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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SYDNEY

“ W hat the hell are you doing in my house? Get out!” I screech as I burst into the living room where Blake and Roman startle and turn toward me. I throw a hand out to the wall to steady myself as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I see the concern on their faces as I continue into the room, but it doesn’t quell the anger raging inside me.

“Sydney—”

“Do. Not. Come. Near. Me.” I take a steady breath. “What are you doing here?”

Roman and Blake share a look, then Roman takes a tentative step toward me with his hands raised, palms out. “You fainted, and I brought you home.”

I frown. Not at the fainting part because the brass band and lump on the back of my head attest to that fact. But Roman bringing me home?

“Where’s Pa? Why didn’t he bring me home?” My eyes flick between them and the seemingly smaller room with these two imposing men filling the space.

“He’s at the church. He had a meeting, and I have a car,” Roman says, taking another step toward me.

“We didn’t want to leave you alone in case you had a concussion, which I’m guessing you do given how unsteady you are,” Blake chimes in, but unlike Roman he remains where he is.

I avoid looking at him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he kissed me in the alley, and I don’t know what to think or do or say.

“Well, thanks, but you can go now,” I state, raising my head and looking straight at Roman, who has managed to move even closer to me.

“You don’t sound very grateful, Sydney,” Roman says, his tone rough and the words layered with dangerous meaning.

My mind fills with images from the numerous dreams I’ve had of the two of them over the last few days, and I struggle not to react. But as Roman invades my personal space, it becomes a battle of wills.

These men are servants of the devil sent here to tempt me beyond redemption. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep resisting them. Why are they doing this? I need to get them out of my house and stay far away from them. But how when they keep showing up in my life, finding ways to be alone with me.

In the few seconds I’m distracted by my thoughts, Roman hasn’t just invaded my personal space, he’s obliterated it beyond repair.

I gasp as he takes hold of my wrists, thumbs pressing firmly against the pulse there. It’s racing. I can feel it.

“Something the matter, Sydney?” he asks, caressing the spot in a circle.

“W-wh-what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall over and injury yourself more,” Roman replies, but something in his words gives me pause.

Maybe it’s not his words and more the small, soothing caress of his fingers against the inside of my wrist, or the way he’s watching my face—for what I don’t know. Or perhaps it’s the very real and terrifying reality that Roman is looking at me like he wants to devour me and some inner and innate part of me is almost wishing for it.

How far have I fallen that I would be looking at this man and his friend to defile me in such a way?

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to leave. This is not right,” I say, my voice timid and unsure.

Roman, still holding my wrists, steps closer, crowding me and forcing me to take a step back. I don’t have anywhere to go and end up pressed against the back of the sofa.

“I think you’re lying, Sydney. I think you know exactly what we are doing. But more importantly, I think you like it, want it,” he whispers against my cheek.

I should be thinking of how I can escape, but the only thing remotely coherent in my mind is how much I want him to kiss me, to touch me, somewhere other than my wrists. This is the same thing that happened with Blake in the alley. And as though the thought conjured him, the sofa creaks behind me, and there he is.

“It’s okay, Syd,” Blake murmurs in my other ear, and the heat of his words and breath over my skin make it impossible to deny, to protest.

I shake my head. It’s all I can manage with this insane and uncontrollable desire racing through my body. In complete synchronisation, Blake and Roman lower their mouths to my neck, just below my ear, leaving a trail of heat behind. My body responds involuntarily; my head dropping back a fraction. Roman wastes no time in using the action to his advantage, kissing down my throat to my collar bone.

There’s a soft whimper, and it takes me an age to realise the sound came from me. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, rough, calloused fingers sweep up my side to my breasts, and I gasp at the sensation.

“No, no…oh.” The words come out breathy and not at all like I mean them.

A deep rumble vibrates along my neck. “If you’re going to say no, Syd, say it like you mean it,” Blake says, his voice full of amusement.

Roman’s fingers skate across my breast, circling my nipple, then with the barest of touches, he sweeps a thumb over my hardened nipple, and I jolt as though hit with an invisible electrical current. The exquisite sensation flows through my body, hitting my core in a pulsing bloom. He does it again, harder this time, giving it a small tweak before moving away. I almost feel bereft and arch my back, seeking more.

My reaction is met with a hum of appraisal and a dark rumble of laughter, but the moment is shattered with a sharp knock at the door.

I gasp, Roman’s hand falls away and Blake’s mouth stills at the crook of my neck. When a second knock comes, Roman steps back, standing tall, and pulling me up with him. Blake drops on to the sofa, slouching casually as though he were simply sitting and hadn’t just had his mouth on me.

“Expecting someone?” Roman asks, raising a curious brow.

“No, no one,” I say, shaking my head as I try to calm myself.

“Do you want me to?—”

“No!” I say sharply, cutting off his offer to answer the door. “I’ll get it.” This time my words are softer, and I fidget with my clothes, straightening them out, as I head for the front door.

Through the glass, I can make out the blurred outline of at least two people. Looking behind me one last time to ensure Roman and Blake haven’t followed, I take a steadying breath and open the door.

I don’t know what I expected but finding the police standing on my doorstep, wasn’t it.

“Miss Kincaid, Sydney Kincaid?” the female officer asks, her hands tucked inside the side pockets of her duty vest.

“Yes,” I say, looking between the two of them. “What’s going on?” But the dour expression on their faces is sign enough.

“Miss Kincaid, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but there’s been an accident involving your father, Reverend Kincaid.”

My hands fly to my mouth, smothering some of my cry of despair, and when my legs buckle beneath me as the policewoman explains Pa is in hospital, someone catches me from behind.