright. Mr. Saint is a nice man, just grouchy."

I barely had time to process her words before she slipped out the door, leaving only the soft click behind her. Saint was a nice man? Tuh, please. That wasn’t something I was about to entertain. Instead of retreating into the comfort of the bed like I wanted to, I made a quick decision to take another shower. I didn’t need the control freak coming into the room and seeing me lying there, trying to exert his power over me.

After washing, I got out and stared at my reflection. I saw a woman in the middle of a mess she didn’t create looking back at me. I wanted to scream, to punch something, do anything but participate in Saint’s madness, but I didn’t have a choice. I just took a long breath and wiped the fogged mirror. I squeezed gel into my palm and worked it through my curls, performing a little magic, watching as my hair went from dry to coiled. I stared at myself for a moment, took another deep breath, then turned and walked to the dress waiting for me on the bed. I realized again—there were no underwear. I rolled my eyes.

I had just slipped into the dress when Saint entered the room without knocking, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. I wanted to throw a full-blown temper tantrum, but I knew it would do me no good and probably entertain him.

My eyes took him in. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, his tie was perfectly knotted, his shoes polished. He looked every inch the mafia prince, and I hated how my disloyal heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

I blamed it on the childhood crush that had lasted too damn long and on all the nights I had fantasized about the man he would become.

The reality was even better than the fantasy, a bit more violent.

But I’d sooner die than admit it to him or anybody.

“It’s time,” he said, his voice calm.

I didn’t respond. I simply nodded.

“Still not talking?” Saint stepped closer, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that made my skin prickle.

I sighed but held my tongue.

“Turn around. The zipper on the dress is still down,” His tone left no room for argument.

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was him touching me.

Reluctantly, I turned, exposing my back to him. His fingers brushed along my spine, slowly, like he knew what it would do to me. The contact was brief, a ghost of sensation but it left a trail of fire in its wake. Deliberate. Designed. Enough to make my body tingle and goosebumps spread across my skin.

I spun back around to face him, our eyes locking. A moment heavy with electricity passed between us. Neither of us said a word. We just stared at each other, knowing there was nothing to say and everything to figure out.

“Sit,” he said, breaking the silence and gesturing to the edge of the bed. I sat, tucking my lips as he knelt in front of me. He pulled out a pair of black heels from what seemed like nowhere.

With a ridiculous amount of care, he slipped them onto my feet. One. Then the other.

I should’ve looked away. I should’ve ignored the way his white shirt stretched across his chest, the way the fabric pulled, just enough to tease me with a flash of the ink along his neck.

But I didn’t.

I looked my fill.

When he was done, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my inner knee in a kiss that was laced with poison, I felt it seep into my blood stream. His lips on my skin, made my flesh hum, sending electricity straight to my pussy.

Damn. I almost moaned.

This moment was devastatingly sexy to me. Shamefully so.

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