Chapter 10 #2
“Barnes is a high-profile investment banker. His office building has security cameras, guards, keycard access. We can’t simply walk in looking like...” He gestures vaguely at himself, at me, at the expensive car we’re sitting in. “This.”
“Then why am I dressed like I’m going to the opera?”
“Because we’re not sneaking in. We’re walking in the front door.
” He settles back against the leather seat, perfectly relaxed.
“Barnes works late. His assistant left hours ago. Security knows him as the workaholic who’s always there past midnight.
They won’t question a colleague stopping by. Or a colleague’s companion.”
The way he says “companion” makes it clear exactly what role I’m supposed to play.
“You want them to think I’m your...what?”
“Date. Associate. Whatever they assume. It doesn’t matter as long as it gives us access.” He tilts his head in that listening way. “Does that bother you?”
“Pretending to be your date or the fact that you planned this without asking me? Can’t you just use your powers to force the guard?”
“Either. Both. And no, I’m afraid, forcing humans outside of an agreement isn’t something I’m capable of.”
I think about it. About walking into a building on Croesus’s arm, playing the role of expensive arm candy while he sweet-talks us past security. About the assumptions people will make, the way they’ll look at me, at us, and draw conclusions.
“It’s practical,” I say finally. “I don’t have to like it.” I file the new bit of information away to examine later.
“No. You don’t.” There’s something in his voice, amusement, maybe, or approval. “But you’ll do it anyway because you’re smart enough to know it’s the best option.”
He’s right, but I’ll be damned before I tell him so anymore than what I already said.
The car glides through downtown traffic, heading toward the financial district. Tall buildings, glass and steel, lights blazing even at this hour.
“Are you going to pout?”
I huff. “I’m thinking, not pouting.” I look out the window, watching the city scroll past. Trying to focus on anything except the way his hand is still resting on the seat between us. Close enough to touch. “About the houses. The politics. You said the seven don’t like each other?”
“That’s an understatement.” His fingers drum once against the leather then pluck the hem of my gown to run between his fingers.
“Though some of us manage better than others. Seraph and I have a contentious relationship. He thinks I’m crass and obsessed with material wealth.
I think he’s a narcissistic peacock who can’t see past his own reflection. ”
Despite myself, I smile. “You don’t like him. What does he look like? Since you can’t... you know.”
“I’m told he’s beautiful. Tall, pale, platinum hair. Six wings, which is unusual; most Fallen lose their wings entirely. He kept his as a reminder of what he was.” His hand stills on the silk. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Trying to understand the houses, the politics, who’s who. And wondering if you all go through so much trouble for one soul. Why this one guy? Can you offer John down the block a lot of money and be done with it?”
He blinks a few times and looks almost appalled I said such a thing.
“I won’t dignify that question with an answer.
Some things I will not explain to you for the asking.
You’ll have to figure them out on your own.
And you’ll meet Seraph soon enough; he’ll want to confront you about this theft.
The others will come in time. They’re all curious about you. ”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the first sin eater any of us has employed openly in centuries.
And because you’re mine. Your grandmother owed a debt, but her payment was not breaking contracts.
” His fingers trace another small circle on the silk, closer to my thigh now.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of his hand through the fabric.
“That makes you valuable. Interesting. Worth paying attention to.”
The car feels smaller suddenly. The space between us charged.
“I’m not yours,” I say, but my voice lacks the conviction I know is in here somewhere.
“For the next year, you are.” His hand slides higher, resting on my thigh now. Just resting there, warm and heavy and completely inappropriate. “I own your time. Your service. Your presence. Everything you do for the next twelve months belongs to me.”
“That’s not the same as owning me.”
“Isn’t it?” His thumb moves, a small stroke against my skin. Back and forth. Barely there but impossible to ignore. “I can feel your pulse. It’s racing again.”
“You’re touching me. Again.”
“I am.” He doesn’t move his hand. Doesn’t apologize. “Does it bother you?”
Yes. No. It should, but it doesn’t, and that’s the problem.
“You’re my employer,” I manage. “This is...inappropriate.”
“I’m a fallen angel, Raven. Appropriate isn’t in my nature.” His hand slides higher, fingers spanning my thigh, and I suck in a breath. “I want things. I take things. I possess things. It’s what I am.”
“I’m not a thing.”
“You keep saying that.” His other hand finds my jaw, turns my face toward his. His eyes seem to be focused on my mouth. “And yet you’re the most valuable thing I’ve acquired in centuries. Do you know what that does to me? Having something precious, beautiful, powerful right here within reach?”
His thumb brushes against my lower lip.
“It makes me want to keep you,” he says, voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Makes me want to hoard you. Hide you away where no one else can see you, touch you, have you. Makes me want to mark you so thoroughly that every being in every realm knows exactly who you belong to.”
My heart is trying to beat out of my chest. “You said you can’t compel me.”
“I can’t. Won’t.” His hand on my thigh tightens slightly. Not painful, just...possessive. “But I can want you. Can show you what it would be like to let me have what I want. Can make you want it too.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” His thumb traces my lower lip again, and I barely suppress a shudder.
