Chapter 27
Harper
“All for thelow price of selling your soul.” He gives a sidelong glance around the room as I make a tour of it.
“I don’t know. Might be worth it,” I say as I pass beneath a large fern plant.
I can’t imagine how much they must be spending just on landscape and gardening fees to keep the property and this room up. It’s gorgeous but daunting to think about.
“Thinking about putting your soul on the market?” He’s busy looking out at the view through the window but I see the wicked smirk in profile.
“If I thought I might get anything for the bid,” I answer, running my hand under one of the fern leaves, letting it brush over my fingertips. “Eventually I’ll have to figure out how to afford an apartment. Do you think I could sell off pieces of my soul at a time or sublet it? Something to create a steady stream of side income. I bet you have a good accountant. Maybe they could help me figure it out.”
I laugh a little at my predicament and the fact that I had spent a lot of time in my adult life trying to make smart decisions only to end up where I am now. I stare down at another smattering of plants, the purples and the greens playing off each other as they spill out over the miniature pot they’ve been put in.
“Or you could just sell it to me, Saint.” He’s so close when he says the words, his lips at my ear that I jump, and he wraps an arm around me to keep me steady.
I glance up at him and give him a scolding look but he just smirks in return.
“I might as well hand it to the devil in that case.”
He tilts his head from side to side, the hint of a smile playing over his lips. “That might be fair, but I promise you’d enjoy the depraved things I’d want from you a lot more.”
“You think?”
“I promise. Unless you lied when you said you weren’t scared of Xavier men…” he trails off as he raises a brow at me.
“To be clear, I said as scared. Not that I was completely free of the emotion.”
“So I scare you?” His hand slides around the side of my neck, his thumb stroking the edge of my jaw.
“Sometimes,” I answer quietly.
“It’s mutual, you know. The way you just talked up there, fuck…”
“Yeah well, no girlfriend could sit there and listen to him talk about you that way.”
“So this is part of your girlfriend act?”
“No. This is part of my weird crush thing. Where it’s scrambled parts of my brain that normally kick in and tell me not to tell off a senator at his dinner table.”
“Well whatever it was, it was hot as fuck. And combined with your confession last night, Saint… you’re fucking torturing me.”
“Well, we can’t have that…” I whisper back, feeling my heart kick up.
“I’m not breaking your rules again unless you tell me to.” His eyes dart down to my lips, and I’m ready to break anything if it means he’ll put me out of my misery and kiss me.
“I think there could be a temporary reprieve.”
“Yeah? You gonna give me a hall pass?” His lips pull up in a grin and it makes him even more handsome in this light, and I hate him a little bit for it.
“A short one…”
“For how long?”
For however long it takes him to kiss me and make me forget how much I want him.
I shrug. “I guess until we have to go back for dessert.”
He has a thoughtful look on his face, like he’s doing calculations in his head. “I can make it work.”
“What?”
He threads his fingers through mine and tugs me along gently behind him as he hurries to a door on the other side of the conservatory.
“This mean the tour’s over?” I question where we’re headed.
“No there’s one more room you’re gonna see.”
“Okay, you going to clue me in?”
He opens the door and I gasp. Because tucked away on this side of the house is a small sitting room, perfectly decorated as though the owner just walked away from the antique furniture a few minutes before.
“Someone had a very high-priced soul.”
“Grandma Ada. She hated Grandpa Hammond, so she had this and the conservatory built so she could get away from him.”
“That’s…” I choke out a laugh. “Brilliant or sad, I can’t decide which.”
“Both, I’d guess.” He shuts the door and I hear the lock click.
I have all of one second to feel my nerves rise at that sound before he’s on me, his hands in my hair, and his mouth on my neck. He kisses his way down my throat and chest, pulling the neckline of my shirt down as he makes his way over the tops of my breasts.
“This little conservative thing you’ve got going on here fucking does things for me, Saint. The way you wear your hair like that too.” His hand slides under my shirt and bra and toys with my nipple as he pushes me up against the bookshelf behind me.
I don’t know what to say to any of that, so I just close my eyes and pray that I don’t start falling apart immediately. Babbling about my crush or my fantasies again instead of just staying quiet.
“So you’ve been fantasizing about me at work too? Telling your friend?”
“I didn’t… I…” I can’t get out the words as he slides my blouse down, pulling the cup of my bra back, and sliding his tongue over my nipple.
“Don’t lie.” His teeth graze the tip.
“Fuck,” I curse. “Fine. Yes. She was goading me and so… fuck…”
He turns his attention to my other breast, and I have to grab the edge of the shelf, using it to brace myself. He pulls back smirking as he looks me over.
“And so you admitted you wanted… how was it again? Oh yeah… pinned down and fucked hard.”
“Something like that.”
He grins then, one so devious I swear I see his eyes flicker with it. Like I’ve just been locked in with the devil himself. A fact confirmed when he speaks a minute later.
“You’re not giving me a lot of time here, so we’ll have to improvise. But you’re gonna have to be a good fucking girl for me like you were last night and listen. You think you can do that?”
I nod, because he could tell me to jump off a bridge right now and I’d consider it.
“Good. Come over here.” He pulls me over to the elegant navy blue settee, and I look at him puzzled. “Take your panties off.”
“What? We’re in your parents’ home.” I can feel the apprehension flick its way up my spine.
He raises his brow like a threat, so I give him a doubtful look but lean over and comply anyway. I cringe when my fingers touch the fabric and remember what pair I’m wearing. When I pull them off, he reaches for them, taking them and holding the incredibly sheer lace Brazilian cut up as his eyes darken and shift to me. I’d purchased them post-divorce.
“You’re dressed like a fucking schoolteacher and have these on?”
“Last night was laundry night, and I spent it at your place instead of doing laundry,” I say defensively.