Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

“Reading.” I cleared my throat, trying to sound indifferent.

“On your birthday? Very rock ’n roll.”

My heart began to drum faster. He’d remembered.

I noticed he was swinging a bag in his hand, but didn’t want to be presumptuous.

“Why don’t you go back to bed? All this rebelling must be exhausting.” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking less than his pissed-off, take-no-prisoners self. I wanted him to look up and drink me in with his green eyes no less than I wanted my next breath.

“What?” I snorted.

“Go back to what you were doing, Jesse, and pretend I’m not here. I just wanted to make sure you were in your room and that your window was not closed. Giving you a heart attack for your birthday is memorable, but kind of crappy, even by my very low standards.” His face was still down, and that damn ball cap denied me my current favorite view.

I knew I needed to keep my emotions in check with him, but it was easy to slip into infatuation with Bane. All the ingredients were there: funny, charming, confident, and hot as sin.

“You’re weird,” I grumbled, walking backward, my butt hitting my bed.

I heard him hop onto the metal barbecue grill outside, his boots producing a thump Pam and Darren would never hear, because their room was on the other side of the house. I bit back my smile and settled in bed, picking up my book despite knowing I’d never be able to concentrate.

A boot slid against the glass of the kitchen window. I realized that he was climbing up to my room, and my heart was doing an insane dance in my chest, completely drunk, and I wanted to yell at it to stop before we were both going to be sorry.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckled breathlessly, and the exclamation was followed by the sound of scrabbling hands against the side of the house.

My smile crumbled. I set the book down. “Are you okay?”

Another puff and scrape. “Fine. My pants are slipping down, though, and my ass is making a grand appearance. Hopefully Mrs. Belfort is not in the mood for some maze-watching.”

I giggled. “Classy.”

“Hey, you haven’t seen my ass, lady. Don’t slam it before you try it.”

“Was trying your ass ever an option?” My heart somersaulted a thousand times a minute. Maybe I was having a heart attack after all. What was happening in my chest didn’t seem natural or familiar.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded, his voice booming all over my room, so I knew that he was close. I did as I was told. This year, I’d told Pam and Darren not to get me anything. They hadn’t. I couldn’t fault them for following my request. Besides, last year Darren had tried to give me something—a new flat screen TV for my room—and I’d respectfully declined. I’d called Hannah’s son and had him pick it up, since I knew she’d never accept the gift. But whatever Roman wanted to give me—I eagerly wanted to own it.

My eyes were squeezed shut when I heard his boots land on my carpeted floor. My pulse skyrocketed, thudding against every inch of my skin. There was a special thrill in knowing he could be doing anything to me. And that he wouldn’t. Because he was decent and fair. Because no matter what he thought about himself, he was good.

“Open.” His breath fanned across my face.

I blinked, adjusting to what I was seeing, and not entirely believing it was truth. The ball cap was gone.

So was his beard.

And his man-bun.

Bane. All of Bane. His entire, beautiful, silky, boyish face in front of me. Clean-shaven and mesmerizing, like Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo, the very first time you see him through the aquarium, and it feels like someone is pinching your heart from within, twisting it evilly on a taunting smirk.

I knew Roman was attractive, but this was different. It was more. His jaw was square and strong, but everything about him was utterly youthful. His bee-stung lips and Grecian nose. It was like he was invented to destroy me.

Then it dawned on me.

He’d shaved for me.

Last week, I was standing here, in my room, telling him to shave.

So he had. He’d stopped hiding. For me. Gifting me the most important thing in the world on my birthday—his acceptance of who he was and from whom he came.

Realizing it had been at least a full minute and I still hadn’t said anything, I opened my mouth. He stared at me expectantly, like I was holding the sky in my hands.

“Is that…a new shirt?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Now who’s being an asshole here?”

I fell into my bed, laughing. Roman pretended to punch my shoulder, mounting my body and pinning me to the mattress, while I desperately clung to the waistband of his pants, yanking them back up.