“I can smell it on you. Arousal has a scent, remember? Sweet and sharp and impossible to hide. You’ve been aroused since I touched you in your room.
Since I put my hands on you and learned the shape of you.
” He leans closer, and I can feel his breath against my ear.
“You want me to touch you again. Want me to keep touching you. Don’t you? ”
I should say no. Should push his hands away, tell him to stop, establish boundaries before this goes any further.
But I’m frozen. Caught between fear and desire and the overwhelming presence of him filling every inch of this small space.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
His hand on my thigh slides another inch higher, and the silk whispers against my skin.
“But if you don’t tell me to stop...” His lips brush against my ear, barely a touch. “Then I’m going to keep touching you, keep learning you. Keep showing you exactly what it means to be coveted by the angel of greed.”
The car turns a corner, city lights flashing through the windows, and I’m acutely aware of the driver just a few feet away, separated by nothing but a thin partition of glass.
“He can’t hear us,” Croesus says, reading my tension. “And he wouldn’t care if he could. He’s seen far more scandalous things in this car.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.” His hand moves down, cupping my jaw more fully, tilting my head so those gold eyes are pointed directly at where my eyes are though he can’t see them. “Tell me to stop, or let me continue. Choose.”
I should put distance between us, remember that this is dangerous, that letting him get closer is exactly what he wants, exactly what I should fight against.
But his hand is warm on my skin, and his scent is filling my lungs, and I can feel his want radiating off him like heat shimmering above summer asphalt
He wants me.
The angel of greed, who can have anything, who’s spent three thousand years gaining treasures beyond measure, wants me.
And some traitorous part of me wants to know what it feels like to be wanted like that. To be coveted. To be the thing he can’t stop thinking about possessing.
“I...” My voice comes out rough. Uncertain. “I don’t...”
“You don’t know?” His thumb strokes along my jawline. “Then let me help you decide.”
He kisses me.
It’s not gentle. Not tentative. It’s claiming, possessive, exactly what I should have expected from an angel whose entire existence is built on wanting and taking and keeping.
His mouth is hot against mine, demanding, and I freeze.
Complete, total stillness. My hands don’t move to push him away, but they don’t pull him closer either. I just...stop. Brain short-circuiting, unable to process that this is happening, that he’s actually kissing me, that his hand is in my hair and his mouth is on mine, and then it’s over.
He pulls back.
Not far. Just enough so that I can breathe again. His forehead rests against mine, and there’s so much frustration in the breath he lets out.
“You didn’t kiss me back,” he says, and there’s something dangerous in his voice. Not angry. Something else. Hungry and frustrated and wanting.
“No, I didn’t.” My voice is barely a whisper.
Silence. Heavy and charged.
Then he pulls back further, giving me space. His hand slides out of my hair, away from my thigh, and he settles back into his seat. But I can feel the tension radiating from him. Coiled. Restrained.
“I could make you want this,” he says quietly. Not a threat. Just a statement of fact. “I could make you crave me the way I crave you. Make you ache for my touch. It would be easy.”
My breath catches. Can he? “But you won’t.”
“No.” His hands curl into fists on his thighs.
“Because that’s not what I want. I don’t want you compelled or manipulated into desire.
I don’t want you kissing me back because I made you.
” He turns his head toward me, those gold eyes burning.
“I want you to want me. Really want me. Enough that when I kiss you again, you won’t freeze.
You’ll pull me closer and kiss me back like you’re starving for it. ”
“That will not happen.”
“It will.” There’s absolute certainty in his voice. “You already want me, Raven. I can smell it, feel it. You’re just fighting it because you think you should. Because you’re smart enough to know it’s dangerous to want an angel who’s already admitted he wants to keep you.”
He leans closer, not touching, but close enough that I can feel his breath.
“But you’ll stop fighting eventually,” he murmurs. “You’ll realize that wanting me isn’t a weakness. It’s inevitable. And when that happens, when you finally admit to yourself what your body already knows, I’ll be waiting. Patient as stone. Hungry as sin.”
He pulls back, settles into his seat again.
“Until then,” he says, voice returning to a smooth, controlled tone, “I won’t touch you again. Not like that. Not until you ask me to.”
“I’m not going to ask.”
“We’ll see.”
The car slows. I look out the window and realize we’re pulling up to a sleek glass tower. David Barnes’ building where I’m supposed to break a contract. After all of...that.
The driver puts the car in park but doesn’t turn off the engine.
Croesus reaches for the door handle, then pauses. Turns back to me and offers his hand.
I take it, my legs are still shaky, my lips still tingling from a kiss I didn’t return, my brain still trying to process what just happened, and let him help me out of the car.
The night air is cool against my bare back, and I’m suddenly very aware of how exposed I am in this dress. How thoroughly I’ve just been affected by him, even though I didn’t kiss him back.
Croesus tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, and we walk toward the building like we belong there. Like we’re just another wealthy couple with late-night business.
Like he didn’t just kiss me in the back seat.
Like I’m not still feeling it between my legs.
I force myself to breathe. To focus. To remember why we’re here.
But all I can think about is the taste of him still on my lips.