Page 28 of Goldsin

I’m picking up the notebooks, skimming through them, when a leather-bound book hidden beneath a pile catches my attention.

This one looks worn out, less vibrant than the others.

I know whatever I’m searching for is written in these pages.

I flip it open, and torn pages stare back at me. I’m about to flip to the next one when her voice drifts toward me.

“My lingerie drawer is over there, creep.”

A smirk curves my lips, and I turn around to look at her.

There she stands, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. The gesture pushes her cleavage further up, calling for my attention.

Tempting. But all of her is. Always has been.

Every inch of her calls for my gaze to linger over it.

Her curves are wrapped in a pair of emerald sweatpants. The color makes her green eyes pop, flecks of burned honey catching the light. A black tank top hugs her stomach, accentuating each dip of her body. A faint strip of her lower belly is bare.

Her inviting lips, the color of ripe summer peaches, curl into an insufferable smirk that sends a jolt straight to my dick. She’s clearly amused by my intrusion. Or she hopes to give that impression. Hopes I won’t notice the way her eyes keep calling to the diary still in my hand.

“Now, why would I go through all this trouble for some lingerie?” I ask, taking a step toward her.

Her hair’s in a messy bun on top of her head. My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I take in the sight of her this close up.

From the smattering of freckles dusting her nose to the soft flush on her neck down to her chest, she’s painfully beautiful. The only kind of agony I’d endure for life.

“No,” I continue slowly. My eyes travel leisurely down the expanse of her body, catching the invisible shiver I leave behind. “I want something ... more.”

Something worth my time. Something worth the time I lost.

“Say it, Julian.”

“Why did you kill Vincent DeMarco?”

When I heard of DeMarco’s death, the only proof I needed was in the flustered way she was acting that night, DeMarco’s mysterious disappearance, and the bloodstain on her skin. Something inside of me screamed she did it. Or maybe it was only my hope that she was as tainted as me.

“Really?” She scoffs, walking toward me. “Do you really see me as a murderer, Julian?”

“I see you as someone who’s hiding something,” I retort, holding the diary up between us. “What’s in here that’s so important? Are you afraid I’ll find out the truth?”

She doesn’t waste time and snatches the diary from my grasp. I let her, amused at the lines that form in the middle of her brow as she tightens it against her chest. Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly.

“Sometimes people like to have an ounce of privacy. I have a diary, just like half of the population.” Her green eyes blaze with anger. “I didn’t kill DeMarco. And I didn’t write it in my diary. I may be secretive, but I’m not stupid.”

“Then what are you hiding?” I close the last remaining space between us and lower my gaze to her.

Too fucking little to be this lethal.

“None of your damn business,” she hisses, taking a step back.

She’s smart. She’s not running away.

“Everything is my business when it comes to you,Aurelia,” I growl, my headache mounting. “Especially when it involves you attending tonight’s party.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is really about.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Afraid I’ll have too much fun without you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. If it’s not with me, I’ll still be there to watch.”

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