Page 128 of Sin
I look down at the blanket. “You shouldn’t be.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I keep knowing things and doing the opposite.”
I laugh softly. Then my eyes burn. Oh no. No fever crying.
He sees it anyway.
“Laurel.”
“Don’t be nice to me right now.”
His expression shifts. “Why?”
“Because I can handle you wanting me.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I don’t know what to do with …” I gesture weakly at the soup, the medicine, the blanket, the stupid cool cloth now warming on my forehead. “This.”
“I want more than your body,” he says quietly.
My chest aches.
“Sin.”
“I know I don’t have the right to say that.”
“No,” I whisper. “You don’t.”
“But it’s true.”
I close my eyes. I wish he had lied. Lies are easier. Lies are familiar. Truths like that sit under the skin and grow roots.
He reaches for my hand, then stops like he is giving me the chance to refuse. I don’t. His fingers slide through mine.
“I saw the way you looked when Jenna was in my office,” he says.
My face heats for an entirely different reason.
“Great. I was hoping my dignity survived at least one business quarter.”
“I hated it.”
“Me being jealous?”
“You hurting,” he corrects.
I look at him then. His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles.
“I hate that I’m the reason,” he says.
I exhale shakily. “I got an offer today.”
His hand stills. “What kind of offer?”
“Job.”
His face goes blank in that way that means something has hit him too fast to react honestly.
