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I swallow hard. “Right.”

She stares up at me through her eyelashes.

“You’re in charge,” I say. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She nods before turning to walk away.

I stay put, staring at the wall, listening to her footsteps as they disappear up the stairs. I’m lowkey shocked by this development, but maybe I shouldn’t be. I saw how she operated at the bank earlier. Damn, that feels like a lifetime ago. But it’s clear Ms. Sable has some fire in her. She’s a fighter. The way her face changed and fear disappeared when she found out her husband is perfectly okay with her daughters finding her body…it let me know she’s willing to do whatever she has to do to punish him.

So maybe what’s about to happen isn’t about me at all.

“Done.”

I don’t look. Instead, I inhale sharply as I make my way toward the hallway, following the sound of her voice. She’s lying on the floor near the door to the garage. Without looking directly at her, I reach into my pocket and pull out the burner phone. I raise it.

Through the lens, I finally see her.

Fuck.

I feel like somebody punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

Her body is art. Curves. Dimples. Tiger stripes. Soft and luscious, but still graceful, even in stillness. Every instinct I’ve buried comes roaring back, feral and hot.

A body like that should be touched. Caressed. Squeezed. It deserves the weight of a real man on top of it. It deserves pleasure, so much pleasure, its owner begs for it to stop.

“Did you take it?”

I come back to reality with the press of a button.

“Got it,” I say.

But she doesn’t move.

“Are you okay?” I ask, voice rough as I stare at something down the hall.

“Can you help me up?”

My hand twitches at my side, itching to do it, to touch her, to get it out of the way so I can focus.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to touch you right now,” I mutter.

She blows out a slow breath, gets up without another word, and storms off down the hallway.

I stay frozen.

I reach into my pants to adjust myself.

Then I blow out a sigh.

She’s pushing it. Knowingly or unknowingly, she’s nudging me to the edge.

And I’m dangerously close to slipping.

10

Sable

I pull the blackrobe tightly around myself, the silk clinging to my skin, which is still warm from the heat of embarrassment.