Page 94 of Unholy Masks

The coffee machine hissed to life, filling the kitchen with the warm, seductive scent of roasted beans and rising steam.

A few minutes later, Yara walked in, looking decadent and soft. In here, I would have sworn on my heart that this woman wasn’t a killer. Yara was made of all beautiful contradictions, and that was what made me fall. Before I could consciously decide to do so.

Her hair was a wild mess, eyes still soft with sleep. She leaned against me, lips curling up in that lazy smile that made my world bright. My shirt hung off her shoulders, half-buttoned, and the sight of it was enough to make me fall all over again.

She pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“You take my breath away, Ryden.”

“You’re good for my ego.”

Smiling, she moved toward the couch, and I followed.

“It smells like heaven,” she murmured when I offered her a plate of pasta and a cup of coffee.

When I took the seat beside her, she rested her head on my shoulder.

“I… sometimes I wish our world stopped in moments like these,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

I looked at her, heart clenching. Sunlight caught the slant of her cheek, turning her into something gilded and fragile. But Yara West was the strongest person I had ever met.

She smiled—beautifully crooked. “Stop looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”

I laughed, trying very hard not to blurt out another random proposal right here and be rejected again. Enzo would never let me live it down.

“I want to,” I said, stealing a bite of her pasta.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“You’re mine. Whatever belongs to you is mine too.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re still too cocky, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

When we were done eating, we stood up together.

“I’ll do the dishes,” she said, taking mine as well. Somewhere in the distance, a car honked.

I dried the dishes she washed, moving like we had been doing it all our lives.

Then the bell rang. Once. Twice. Impatient. Urgent. Breaking our quiet.

It was time to forget the peace and get back to the noisy world.

Sighing, I walked toward the door.

“Who is it?”

Shayna stood outside, shaking, her fingers curled around something. She never even came to my house. To see her on Yara’s front steps…

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” Shayna said, thrusting a paper in front of me. “Thatcher Perry.”

“What did he do now?”