Page 39 of Saint Valentine

I resisted the urge to declare that she was mine. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back.

What felt like seconds later, her body relaxed against me, and she started lightly snoring. I let myself drift to sleep right behind her, wondering what I’d wake up to in the morning.

Chapter Twenty

Aria

I woke up surrounded by pictures of myself, the glassy eyes staring at me from every angle. It was eerie, suffocating, and all too much for first thing in the morning. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. Flashes of what happened the day and night before flickered in my head.

The doctor. The test. Dancing. Then my stupid ass had to fuck him.

I fucked him.

Iconvinced myself that it would make him feel better, that it was something we needed to do to see if we were truly compatible. But that was a lie. The truth was, I had just wanted to.

I had officially lost the plot.

I didn’t even regret it. It had been good. So good, in fact, that I couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would have been if we had gone all out—added some fellatio and cunnilingus. I liked those activities. It was so good I’d told a crazy man I loved him, knowing it would just make him act crazier.

I had been hoping it would be bad. That the chemistry would fizzle after and give me a reason to keep everything clinical. But no. If anything, it had only made everything worse. Because I wanted to do it again.

Someone knocked on the door, the maid walked in without waiting for an answer. This wasn’t the nice Latina lady. She was a young blonde. She glanced at the pictures of me on the walls, her nose wrinkling like she was trying not to grimace.

“I brought you breakfast. And your yarn,” she said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “For knitting.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she emphasized the knitting part.

I didn’t bother responding. I needed to get out into that maze and find my phone. It was three days until the wedding, and if I didn’t at least try harder to get out of it, I had a feeling that once I said “I do,” Saint wouldn’t let me out of his sight.

The maid left.

I threw on jeans and a T-shirt—no underwear for me again—brushing my hair out of my face before heading downstairs. My steps slowed when I saw Saint standing near the grand windows, phone pressed to his ear. His eyes flicked to me the moment I entered, dragging over my body. I could feel them like fingers over my skin.

He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving mine. I wondered how he was making calls if there was something blocking them. Must have had a different connection for his phones. Sneaky snake.

“Going somewhere?”

He wasn’t wearing his usual suit. He had on a simple white T-shirt, the sleeve of tattoos on both his arms exposed, skulls and guns and girls littered his skin. For his bottoms, he wore a pair of black joggers.

“Can I go for a walk?” I asked, keeping my voice even. But I hated having to ask his ass for permission.

His head tilted slightly. “A walk?”

I exhaled, shifting on my feet. “I’m not running. Not like I can with your maze. I just… I just need a minute to myself to think. I’m confused.”

That part was true, at least.

He studied me for a long moment before stepping closer. My breath caught as he reached out, his fingers brushing my chin.

“Can I have a kiss?” he murmured.

I hesitated. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

But I nodded.

The moment our lips touched, fireworks went off in my brain, and that same pull that had been there from the start was still there. The kiss deepened, his hands tightening around my waist, his hips rolling filthily against me. Grinding. Working himself up, working me up, until I was dripping through my panties, the heat between my thighs unbearable.

I pulled back abruptly, breathless.

He frowned but let me go. “Don’t take too long,” he said, voice rough.

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