Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

“Like you how tucked my hair back up, and how you made me drink the Snow Queen. My friend used to always say to drink before I come here.”

“Anything else?” He gives me a strange s

mile.

“I don’t know. I just... feel weird about you. Good weird. Like I know you, even though I know I really don’t.”

“You know me better than most,” he says. His fingers resume stroking mine.

“I have a feeling that’s still not very well.”

“Can’t argue that,” he says quietly. And that’s the end of such talk.

I leave Olive a tube of my favorite lipstick and a shot glass full of Snow Queen. I ignore the bouquet of sixteen roses lying against her headstone, and I don’t look at the card.

Kellan strokes his thumb over the seashells I left here several years ago. I look around the cemetery, searching for some sign, but there’s nothing. The sun is shining, the sky is ordinary blue, the grass yields no secrets for me. It’s neither dead nor particularly verdant. The trees sway in a breeze that’s no different from any other day. The only thing significant about today is Olive’s absence.

I don’t stay too long before Kellan wraps his arm around me and guides me back to the Escalade.

The whole way home, I talk about an article I read in TIME Magazine about how, years from now, no one will die. I keep it technical, and again we talk of robots. When we get back to Kellan’s house, Helen is waiting by the door.

KELLAN CARRIES ME TO THE windowed room. I assume he plans to pull the covers back and peel my clothes off, but instead he tucks me into bed and disappears, returning a few minutes later with a mug in hand. Steam wafts off the top. He sets it on the nightstand and leans against the mattress.

“Sit up a little,” he whispers, smiling softly down at me. I’ve got my head propped in my hand and I’m lying on my side, just looking out the windows and thinking. I drag my tired self up, and he plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Thanks.” I wrap an arm around his back, and for a blissful moment, his forehead is against my neck—and I have him. The weight of him. The smell of him. All his wonderful intentions, and my fantasies, which have only just begun to simmer.

Then he leans back, hands me the mug, and winks. “Try that.”

“What is it?”

“What does it smell like?” He smiles and tilts his head, watching as I take a tentative sip.

“Ahh, that’s—whoa, that’s really good. It’s hot chocolate with...”

“Brandy and Frangelico.”

“What’s Frangelico?” I ask before taking another long, warm sip.

“Hazelnut liqueur. Italian.”

“God.” It pools in my belly, and with the next long sip, I feel a blanket of drowsiness cover me.

“You should get some sleep,” he says. He walks to the head of the bed and I feel his hands on my hair—pulling the rubber band off the bottom of my braid, then separating the wavy locks.

I sigh. “That feels amazing.”

“Good.” He smooths my hair down my back and kisses my temple.

I blink at him. Is this the same guy who disarmed and cajoled me.... what? Mere days ago? I feel like I’ve known him my entire life.

“What will you do while I sleep?” I ask, folding my hands around the mug. As much as I’d love to go to sleep, I think I want him near me more.

“I’ve got a dealer meeting, then a thing with Manning.”

“Oh, a thing?” I smile, teasing.

“We do it twice a week. I’ll bring you to the next one.” His mouth presses tight, then curves back up into a pensive half-smile. “It’s for the charitable distribution.”