My Beautiful Sin (Fallen Saint # 2) - J. Kenner Page 0,1

heat as I watch the tiny flecks of dust dancing in the sunshine.

I’m guessing that it’s past ten, and though I know we should both get out of bed, I don’t want to. I want to stay here forever, safe in Devlin’s arms, well away from the grasping claws of the outside world.

You’re in over your head. Find the truth. Don’t trust anyone.

The memory of the text I received last night sends a chill through me. I hadn’t shown it to Devlin. I’m not sure if I wanted to protect the sensual intimacy of our night together or if I was afraid of what I’d see on his face—the things he might feel compelled to tell me. And the shadow of the secrets he’s withholding.

After all, everything I’d learned recently nearly broke me. The knowledge that he’s the son of one of the most notorious criminals to ever walk the earth was bad enough. But when I learned that it was Devlin who’d killed my uncle Peter all those years ago, the ground had fallen out from under me.

It had taken long talks and even longer forays deep into my own soul to accept the truth, understand his motivations, and not only forgive him, but realize how deeply I need him. I’d run back to him with a change of clothes and the determination to convince him that everything could be right between us.

Then that text arrived.

What if there’s another horrible revelation? Maybe I can face it now, in the morning light. But last night? With candles and kisses, and the fervor of reconciliation?

No way—that hadn’t even been an option.

So instead of sharing the text, I’d shoved down my fears.

I haven’t even considered the possibility that the vague language refers to something other than Devlin. Of course it’s about him.

He told me straight out that he’s still clinging to secrets. But secrets are slippery. It’s rare that they are truly secure. Someone else knows what he’s trying to hide.

But whether this text was meant as a warning or a threat, I don’t know. Either way, it was meant to divide us, Devlin and me.

I won’t let it, though, and now I draw strength from the knowledge that I know this man. The real man, not merely the picture he paints for the world.

Except that’s not entirely true, and I tremble. Not because I know the secrets he’s keeping, but because I fear that he loves me enough to walk away if those secrets put a target on my back. He did it once already, after all.

That certainty weighs on me, and I close my eyes, longing for the return of sleep. I want to wake up again, only this time with no memory of the text. I want it to be nothing more than the remnant of a nightmare. Something I can ignore.

Something I don’t have to tell him.

As if the mental storm in my head has awakened him, his hand slides along my thigh, rising higher until he’s caressing my hip. His lips brush the nape of my neck, and my body immediately responds, my nipples going hard, that insistent pulse between my legs increasing.

Without a word, I roll over and find his chiseled face smiling back at me. His chin-length dark hair frames his face, and his eyes—sandy brown at the moment—watch me with such tender intensity that my heart actually aches.

We’ve been through so much in such a short time. Secrets, lies, promises. His revelations had both scared and horrified me, but I’m still here, despite Devlin trying his damnedest to push me away.

Now, someone else is pushing, suggesting even darker secrets. But it doesn’t matter. I’m fighting back against that someone, too.

I’ve gone from hating Alex Leto for walking away from me all those years ago, to loving Devlin Saint with an intensity so deep I know that I would sacrifice anything to keep him near me. There is darkness around him, true. But I like to think that I’m the light he needs in his life.

I know for certain that he’s what I need in mine. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let random, anonymous threats shake my faith in him.

He studies my face, and the silence that still lingers between us seems thick with possibility. I don’t break it. Instead, I use my forefinger to gently trace the scar on his face.

It’s not a scar he had in our youth, and though he has yet to tell me the full story of how he