The Original Sinners: The Red Years
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“Here.” She handed him the check. “Back pay. Should cover your tuition and anything else you need for the rest of the semester.”
Wesley took the check and methodically ripped it into pieces.
“I never needed or wanted your money. All I ever wanted was you. Nora, please—”
Nora looked back at Wesley and wished she hadn’t. She knew this would be the last time she saw him, maybe forever. She wanted her last memory of him to be happy… The day they’d danced around her living room when her fifth book hit the bestseller list… The night they’d stayed up until 3:00 a.m. to catch the meteor shower… That Saturday last summer he took her horseback riding for the first time… Last Sunday when he wanted to give her his virginity and there was nothing more in the world she wanted than to take it. But she knew she’d never forget the look he wore on his face, the desperation, the broken eyes.
“Don’t go,” he begged. “I love you. I’ve always—”
Nora stopped his words with a hand on his chest over his heart. He covered her small hand with his much larger one. She took a shallow breath.
“I was wrong, Wes. About the watch chain and the combs… You’re the only thing I have of value.”
“Nora—”
“Don’t forget to check your numbers. And stay away from carbs, okay? And do your homework and—”
Nora closed her eyes and tears poured down her face. She inhaled hard and met his eyes.
“I will,” he promised with a hollow voice. His eyes were wide with shock.
She pulled away from him and left the house carrying nothing but her bag. A gray Rolls-Royce was waiting on the street.
“Bonjour, ma^itresse,” Kingsley said from the backseat.
“No, it isn’t a bon jour, monsieur.” She collapsed against him, her head on his knee.
“I know, Elle.” Kingsley put his hand on her flushed forehead. She winced at the pity in his voice, the pity in his touch. “Where to? You said you needed to hide out for a few days. My town house? The Circle?”
“Take me anywhere,” she said.
“Anywhere?” he asked.
Nora closed her eyes as the painkillers finally bested her desire to stay awake. Sleep came for her and she let it take her, not falling into it, but flying.
“King…just take me home.”
35
There was no such thing as London fog—never had been.
Zach laughed to himself as he recalled his Royal House nickname. He thought he was the only London Fog anyone would ever see. But tonight it was a real London fog—clean, pure, swept in from the southern seas that wrapped its gray arms around the never quite sleeping city and around Zach as he stood outside the house he and Grace had shared during their marriage.
Almost eight months had passed since he’d crossed the threshold of his own home. He stood in the shadow of a streetlamp and imagined Grace inside. She was most likely reading, her knees tucked up under her chin in that battered but comfortable armchair they used to play-fight over. Zach slipped his hand into his pocket and felt a rush of silk against his fingers. He pulled out the black tie Nora had used to blindfold him. He stared at it. How had it gotten into his pocket? Who knew with Nora? Magic most likely. Zach considered throwing it into the nearest rubbish bin, but thought better of it.
Perhaps…maybe…one never knew…
Zach shoved the tie back into his pocket and strode forward up the three steps to his front door. He raised his hand to knock, but the door flew open before his knuckles touched the wood.
And there stood Grace wearing one of his shirts and not much else, and no woman in the history of the world had ever looked so beautiful standing in a doorway.
“Hi, Gracie.”
Grace grinned at him.
“Hi, George.”
* * *
Nora awoke and knew neither the time nor the place. She knew only that she had slept for a long time and that wherever she was, she wasn’t afraid.
“Where am I?” she asked, trying to orient herself. She only knew this was not her bed, not her usual darkness.
But it was a familiar darkness. She remembered this darkness and knew it remembered her. She inhaled the scent of hardwood so clean and comforting, savored the soft sheets wrapped around her naked body. The bed that held her now had held her before.
She saw a square of white break through the blackness, felt the bed shift with a familiar weight.
“I’m here, little one,” came a voice made for coaxing secrets from the heart. “Sleep now. We’ll talk when it’s time.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, now knowing where she was. She surrendered to sleep again.
The most familiar darkness…her darkness…she was home.
* * * * *
The End…or is it?
Watch for THE ANGEL,
coming soon from Mills and Boon Spice.
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writers of erotic romance’
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The Angel
Tiffany Reisz
Praise for The Siren
‘A beautiful, lyrical story … The Siren is about love lost and found, the choices that make us who we are … I can only hope Ms Reisz pens a sequel!’ —Bestselling author Jo Davis
‘THE ORIGINAL SINNERS series certainly lives up to its
name: it’s mind-bendingly original and crammed with more
sin than you can shake a hot poker at. I haven’t read a
book this dangerous and subversive since Chuck
Palahniuk’s Fight Club.’ —Andrew Shaffer, author of Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love