Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)

“Is everything okay?” I heard Patty’s soft, feminine voice from the other end of the line.


“I’m taking a sick day, and my PA needs to tend to me.”

He hung up and stacked his folders into a neat pile, ignoring me again. I knew exactly what it meant, and my heart raced wildly in my chest.

Tapping my chin, I said, “Sick, huh?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even look up. “I’m fucking sick of not being inside you, where I should’ve been a long time ago. Now let’s go.”

It felt like the walk of shame as we made the long trip from his office to the elevator, with him clasping my elbow possessively, like a guard escorting me from the premises. Everybody was looking at us. And I do mean everybody. Eyeing us through the glass walls of their offices, peeking from the kitchen area and stealing glances from behind the reception space.

I didn’t care as much as I probably should have. This wasn’t a legitimate job, and Vicious wasn’t a legitimate boss. It was an arrangement that was going to be over soon, so I had to grab whatever I could before my time was up.

As we both stepped into the elevator, another suited employee tried to join us.

“Leave,” Vicious said simply, and the man walked out of the elevator without even a flinch.

My mouth fell open, and Vicious punched the button that closed the door and slammed my body against the silver wall.

“Now, where were we?”




I was praying no one else would witness the fact that Vicious was a few seconds from screwing the life out of me, but that hope was futile. By the time the elevator pinged open and we stumbled out to the busy lobby of the building, my lip was cut from one of our wild kisses. I was bleeding. To be fair, I’d bitten him first, but I was teasing him. He, on the other hand, was…insane was the accurate word.

Our hurried steps carried us toward the exit, and I knew our apartments were only a short ten-minute walk away, but it felt weird to make this journey on foot while we were so flustered and hot for one another. My panties were so soaked I hoped people weren’t able to see it through my Christmas-themed leggings. Luckily, they were made out of a thick fabric.

Vicious continued to guide me by my elbow, which should’ve felt gallant and flattering, but I had zero illusions about what this was. I knew him well enough, despite all these years, to know romance was simply not on the menu for him. He was as emotionally available as a jackhammer. This was pure lust, exploding after a decade of simmering quietly, brewed by frustration, jealousy, and hate.

Once we walked through the revolving door, rushing down the street through the December chill and the crowds of Christmas shoppers, I started laughing. We were walking so fast that our butts might as well have been on fire.

“Do I wanna know what’s funny?” His face looked strained, and I bit down another chuckle.

I shouldn’t have laughed. I had blood on my lower lip, and he was sporting a visible erection. But he looked so serious. Like he was ushering me to the ER, and not to his bed.

“Just the way we’re acting, like two high schoolers who just found out one of them has an empty house,” I said, fighting another burst of giggles.

He squeezed my elbow, and we cut the corner, almost jogging.

My laughing stopped when we walked through the glass doors to the skyscraper where we lived. Vicious punched the elevator button three times in a row and started pacing, waiting for it to ping open. He ran his hand through his inky black hair.

“Rosie’s home,” I said, swallowing hard.

He turned around to look at me, and I swear it looked like his erection was going to break through his zipper, or his zipper was going to break his erection. Either way, it was going to hurt.

“We’ll go up to the penthouse,” he said, shoving a hand deeper into his tousled hair and tugging impatiently.

“She could bump into us in the elevator. Or the hallway. Or…”

Truly, I didn’t care about Rosie catching us. I was a grown-up, and besides, we’d both brought men over to our old studio on occasion. When it happened, the other sister would make herself scarce. Nope. I was clearly stalling, and I didn’t know why.

“Fine. We’ll grab a taxi. The Mandarin isn’t that far. It’s a long shot this time of the year, but they might have a room or two available. If not, there’s always the bathroom at Starbucks.” He turned around and started stalking toward the entrance.

I grabbed his hand and stopped him, and our eyes met. “Really, Vicious? After ten years of waiting, that’s how you want to do this? In a hotel, in the middle of the morning?”

“Fuck.” His jaw ticked and he exhaled, closing his eyes. “What did you think was gonna happen when we ditched work? That we would catch a Jennifer Lawrence movie under the fucking covers?”

He looked so on edge I thought he was going to detonate on the marble floor. I flattened my palm against the collar of his dress shirt, and that seemed to soothe him a little.

“I bought Rosie a plane ticket to fly home to see our parents. She’s supposed to pick up her meds around six then go to the airport straight from there. We can still go back to the office and come back here after she’s gone.”

“Fuck no,” he almost spat. “We’re spending today alone.”

When he didn’t move, just stared at me like he was going to take me on the floor, I tangled my fingers together, twisting them. “I could show you New York.”

“What?” His brows furrowed.

“Show you New York. Show you where I like to go, where I like to eat. Show you why it’s so much better than LA, why Frank Sinatra and Woody Allen and Scorsese rhapsodize about this crazy place with this crazy weather like it’s paradise.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t do monogamy.” He tsked like I had asked him if he could part the sea. “And that sounds a lot like a date.”

“It’s not,” I protested, feeling my face heat. “Also, I vividly remember you asking me to go to dinner with you yesterday. What’s changed?”

“That wasn’t a date. I was just really fucking hungry.”

“Well, what makes you think I’d like to date someone as hateful and cold as you anyway?” I tilted my head like a bird, my eyes blazing with heat.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. And I don’t do dates,” he said again, taking a step back and shaking his head. His cheeks flushed pink, and this time it wasn’t only from the cold.

Sweet Jesus and his holy crew.

At this point, I’d had enough of this nonsense, so I decided to kill the conversation. “Really?” I snorted.

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