Page 63 of Sweet Sinners

No.No.

But the idea of it alone makes panic crawl up my spine. If hehad—if heknew—if he even suspected what I’d just been thinking about—

I shove a hand through my hair, grab the first clothes I see, and force myself to my feet. When I open the door, Connor is mid-turn, like he was just about to give up and leave.

His gaze collides with mine.

And then—

His eyes drop.

His jaw tenses.

I follow his gaze and realize—shit—my tank top has slipped down, exposing way too much skin.

His eyes flick back up, fast. His ears arered.

I yank my top up, clearing my throat, trying to recover. “I’ll, um—shower first. Then I’ll be down.”

Connor just nods, his movements stiff as he turns to leave.

He doesn’t look back.

Instead of calling after him, instead of asking if he heard anything—if he knows—I rush straight to the shower. What I need is space, a reset, acoldshower. Anything to cool the heat clawing beneath my skin.

But no amount of freezing water will change what I know deep down.

There’sabsolutelyno way I can let on how much I want him. No way I can allowanythingto happen between us.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from taking a little extra care with my appearance.

I run my fingers through my damp, strawberry blonde hair, fluffing it for volume. A little brown eyeliner, just enough to make my blue eyes pop. A coat of mascara, soft but noticeable. It’s subtle—barely an effort at all.

Not that I think he’ll notice.

Not that I care if hedoes.

I tug at the hem of my crop top, then down on my shorts, attempting to cover more of my legs, but it’s pointless. The house is hot despite the A/C, and Ilivein shorts. It’s comfortable. It’s normal.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Swiping some ChapStick over my lips, I force myself to head downstairs.

Connor is already in the kitchen, standing over what looks like enough bacon and eggs to feed a full table of people. The smell is warm and familiar, and for a moment, it almost feels like a real home, a real morning, a real moment whereeverythingis normal.

And I tell myself—he didn’t hear anything.

I repeat it in my head until I almost believe it.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice casual as I walk in.

His shoulders stiffen at the sound of me. He clears his throat, not looking up.

“Yeah. Plenty of food,” he mutters.

I arch a brow, stepping closer. “Are you expecting an army?”

He shrugs, flipping a strip of bacon. “Habit, I guess.”