Page 53 of Saint


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“Decky will be mad if I’m late. I can’t risk my job over something like this.”

The effortless way she calls my brother by his nickname warms my heart.

I laugh. “I’ll handle him. Take your time. No rush.”

Relief floods her expression. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it.”

She inches up on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. “You really are a saint.”

I’m a sinner, but she’s not aware of that quite yet.

Before I let her race to the elevator, I catch her forearm in my hand to hold her in place.

My gaze drops to the front of her blouse and the unmistakable outline of her pert little nipples under her bra.

When I look at her face again, the blush on her cheeks has darkened.

“I won’t be riding home with you after work.” I stare into her brilliant blue eyes. “I will be at your door at eight to take you to dinner, Calliope.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Eight for our date.”

I lean forward so my breath skirts over the skin of her neck. “I’ll be counting every fucking minute until then.”

“Me too.” Her voice comes out ragged and edged with the same need that is brewing inside of me.

Loosening my grip on her, I kiss her forehead. “Have a good day, Champ.”

Her eyes trail up my body to my face. “You too, Saint.”

* * *

I’m at it again.

Fishing in unchartered waters.

I’ve plugged Calliope’s name into Google in every manner that I can think of.

Calliope Morrow.

Callie Morrow.

Callie from Tin Anchor.

I even spent the better part of an hour perusing every fucking hashtag that has anything to do with that bar she works at.

I was hoping to land a big catch in the form of a clue about her life.

When I saw her this morning, looking both sexy-as-fuck, and vulnerable-as-hell in the lobby, I had a sudden urge to protect her.

I know that whatever happened in her last relationship scarred her, so I want any scrap of information that will tell me more about that and who the hell the idiot was that let her slip out of his grasp.

I look up from my computer screen when I hear Decky clearing his throat.

“Knock,” I tell him. “Just goddamn knock if you want to talk to me.”

His hand glides down the front of his neck. “Not everything is about you, Saint. I took a bite of a bagel that got caught between here and there.”

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