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“I don’t,” I whisper, heart pumping.
“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be in this bed with me.”
Silence falls between us as I realize he’s right. “It’s my bed!” I snap.
Saint leans closer, pulling off his mask and tossing it to the floor. “And you’re my muse.”
“Why did you kill him?” I whisper.
“Because I couldn’t take another second of him hurting you.” His eyes darken to coals like the scene of Dr. Barrett groping my leg is playing out before him again. “Because I can’t live with myself if I don’t do everything I can to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection. And I certainly don’t need youkillingpeople for me.” I drop my forehead into my hands. “The police already think I’m the one who gave Austin the drugs that killed him. When they find out my creepy boss is dead, don’t you think they’re going to look at me? How is getting me thrown in prison foryourcrimes protecting me?”
He grabs my hand, squeezing. “I would never let them take you from me.”
I yank out of his grasp. “You might not have a choice. And if they try to pin any of this on me, I’m throwing your ass under the bus and laughing as it runs you over.”
He shakes his head. “How can you be angry with me? I got rid of horrible men to keep you safe. They’re the ones who wanted to hurt you. They’re the ones who didn’t care about you. No one has ever loved you more than me. Yes, your mother and Mack love you, but I would die for you. I would kill for you. I would drown in the blood of all the men who would try to hurt you rather than let them lay a single finger on you. I will go to any lengths, use any means necessary, to keep you safe. I’m not your enemy, Briar. I am your greatest ally. Your other half. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around. The police won’t even find the professor’s body, so there will be no murder to pin on you. Don’t think I haven’t thought through every single scenario with you as my sole concern. You’ll have everything you want now—your dream job, a boss who doesn’t sexually harass you, and a soulmate who lives and breathes for you. I’m not here to ruin your life or scare you or hurt you. I’m here to fulfill your every wish, your every desire. Anything I can give, it’s yours.”
I’m breathing harder now, heart hammering against my ribcage, but not in fear anymore. I should’ve known S.T. Nicholson’s proclamations of love would be similar to those he writes in his novels. But even the dreamy fictional men he writes have nothing on their author.
I don’t know how I can deny it anymore. Saint de Haas is in love with me. He knows me. My mind, my body. What I want, what I crave, what I need.
The kind of man I didn’t think I would ever find. The kind of man I didn’t think existed.
Yet here he is in front of me. In my bed, wearing the blood of a man I hate—who was cruel and manipulative and calculating—and I’m not running.
Maybe running from Saint is the last thing I want to do anymore.
“Now,” he murmurs, voice hoarse as he draws nearer. “I amachingfor your pussy.”
I’ll be damned to hell for all of eternity if I let a serial killer make me come.
So I guess I better learn to love the flames.
I grimace at the dried blood on his shirt. “At least take your shirt off first.”
But he ignores me, grabbing my face with both hands and pulling my mouth to his. His lips explore mine with an unprecedented desperation. Like killing a man awakened him to his own mortality and now he’s making up for lost time.
He makes quick work of my top, yanking it over my head and tossing it. He squeezes my breasts, and the sight of his hands on my skin unravels me. The hands that took Dr. Barrett’s final breath. An unfamiliar thrill zips down my spine.
Saint de Haas is not the only sick and twisted one in this room. The sight of him in blood-stained clothing shouldn’t turn me on more, but the arousal pooling between my legs proves otherwise.
A match made in hell.
Something must have twisted in my brain from all those years of watching horror films since preschool. Or maybe I was born this unhinged.
Whatever it is that made me this way, I’m finally giving in to it. I grab Saint’s shirt and tug him closer.
He pulls down my panties in one swift movement.
“I won’t be able to come back from this, will I?” I whisper.
His dark eyes bore into mine. “No, muse. You’re too far gone now.”
Saint’s eyes drift down my naked body, relishing everything he’s about to do to me before he pins me down and sucks my nipple into his mouth.
I arch into him, gasping. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of what Saint de Haas can do to me, what he can make me feel, I’m addicted. Thirsty for where his mouth will land next, the brush of pleasure from his fingers, the skips of my heart from his piercing gaze devouring me.
