Page 40 of Saint Valentine

I nodded, then moved away from him before I said fuck the phone and fucked him.

His eyes followed me as I walked out the door, his suspicion practically radiating off him.

I took off as soon as I was outside, pulling the yarn from the back of my pants, tying a piece to a tree limb before heading into the maze. I moved quickly, my eyes scanning the ground under the shrubs as I searched for my phone, hoping the rain hadn’t ruined it and that it hadn’t gone dead before my messages sent.

I saw a flash of purple.

I bent down, my fingers brushing against something hard. I almost whooped. I had found it.

“What are you doing?”

I froze, but my heart went crazy in my chest, beating and pounding away like fuck. I stood, leaving the phone where it was, and turned to face Saint.

He was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you get the yarn?”

“I asked the maid for it,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Why didn’t you say you were trying to figure out the maze when you asked to go for a walk?”

“Why do I have to tell you exactly what I plan to do?” I shot back.

“You’re being sneaky, Princess,” he said, stepping closer.

“Stop it,” I snapped. “You only call me Princess when you’re annoyed, and I haven’t done anything, Damien.” I thought of a new nickname.

His eyes narrowed before he grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t look over my shoulder at the phone as he dragged me away. While Saint had been sleeping the night he showed me his art, I’d crept into his office and unplugged all the devices before plugging them back in. I was hoping whatever was blocking the cell signals had been disabled long enough for my message to my cousin to go through.

I guess I’d just have to wait and see.

Chapter twenty one

Aria

Saint wasn’t stupid. He knew I had been up to something. He had me sitting in his office with him, calling himself watching me after he found me in the maze. That was six hours ago. He’d made phone calls, read files. My skin felt tight under his scrutiny, but I wasn’t about to show it. I just didn’t need him searching that maze.

He was sitting behind his desk with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a file in the other.

I shifted in my seat—a settee next to a wall full of books—pretending to readAnna Karenina. His head rose in my direction, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Are you ready to talk about what you were doing in the maze?”

“I was just walking, Grim.”

His jaw clenched at the use of one of my many nicknames for him. I wanted to laugh, but that would piss him off further.

I needed a distraction. Something big enough to throw him off his game. I knew his weakness. His eyes had already strayed from my face to my tits, and then moved up and lingered on my mouth. He was mad, but he wanted to touch me.

I was willing to exploit his lust to get him to move the fuck on.

I stood and walked around the desk, my hips swaying just enough to catch his attention. His eyes followed me, dark and unreadable, but I saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his grip on the glass flexed.

I slid between him and the desk, dropping down to my knees in front of him, my hands trailing up his thighs. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t encourage me either. He just watched me, expression carefully neutral, like he was waiting to see what I’d do next.

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