Page 52 of Sinner’s Game

But I can’t tell him that. I can’t seem to conjure the words.

So I just offer him a smile, then turn and go into my bedroom.

I undress, slip naked between the sheets, and try, try, try to go to sleep.

It doesn’t work.

I can’t get my mind to stop whirring. Full of lusty thoughts and needs.

I roll over, drawing my knees up as I clutch my pillow. The truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore. I never used to be a woman who wanted sex simply for sex’s sake, and now here I am.

Except, no. That’s not true. I do want more. But I know he doesn’t, and I’m willing to take less simply to be with him. Because with Ronan I don’t just feel safe, I feel like me. Like he’s the person who completes me, just like in that movie. But he’s still pushing me away because he thinks I want more than he can give.

Maybe I do.

But maybe I’m also okay with not getting it. If the choice is a part of Ronan or no Ronan, I guess I want what I can get.

I order myself to get out of bed. To go tell him all of that. But somehow, I can’t get my body to move. So I just stay there, wanting and longing. Imagining his touch. His kisses.

And somewhere, lost in the melancholy of unfulfilled dreams, I finally drift off to sleep.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I wake to voices.

I grab my phone, then squint at it, surprised to see it’s three in the morning. I sit up, alarmed. Have the police found us? Is Ronan trying to hold them at bay?

But no, that doesn’t make sense. He’d have given me a warning before letting them in, and the police can’t just break in. Can they?

Curious, I slip out of bed, grab the hotel-provided robe, and shove my arms into it. I fasten it tightly around my waist, drag my fingers through my hair, then pad barefoot to the door. I lean close, trying to make out words, but all I can hear is Ronan’s voice. That and a soft muffle that might be a woman.

I frown, curious, then put my hand on the knob. Ronan wouldn’t risk my safety, which means this must have something to do with the mystery of Mr. Big.

And that means I want to know what’s going on.

I draw a breath, open the door, and walk into our communal living area. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t.

“—you’re really not going to Los Angeles? Who knows when you’ll get a chance again? It’s a miracle we tracked him from Chicago, and now he’s so damn close.”

The speaker is a woman, and she’s sitting at the table so that I’m seeing her from the side. Her long red hair flows over her shoulders. She wears a dress with spaghetti straps, leaving her shoulders and arms mostly bare. Her bare feet are kicked up on another chair, stilettos in a pile on the floor. From this angle, I can see a long stretch of toned thigh that I imagine leads up to absolutely nothing under that dangerously short skirt.

And, of course, there’s Ronan, right in front of her.

“I can’t,” he says. “Not right now.”

He hasn’t seen me yet. Neither of them have. He’s wearing sweatpants and no shirt, and he’s pacing in front of the dining table.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She stands, that tiny dress barely enough for decency, and I feel my temper spiking as she crosses to stand in front of him, blocking his way. There’s something about her that’s familiar, but damned if I can place it. Doesn’t matter, though. Unfair or not, I’m jealous as hell—and wildly curious as to what’s going on.

I ease back a bit so that I’m standing in the dark crevice formed by the door and the frame.

“You’ve already paid me.”

“And I’ll get my money’s worth,” he says. “But not tonight. Not until I’m sure Brandy’s safe.”

I stiffen at the sound of my name.

“Do you really think you’ll get the chance again? I’m not—”

“Oh!” I take a step backward, surprised by the sound of my own voice. I didn’t mean to speak, but the realization of who she is just hit me with such force that the word was knocked out of my lips.