Page 54 of Burned By Sin
“I’ve let you have your fun, hoping you’ll screw it out of your system, but all you’re doing is making a mockery of us. It ends after the gala or so help me, there will be consequences.”
The wordconsequenceshangs between us, so thick that I can taste it. The same word he used when he cut my mother off from her family. The same word he whispered before he made sure my first mentor was transferred halfway across the country. This is no bluff, and I don’t want to know what punishment he would think up for me. I’m the one he hates the most, because I don’t even try to bend to his whims. I don’t fit the perfect mold he set up for me, hoping I’d one day step into his shoes and take over his dirty work.
I stare at him, this man who somehow manages to look perfectly composed while dismantling me in public, and realize there’s no room left for the both of us. It’s him or me, a task I need to get back to soon. If my father reads my mindset as easily as he claims, he doesn’t show it. He’s already turning his attention to the waiter, waving for the bill like the conversation’s concluded.
Harper and Clayton are halfway down the street by the time I catch up to them, standing beneath the wash of an amber streetlight. Wrapping her arms around herself, Harper puffs off small clouds of air as Clayton hails a passing cab.
She spots me just as the yellow car pulls up, Clayton popping the rear door. He enters first and her second, then I shuffle her along so I can get into the back too. I can’t stand an inch of separation right now, including sitting in the passenger seat. I bark the address and lean back, taking Harper in my arms the way I wanted to all night.
“You okay? What did he say to you?”
“Just the usual threats,” I lie, brushing the goosebumps pebbling her skin. “I’m fine. Let’s get you home.” The words slip out of me sonaturally, I don’t pick up on them until Clayton raises a curious brow. I’ve never called my house a home before. It’s always been cold, no matter how many people fill it. Like a car missing its engine. Like a body missing its heart.
The cab pulls away from the curb with a slight skid of the brakes. None of us want to comment on what has transpired in the restaurant, the choice that’s now hanging over our heads. I probably should be stressing at the possibility of losing Harper, the girl I’ve poured more of myself into than I thought possible, but it’s currently at the bottom of the list.
What’s circulating at the forefront of my mind is the way my father looked at her. How he was somewhat impressed and definitely angered by her determination. Whether Harper meant to or not, a new conflict with my father has begun, and this time, she’s the one caught in the crossfire.
Chapter Thirty Two
Standing with my arms crossed, I stare down at the bed. I’ve tried to sleep, but instead I lay in the dark all night overthinking. Not even the curve of Harper’s ass pressed against my pajama pants or the lull of her vanilla shampoo filling my senses were enough to help me drift off. I might as well have been a ghost at dinner last night, on the outside looking in as my world was slowly torn apart. An ultimatum has been set, and it’s come from the worst possible place because there’s one thing Waversea’s don’t do, and that’s lose.
Doubts swirl around my mind, the self-doubt I constantly battle with starting to take shape. It has the face of a man who scowls and smokes, who marks himself with scars and skeletons, and who’s endlessly mocking me.
For the first time since I met her, I’m starting to seriously consider if Harper should be with Rhys. Not for her sake, but for his. I saw a new side to him last night, his mask well and truly slipping. I thought I was walking into a dinner with the devil and his clone, the master and his loyal heir, but that’s not what I saw. For reasons unknown to me, Rhys’ father makes him uncomfortable.
Yet Harper knew how to keep him calm. With that subtle, unshakable strength of hers, she defended him to a man who could make mostpeople shrink away. She held Rhys’ hand and kept him grounded, nurturing his vulnerability as if she’s used to it. So now I’m left to wonder, for the sake of everyone on campus, should I just leave them be? Would the world be a better place if Rhys has his person, his focus away from causing harm and being a general shithead?
But…what about me? When is it going to be my turn for happiness, maybe even love? When do I get to be selfish and say fuck the world, I’m taking what I’m owed? I have so much to give, as well as so much to prove. Being here, surrounded by Rhys’ wealth and lifestyle, it’s enough to spread doubt through anyone’s mind. It’s that thought which draws me away from her warmth and into the mindset that I’m going to do something about it. Right now, whilst I still have a chance. Right now, before she slips through my fingers for good.
Leaving the pair to their early morning cuddle, I quietly rummage around the room to collect the items I’ll need. Pacing into the bathroom, I dig through the drawers and cupboards beneath the basin. Once I have a collection of the most expensive bottles and lotions I could find, I set the jacuzzi bath running and tip in a decent amount of liquid. Scents of jasmine and white lily fill the air alongside the water cascading from an elongated tap like a waterfall.
I busy myself lighting various candles I found around Rhys’ room and the lighter I stole from his jeans pocket. There’s something to be said about the self-proclaimed king who has more spa products and lotions than the average princess. I make sure everything is perfect before switching off the water and returning to the darkened room.
