Page 7 of Glorious Sinner

He was hard.

I felt something slide over my skin—his finger—shifting my hair over my shoulder. His chest came forward, pressing against my back as he leaned forward. “Miss me, pretty girl?” he said, lips lightly brushing my ear, voice no longer rough velvet but pure gravel.

I spun around.

He stayed where he was, looking up at me, expression fierce, raw, jaw tight. There was something in his eyes, something I had never seen before, something that had me stumbling back a step.

His control, it was slipping.

No, it was nonexistent.

My reaction was probably extreme, but he hadn’t touched me, not even my hair in the twelve months he’d been coming here, and he’d definitely never reacted to me like that. He’d also never spoken to me with that voice, God, in that way. Like he was whispering in his lover’s ear.

He stood abruptly, and I retreated another step, not because I was scared of him—he wouldn’t hurt me—but this change was unexpected. I was completely thrown.

His gaze tracked me, not missing a thing—the way I’d retreated, my wide-eyed stare—and his nostrils flared, that strong jaw getting tighter.

He was angry, but not with me. I knew that look well. He was angry with himself, and worse, under it all, he was disappointed.

But that was directed at me.

Tomas pulled his wallet from his pocket, slid out a stack of bills, double what he usually gave me, and threw them on the table. He moved in then, coming closer.

I held still and he kept coming until there were only a few feet between us.

Tomas was hard and tough and unshakable. He ran this city. His name alone scared the shit out of people. No one crossed him and got away with it. He’d earned his reputation and then some.

But at that moment, despite the impeccable suit, the perfect outward appearance, he looked rattled.

“I’m not coming back,” he said softly.

I just stared at him, not sure what the hell was going on, what he was saying. “You’re going away again?” I rasped.

His head twisted to the right, gazing into the crowd, and when he looked back the hard-as-stone Tomas was back. “No.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not coming back here,” he said.

He was done. He wasn’t coming to see me anymore. An uncomfortable feeling started behind my chest and sank to my stomach.

A lot of people were terrified of Tomas, but not me, not like that. Knowing I was on his radar had made me feel safe, the safest I’d felt in a very long time.

His eyes bore into me, and I knew he was waiting for something from me, wanted me to say something. I had no idea what. I didn’t even understand what I was feeling in that moment, not when I’d been numb for so long.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he said.

I had no freaking clue, but as the silence stretched out between us and his expression got more closed off, harder with every passing second, I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

The muscle in his jaw jumped and he dipped his chin. “You know where I am if you want me.”

Then he turned and strode away.

I watched him go.

If you want me.

Not if you need me. If you want me. Those words rang through my mind the rest of my shift. I tried to tell myself he wasn’t saying what I thought he was, that the disappointment hadn’t been because he’d finally decided to…