Page 140 of On Edge

“You’re making this very difficult.”

Released at last, I run my hands over his hard chest, almost too afraid to go lower.

“Please, Troy. Fuck me.”

I slip my hands under the t-shirt he’s wearing, craving his touch to ground me, to keep the spell from breaking. I don’t want to run away this time. And I need more. But I forgot about the scars…twisted and gnarled, marring his skin. There are so many.

Troy immediately stills. “Sage, don’t.”

Cautiously, I touch one, a burn that looks like melted wax, inked onto it the outstretched wings of a swan.

His hand immediately snatches my wrist, physically stopping me from touching him.

“I said,Don’t.”

His grip is vice-like, digging in; his tone is seething. Is this the same Troy that pushed me to the edge just now, or am I losing my mind?

“I don’t under?—”

“Sage.” He lifts me off him and deposits me on the rug before getting to his feet. “You should get some rest.” As he runs a hand through his hair, he casts his eyes anywhere but at me, voice angry, clipped. “Kathy will be awake soon. I’ll send her to see to you.” And then he leaves the room.

What…what just happened?

He’s gone. I stare at the fire until it fizzles out, my lips still tingling from his, my body trembling from the pleasure and pain he just teased to life in me. As the haze clears slowly, like fog burning off the lake, reality crashes down. My skin feels hot, not the delicious warmth engulfing my entire body just now, but shame.

Everything from falling into the lake until now replays in my head. One moment I was sinking, the next I was safe in his arms, and then... the way he kissed me, touched me, like I was the only thing keeping him alive. And then he just left.

God, I begged him to fuck me.

I squeeze my eyes shut to block out that particular memory. But then all I see is Troy’s cold gaze tearing me down. He looked at me like I was a monster for touching his scars.

Was it a mistake?

Of course it was.

This isn’t normal. Normal people don’t have heated makeout sessions with killers. The scathing look he gave me keeps flashing in the darkness of my mind, cutting deeper with every replay. Even if he didn’t kill Nell, Ragg’s body is in the freezer. Something’s not right. I should be on the next boat home, not begging him to take even more pieces of me.

For a moment, while I’m wrapped in the blanket, as the fire splutters and dies, secretly, I wish I could go back to that second when he kissed me and I felt...

I felt wanted.

Swept away in the fairytale that I could be someone he wanted to marry. For once, my sister’s ghost is silent. But there’s no room for her anyway.

But then she laughs.

“It’s not you he wants, dear Sis. You’ve forgotten, he was mine first.”

Eventually, the cold drives me to move. The fire's completely dead now, and I'm shivering despite the blanket. I’m also naked under it, and it doesn't cover a lot, so I need to get dressed.

I get to my feet, shakily, wrapping the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The walk back to my room feels endless, with every shadow making me jump and the old house creaking on every stair, reminding me I'm alone with my thoughts and Nell's ghost.

When I push open my bedroom door, I stop. On the chair by my bed, folded carefully, is a sweater; dark cashmere and expensive. Even with boxes of my new clothes lying around.

It’s unmistakably his.

I stare at it, my throat tightening.

Then, I pick it up, tentatively at first, as though it might bite me. But the fabric is soft and still smells of him—woodsmoke and cedar and masculine. The same scent that coiled around my senses while he brought me to oblivion by the fire.