With every step I take, my mind whispers that I could stop here. I could walk out the door, let Rhys have her, and maybe save myself the heartbreak that’s crawling toward me like a slow, certain fire. But I don’t move towards the door. I move towards her.
Gently smoothing my arms beneath Harper’s sleeping frame, I lift her to my chest and carry her away from the monster she’s been curled up with. She stirs a little, her brows pinching together as if fighting a baddream. I’m careful not to jolt her too much, knowing she won’t be able to hear around her. I could have taken the microphone from Rhys’ shirt, but we don’t need words. Not when she’s safe in my arms instead of his.
Entering the bathroom, I pause long enough to make sure the door is firmly locked. I won’t allow us to be disturbed. Sitting Harper on the marble counter beside the basin, I support her until she’s woken enough to take in her surroundings. Her lashes cling together from sleep, her green eyes squinting against the candlelight, confusion flickering before recognition softens her face. She’s wearing the t-shirt I insisted we put on her before she passed out last night. There was no way I was letting Rhys take advantage of her when she wasn’t lucid enough to give her consent. It’s caused her to smell like him, but it’s better than the alternative.
Taking in the candle-lit space and spotting the heap of bubbles covering the bathtub, Harper tries to react but her brows are pinched, the slightest downturn to the corners of her mouth. I anticipated this, the pain meds I’d found on my open palm and a filled glass of water at the ready. Harper groans and presses a palm against her forehead, feeling the edge of her hangover, then accepts the meds and downs them with a thankful smile. That one small smile wrecks me. It fills me with hope that the lines haven’t blurred too much, and that I can still be the hero in her story. The one who finally gives her the peace she’s been longing for.
Removing the now-empty glass back from her fingers, I place it down and slowly lift the t-shirt over her head. Goosebumps rise along her skin, her breath catching as the cooler air grazes her bare shoulders. Her body is the image of perfection beneath my rough knuckles, but it’s the vulnerability in the way she avoids my eyes, lashes lowering to her cheeks, that undoes me. The black thong she’s wearing has bitten into her hips, a problem I happily fix by peeling the straps of material down her legs. She watches me intently through lowered lashes, her expression unreadable, making no move to rush or force me aside. It’sthat quiet trust that bolsters my actions and proves I’ve made the right choice by staying.
Feeling the heat of her gaze on my torso, I slowly push my pajama pants down over my thighs. My dick springs free, the effect her body has on me clear as ever. Kicking the material off, I lift her into my arms once more and carry her to the tub. Stepping in myself, I lower us both into the water together so that her back rests against my front, her breathing syncing with my own.
At last, I can relax. Harper’s body curls slightly against mine, fitting there like it’s where she belongs. I could soak in everything that is Harper, no water or tub needed. Her vitality seeps into every pore on my skin, the silent power she carries an inspiration to those of us who were so close to giving up. Who felt they had nothing left to live for.
Mr Waversea’s ultimatum lingers in the back of my mind, but it won’t deter me. If Harper ultimately breaks my heart, at least I can hold onto the fact that she saved me first.
Reaching for a sponge, I tentatively wash Harper’s body. Her shoulders tense at first, then ease beneath my touch as if she’s slowly remembering where she is. Starting with her arms, I scrub the length of them one by one, her skin turning pink under the gentle friction. It’s tender and sweet, but my psyche calls for something a little more…tactile.
Retiring the sponge, I opt for rubbing the bubbles into each of her legs with my hands instead, my thumbs circling her knees, sliding down the curve of her calf. Harper’s breath hitches as I work my way higher, reaching her inner thigh, her fingers curling against the rim of the tub like she’s bracing for impact. My dick jumps excitedly, so I stop that course of action before I lose control. I finally have Harper all to myself, and for however long it lasts, I plan on making the most out of our time. Every second, every heartbeat, every stolen breath.
Squeezing a large dollop of shampoo into my palm, I massage it into her hair to create a lather. Her head tips forward at first, her brow furrowing, then back as my fingers find their rhythm. Has my sweet angelnever been pampered like this before? I’m clearly slacking if that’s the case. I work the shampoo through her scalp, slow circles turning firm, coaxing tiny sighs from her parted lips. The sound vibrates faintly against my chest.
A memory flickers across the back of my mind. My mom coming home from a twelve-hour shift at the hospital to a bubble bath run by Jeremy. He would wash her hair and paint her nails. He always said a man’s only job is making sure the woman of the house is happy. I guess at least one thing he taught me has stuck.
Washing out Harper’s hair, I repeat the process with a salon-branded conditioner. I hope it costs more than more people’s rent, I think as I empty it into the tub. Even when I’ve got Harper all to myself, I can’t help but chuckle a littlefuck youat Rhys. Harper’s lashes flutter when the warm water trails down her neck, her chest falling in a quiet exhale. Every fiber of my being is currently focused on showing Harper how she should be treated, how we could be. I wouldn’t have all these small luxuries, but the notion is the same. Care doesn’t need a price tag.
