His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

“Why are you sorry, sweetheart?” His voice was still low enough that no one could hear what he was saying.

“I didn’t mean to tell you for the first time here… where I can’t… where…”

“Tell you what,” he said with a growing smile. The little twisted tooth grounded me and reminded me that he wasn’t some perfect untouchable model. He was real. “I’ll save mine until we’re somewhere by ourselves. Then we can do whatever it is you want to do right now but can’t.”

The look on his face made my heart stutter even worse. He was so sexy and so thoughtful. It was a lethal combination. “Yes. Good. Please. Yes.”

Saint pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “The kitchen is through there. Go tell that woman you’ll do anything for chocolate.”

“Anything?” he asked with a raised brow.

He was so damned cute. Before I could growl a warning at him, I heard my sister’s laughter from the direction of the front door.

“We’re here!” she called.

“Who’s ‘we,’ darling?” Mother called out before catching sight of Saint making his escape toward the kitchen. “Tonight must be the night for uninvited guests.”

“Aurora and Kat,” Rory called back, rushing into the room in front of her girlfriend. “I, ah, figured since Augie was going to be here, I’d swing by and pick up—”

“Rory,” I said, interrupting. “I brought Saint. And, ah…”

“He told us he’s a fag,” Brett said. “Big surprise.”

Rory’s nostrils flared and she lurched toward our cousin with her claws extended. “You little—”

“Rory!” Kat caught her around her waist and kept her from attacking Brett.

“Let me go! He can’t say things like that. He can’t, Kat.”

“I know, dear. But I’d rather not have to visit you in jail. The optics on that would be terrible.”

“Aurora Stiel, sit down,” my mother insisted from her spot on a nearby arm chair. “We were just getting ready to discuss an important business matter with your brother.”

I noticed Saint race back into the room quickly, looking around to assess the situation. He must have heard the yelling.

“Katrina, Rory, nice to see you again,” he said when he didn’t detect a foreign invasion. He returned to the spot next to me and pulled a little white packet from his trouser pocket. Hot cocoa mix.

“Best I could do,” he said softly, handing it to me. “I have chocolate syrup at my apartment, so you can have a true mocha in the morning.”

I swallowed. He’d mentioned us staying over at his apartment downtown rather than driving back to Hobie, but I’d told him I usually stayed here at the house in my old room.

I kind of loved him mentioning his apartment again as if the decision was out of my hands. I’d begun to notice his bossiness usually centered on protecting me or giving me pleasure in bed, both of which I was absolutely on board with.

“Perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”

After accepting his own coffee from the server, Uncle Eric sat back in his chair. “August, we’d like your help convincing Dad to donate the building your shop is currently in to a charity project Brett and I have been working on. One of the foundation’s beneficiaries—”

“I know about CSP,” I said.

Eric looked surprised. “Oh, well, yes. CSP creates low-income housing which is—”

At this, Saint was the one who interrupted. “I’m going to stop you right there, Eric. There’s no way the powers that be in Hobie are going to let anyone put low-income housing right on the town square.”

“That’s as may be, but we’d like to give them a chance to try. Until we can get the property under their ownership, they can’t even attempt it.”

Saint sounded annoyed. “So you want Augie to find a new space, sign a lease with another location, and move everything out of his shop on the off chance Hobie’s town planners will approve a ridiculous plan for low-income housing on the square?”

Brett jumped in. “This is really none of your damned business. Do you even have a college degree? Because we’re talking about complex real estate investment deals and not how many steel plates you managed to bench-press at the gym.”

Saint took a breath to remain calm. The smile on his face was glacial and his voice was smooth as silk. “My father is the global director of Winstone Capital. He manages $500 billion dollars worth of ‘complex real estate investment deals’ all over the world and also had a hand in facilitating my grandfathers’ multimillion-dollar investment specifically into Hobie real estate. I’d say I have a passing knowledge of what we’re talking about here.”

Mr. Stiel chuckled from where he stood by the fireplace. “Brett, Saint here was a navy SEAL. Takes more than a big lung capacity to pass those tests. Stop being an ass.”

Rory moved around to give Grandfather a quick hug before leading him to a chair so he could sit. She proceeded to fix him a coffee and piece of cake from the tray on the side table.