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He crosses his arms over that broad chest, feet wide. Such a boss stance. Saint doesn’t need to bother with it. “You’re not exactly going to blend in wearing silk and heels.” No, I’m going to be displaying a hell of a lot of skin, though. Probably more than I’m comfortable with. Huffing, I take

Then there’s the enigma of Saint. I’m supposed to marry that man. And even though it’s in name only, the dreams I had of him last night…before the nightmares took over… If Sin had been just a little earlier, would he have heard me moan instead of struggle? Would he still have barged in? Because

“Easy,” I say low, and the word sounds softer than I intend. She flinches like she’s heard an old insult. It twists something in me. I want to wrap my hand around her throat, grab her by the back of her neck and yank her closer, and kiss that expressive mouth until she yields to

Her fear is palpable. Intoxicating. I want to lean into it. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess. Just making sure you weren’t dying.” She huffs, and I’m surprised by the way she relaxes in inches. But the realization that she thought I was her fiancé has my muscles tightening with a new, deeper anger. Saint told

After this, it might. I twist in unfamiliar bedsheets, trying to fight my way free of him. But he’s close. Too close. Movement in the room stills me in the too-big bed. How did he make it here so fast? He can’t take me back. No, I’m supposed to be safe here. At least for

Nimble fingers work the buttons free, and his touch is warm, fingertips rough with calluses and hard work. I peer at him from the corner of my eyes, head tilted toward him as I hold my bodice to my chest. It does nothing to assuage the way everything inside of me tightens at the small

WREN I nearly choke on the suggestion hanging in the air between me and these two rough and tumble men—men that should terrify me as much as the others outside did, but the way Saint looks at me… How the heat spreading through my middle screams that I’m undeniably attracted to him… Regardless of those

Wren watches me examining her—assessing her. She doesn’t wilt an inch, her back straight, poised with her hands folded in the ruined skirts of her dress. No, she ran for a good reason. “Tell me what kind of help you’re expecting from us.” My voice is low, authoritative, maybe a little harsh, but I don’t

“The girl—woman—with the violin is Wren Delaney. The senator’s daughter.” Not what I was expecting, but I should have. It’s my luck. “That’s not what we need.” “No, but she genuinely needs our help. And if what my gut is telling me is right, she won’t be safe here for long even if we keep

I shake my head because she’s not some silly girl. It’s obvious she’s not. “No, so we know if he’s coming to look for you.” That shakes her—alarm in her eyes, but she smooths it quickly. Too quickly to not have practice. That burns me inside. Just because I don’t see any injuries doesn’t mean