Page 142 of Cozen

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Sargon asked.

“You couldn’t make some damn noise?” she demanded.

He chuckled—all dark and husky.

Like a promise of sex.

The need of sin.

Christ.

“I blend in well with the shadows,” he returned.

“Does it have a cursive A engraved into the bottom of the ruby?” Cozen asked.

Sargon lifted a single brow before he flipped the ring over, and peered at it. “There is. I’m going to assume it stands for Astor.”

Cozen swallowed hard. “Like you didn’t already know, Sargon.”

“You look untouched.”

She straightened a bit.

She had put the dress back on before she left Jett’s room, but little else. Her hair and makeup was still intact, and nothing looked amiss on her body.

“Did he touch you?” Sargon asked.

Before she could answer, he pushed up from the couch, and crossed the space between them. He left the ring sitting on the side table. She set her clutch and the glass half full with whiskey on the desk just before he crashed into her senses entirely.

His body crowded her space, and took away her ability to think or breathe for the moment. Those dark eyes of his looked her over like he was searching for something unseen, and drank her in silently. His fingers drifted over her face—soft and reckless; damning and sweet.

“You messed me up so much,” she told him.

Sargon came closer still.

His lips grazed hers.

She kept talking.

“You got in my way—you fucked with my head,” she said.

Sargon grinned. “Oh?”

“You’re not supposed to get in my way. No one is supposed to get in my way. I don’t let that happen. I have a job to do, and I do it well.”

His hands cupped her jaw, and she stumbled when he drew her forward. Not that she really noticed her feet tripping over themselves. She was too caught up in the darkly gorgeous man who had damn near fucked up her entire heist, and at the same time, managed to be her saving grace at the end.

“Did he touch you?” he asked again.

Cozen peered up, and Sargon kissed her softly. Not dominating and overwhelming like he usually did. No, sweet and precious. Like she was made of priceless diamonds, and the wrong touch would leave her with irreparable scratches.

“Did he?”

“No,” she whispered when he pulled away. “Not enough to make it worth it, anyway.”

“But enough for you to know.”

The rumble that accompanied his words only made her more confused. Hotter in her body, and weaker in her knees. Wet between her thighs, and breathless in her lungs.