Page 101 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
I should get up.With any other man, I’d move immediately. But looking up at his handsome face with that small smile on his lips, I just feel like I’ve come home.
And after a moment, the way I’m lying doesn’t feel unfamiliar or awkward. Which is weird. I would definitely feel that way if it were Byron, and he’s the closest male friend I have.
“What are you thinking?” Tony asks.
“Oh, nothing. Just about Byron and how—”
His eyebrows snap together. “Byron?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What about him?”
Here’s a chance to make a point he might not like. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Remember yesterday, when you sort of evaded my question about Jamie Thornton?”
His lips thin, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I’ll be honest if you promise to do the same with me in the future.”
He nods once, curtly. Not particularly gracious, but I’ll take it. And I feel good about that because that means I can take what he’s saying at face value. And that’s important.
“I was thinking that lying here like this doesn’t feel awkward…even though it would be with Byron.”
The tightness in his expression eases.
“See what promising to be honest gets you?” I say sweetly. “If you’d said no, I was going to say Byron was super hot.”
Tony smirks. “Were you now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So he isn’t super hot?”
“He’s handsome, but not hot. There’s a difference. He’s a good friend…but that’s it.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Iris.”
Tony massages my hands, his touch gentle and firm. He knows exactly how much force to exert to make me feel good. Nobody’s ever massaged my hands like this before. And it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
“You have beautiful fingers,” he murmurs.
“They’re like crab legs,” I say sleepily. “Too long.”
A fraction of a second’s pause before he continues to rub my hands. “Talented. Just look at what you practiced.”
“It’s just some Liszt,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Uh-huh. Talented.”
His thumb strokes the scar on my right palm. I always feel self-conscious about it, but somehow with Tony, it’s okay that he’s touching the jagged line.
“How did you get this?” His question is like a small tickle on my half-asleep mind.
Could’ve sworn I told him…“A car crash nine years ago. Almost lost the use of my pinkie.”
His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt. I feel his kisses on my fingers as I finally drift off.
But even as I do so, I can’t shake off a sense of déjà vu that makes my heart ache with a yearning I don’t understand.
