Page 41 of Wicked Sin

Fixing it up replaced going to the gym, and now it’s a decent home.

It’s also pretty off the grid because my official address is still the place I own out in the suburbs. That I rent out.

This one, I bought through a numbered corporation, which at the time gave me a chuckle, because who the fuck am I to play with shit like that?

Turns out my real estate lawyer was smart, and now I know this is a safe place to bring Taylor. At least for the night. At least to let her get some sleep.

I’m not kidding myself into thinking the Feds won’t ever check me out, but right now, they’re hunting for Taylor elsewhere.

Rodeo Drive, hopefully.

“My boss just bought you a night of sleep without federal agents watching you, that’s what.”

“Just one night?”

I turn onto my street and tap the remote button for my garage to open. “Let’s play that by ear. If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to have to follow my rules. For real this time. No more running away. No more diva acts.”

“If I say okay, are you going to believe me?”

That gets a half-smile. “I don’t know. Try me.”

She doesn’t say anything. I park then go around to the trunk to grab her suitcase. She’s still sitting in the front seat like she might just go to sleep there.

“Hey, Princess. Out of the car. You can deliberate on whether or not you want to trust me inside.”

She gets out and rolls her eyes for effect.

I’d like to spank the brat right out of her.

It’s a sudden, brutal thought. Unbidden and unwelcome. My throat goes tight as I picture what it might be like to bring her smart mouth to a breathy, happy pause. Make her focus her remarkable energy elsewhere.

Oh, Princess. If only we’d met under different circumstances.

I shove that thought away and let us into the house through the interior garage door then punch in my security code into the keypad on the wall.

Maybe I don’t shove the thought far enough down, though, because when I catch her looking askance at my living room—my house, that I renovated with my bare fucking hands—the nickname rolls off my tongue again, and this time, it’s deliberate. “How do you like your new digs, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that. You want me to call you Luke, you can call me Taylor. Or Ms. Reid, I like that.”

“Deal. Now stop sneering at my house.”

She whips around, her mouth dropping open. “Yours?”

“Yes, my house. Where did you think I was taking you?”

“I…don’t know.” She sighs. “My brain stopped working like ten hours ago.”

“Well, nobody knows I live here. So it’s pretty damn secure.”

She worries her lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry. Your house is lovely.”

That’s better.And if things were different, I would reward her for being polite.

Things are not different.

She wanders around my living room. “You believed me that the federal government wasn’t to be trusted?”

“I was on the fence before the threatening note. As soon as I got word of that, I knew you weren’t safe unless nobody knew where you were. Too many potential leaks. Too many conflicting priorities. Too many cases, period. You’re my only case right now, Taylor.”

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