The Angel (The Original Sinners 2)

Nora laid her hand against her chest over her heart.

“Not here. He’s not gone here.”

“He deserves better than this, le  prêtre does.”

Nora couldn’t argue with that. “I know. I know he does. You wanted me back with Søren.”

“I wanted le prêtre happy again. For some reason, you make him happy. But this…” He raised the file. “This will not make anyone happy.”

Nora sighed. She walked to Kingsley’s desk and collapsed into a chair across from him.

“I was going to go back to him, to Søren.” She stared at Kingsley’s bare feet. So strange to see him not in his signature knee-high riding boots. Only sex got him out of those boots. Somewhere in the town house, Nora knew Juliette was wondering where her master was. But Juliette would have to wait.

Kingsley laughed deeply. “How much have you had to drink tonight, maîtresse? You did go back to him.”

Nora smiled to herself.

“No…I mean I was going to go back to Søren a year and half before I did. It was a Wednesday in September. That whole week…I don’t know why, but for that entire week I could hardly breathe for how much I missed Søren. I had good days and bad days without him. That day started out bad. Bad enough I decided I’d give it up, humble myself, grovel at Søren’s feet until he took me back. But I didn’t. You know why?”

Kingsley didn’t speak at first. After the space of ten heartbeats he finally answered.

“Pourquoi?”

“Because that was the first day I taught that stupid writing class at Yorke, and I went into that classroom and saw these beautiful big brown eyes that looked at me as though they’d never seen anything like me before. I met Wesley. And I just forgot. I forgot I meant to go back to Søren.” Nora swallowed the tears in her throat. “Oops.”

“I will pretend I never heard that.”

Nora laughed miserably.

“I came to you that night. Do you remember, King?” Nora met his eyes and let her mind and body burn up with the memory—racing to Manhattan, running up the stairs…almost like tonight. “You were sound asleep in your bed, and I crawled in, and took you by the wrists while you were sleeping....”

Kingsley inhaled sharply and looked away. They had a rule they never spoke about that side of Kingsley.

“Oui, I remember.”

“I was burning,” she confessed. “For that kid in my class at Yorke. For Wesley. I couldn’t take my frustration out on him obviously. I took it out on you.” Nora met Kingsley’s dark eyes. “That night might have been the first night we ever spent together that you and I weren’t fantasizing about the same person.”

Kingsley didn’t speak. And Nora said nothing else.

“I’ve wondered a time or two if I love le  prêtre more than you do, chérie. Now I know I do.”

“Kingsley…” Nora closed her eyes tight but one mutinous tear escaped. “I know you know how it feels to love someone so much and not have him. Please…it’s me doing the begging tonight.”

“If you use any of this information to hurt le prêtre…” Kingsley’s voice trailed off and the threat was left unsaid. He didn’t have to say it. She and Kingsley were not friends, and never had been. They had been Jacob and Esau to Søren. At least in Kingsley’s mind. And now if she hurt Søren…it wouldn’t be a rivalry between them anymore. It would be war.

So be it.

Kingsley gave her one last look. He picked up a pair of elegant wire-framed glasses off his desk, put them on and opened the file.

He read. Nora listened. And by dawn she knew one thing.

Wesley had lied.

15

Michael and Griffin didn’t linger long at Sin Tax after Nora ran off to do whatever it was she did—Michael still wasn’t quite sure. Together he and Griffin watched the rest of the pony show. When it ended, Michael leaned forward in anticipation of the next act but froze when he felt fingers on the back of his neck.

Every muscle in his body tensed, every nerve tingled as Michael slowly turned his head to face Griffin, who watched him with hooded eyes.

“Let’s go.” Griffin gave Michael’s neck a gentle squeeze and Michael had to concentrate extremely hard not to enjoy it as much as his body wanted to. “Our bird’s here.”

Michael nodded slowly, not wanting to dislodge Griffin’s hand. But sadly Griffin left the booth and took his hand with him. Michael followed closely behind as they made their way through the crowded club toward the back exit. So intent on watching Griffin walk, Michael didn’t notice the foot in his path until he’d accidentally kicked it.

Spinning around to apologize, Michael came face-to-face with a pale and handsome man in his mid-twenties with curling blond hair and smiling, empty eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Michael stammered as the man took a step forward.

“I’m not.” The man looked Michael up and down. “What’s your name?”

“Um…” Michael looked around for Griffin but had seemingly lost him in the crowd. “Michael. I need—”

“Here, Michael,” the man said, pulling a chair out with his foot. “You kicked my leg and scuffed my shoe. The least you can do to make it up to me is to sit down and have a drink with me. Then we’ll talk about the most you can do to make it up to me.”