Page 112 of Chandelier Sin
I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t stay and risk my life or my daughter over an obsession for a man I hardly knew.
“I was trying to help you,” I burst out. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. But if you can’t see that because you’re—”
A tall, shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. “You were saying?”
Atticus leaned against the doorjamb.
I shuddered with uncertainty, filled with doubt over my reckless decision to break into his home.
“Traffic was unusually good,” he said. “Clearly the gods wanted me to catch your guilty ass in the act.”
He had that same confidence, same gorgeous demeanor of holding an arousing level of control. Then again, this was his bedroom.
I raised my chin. “You’re the first man to stand up to Aemon. And live.”
“Maybe he sees himself in me.”
“You’re nothing like him.”
Atticus strolled in, closing the space between us with that familiar stride of quiet power. He wore a causal look in jeans and a T-shirt. His lush dark hair looked like he’d just run his hand through it, maybe with a touch of frustration laced with annoyance. He eased his wallet out of his back pocket and placed it on the bedside table.
My body stiffened, a sliver of uncertaintyrushing through me as I braced myself for his wrath, holding my breath against this imminent violence.
I braced for his first strike—because it always happened eventually.
Shouldn’t have come here.
It was a man’s strength that helped them get away with bullying. It was my grit that made me the ultimate survivor.
All I had to do was endure him—use him.
He narrowed his gaze on me, and it was in the way he tilted his head that showed another side, a quiet amusement. He flipped over the bedside clock, hinting it probably was a camera. Maybe he didn’t want to record his crime.
Walking toward me, he reached for the faux fur throw at the end of the bed and dragged it with him, lifting it up to drape over my shoulders. I shivered with gratitude as the throw swamped me.
Doubt, like a dark cloud above, threatened to rain poisonous droplets to melt my will once he revealed his true nature. Like so many men did.
Seconds passed.
Atticus covering me with much needed warmth contradicted what he’d asked me to do before—get half naked. I arched a brow to express surprise at him making me strip only to cover me.
“How’s that?” he asked. “Warmer? Being so close to the ocean means it gets chilly.”
I let him turn my body to face the full-length mirror so I could see my reflection, my expression fraught with confusion. Me, the young brunette filled with uncertainty, and yet gratefully snuggled within the throw.
His actions could be construed as kindness.
Atticus crushed me back against his chest and brought me in for a hug, holding me like this as we both faced the mirror, staring into each other’s reflection. He rested his chin on my head with affection, like we were lovers trying to solve an argument and waiting for the other to crack and spill our secrets.
I waited for his temper to erupt. “Are you going to…?”
“Going to what?”
“You had me take off my dress.”
“To see if you would.”
“Why?”
