Breaking the Rules (A Sinner and Saint Novel Book 2)

by Lucy Score

  “Wave, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go home and reacquaint myself with the rotting contents of my refrigerator.”

  Waverly grinned and grabbed Kate for a hard hug. “Thank you for coming to my rescue and babysitting me for days on end while putting your own life on hold. I promise to return the favor.”

  Kate gave her an extra hard squeeze. “You got it. Now try not to get shot or stabbed or abandoned in another state for at least a month or two.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She waved Kate off as her friend backed her SUV out of the third garage bay and headed down the driveway.

  “I guess it’s just you and me,” Xavier said, leaning against one of the stark white columns of the porch.

  “Don’t get used to it,” Waverly warned him. She paused at her front door, debating. She was about to allow Xavier Saint to enter her sanctuary. “Don’t you want to go home or something?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I sold my condo here. Whenever I’m in town, I use one of the Invictus properties.”

  “Fine, don’t you want to go anywhere but here and leave me alone in peace?”

  “Not a chance, Angel. Open the door.”

  She slid the key into the lock and opened the arched front doors. She keyed in the access code on the pad by the door. Even with Xavier crowding behind her, she still felt the rush of pleasure she always did when she came home. Inside, the traditional disappeared with an open layout, soaring ceilings, and windows everywhere that encouraged view gawking. The view was spectacular. Canyon and mountain with just a sliver of city lights to the southeast.

  The travertine foyer opened to the main staircase and a sunken living room. A contemporary chandelier hung twenty feet above them, showcased in a cupola. There was a formal dining room to the right with a big bow window overlooking the front yard.

  She headed straight back the wide hallway until it opened up. The entire back of the house was one cavernous room with windows everywhere. Here, the floor was dark slabs of stone warmed by the sunlight that poured through two stories of windows. She’d gone with dark cabinets and light marble countertops in the U-shaped kitchen. A massive island offered an acre of prep space. The walls were a creamy off-white.

  Despite its size, the great room felt cozy with oversized couches organized around a large TV. There were three sets of French doors and dozens more windows here. Massive trusses gave the ceiling a cathedral feel. The fireplace, tucked into the corner and flanked by two comfortable chairs, was made out of the same stone as the floors. Above, a loft led to bedrooms.

  Xavier went straight to the doors off the kitchen and stared out at her backyard. There was a kidney-shaped pool with a small hot tub and her favorite feature of the entire house, a pavilion perched between pool and cliff. There a farm table was centered under rafters and ceiling fans. A massive outdoor fireplace was built into the far end of the covered patio.

  “This place looks like you,” he said finally.

  Waverly felt a shiver of annoyance dance up her spine. “Don’t pretend that you know me, Xavier.”

  He turned his back on the view to watch her.

  “You knew a scared girl who didn’t know how to stand up for herself,” she snapped. “That’s not me now. You have no idea who I am now.”

  “I know you’re lying to me. I know that there’s more to this story than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He grabbed her arm when she tried to walk away.

  “What makes you think I’m lying to you?” She tried to yank her arm free.

  “Your lips are moving.”

  “You really piss me off, Saint,” she snapped, shoving her free hand against his chest and shoving with all her might.

  “Waverly, you’re not getting rid of me.”

  “I don’t have to get rid of you, X. I just have to wait for you to get bored and walk out on me again.”

  He pulled her against him. “I didn’t get bored, Angel. I got scared. I almost lost you because of a mistake I made.”

  “Bullshit.” The word snapped out of her mouth. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You saved my life that night, and the only one who made a mistake was me in trusting you to stick around. Maybe you did get scared, but it wasn’t because of Les Ganim. It was because you couldn’t love me.”

  He bared his teeth, and instead of fear, she felt desire, fierce and hot, spike inside her. “I never stopped loving you. I fell for you when you tossed me in the pool, and I have never, not even for a single second since, stopped loving you. You are it for me Waverly Sinner, and the sooner you face it, the easier it will be for both of us.”

  His mouth crushed down on hers, sealing the words that she wanted to shout at him, the accusations that he deserved to hear. She pushed against him, but her traitorous fingers dug into his jacket and held. And when his tongue slipped between her parting lips, she lost her mind and stopped fighting him.

  He consumed her, and she let him. Just for a moment she wanted to forget everything that was going on and just feel something, anything. And Xavier made her feel everything, the heat, the longing, the clawing need. There were still feelings there, still the ignition of chemistry, but that had never been their problem. Honesty had been. And nothing had changed there.

  He tasted her as he lifted her up to wrap her legs around his waist.

  “I can’t be around you and not touch you,” he murmured against her mouth. He settled her on the kitchen island, and she bit his lower lip, hard. Xavier growled into her. His hands were everywhere, stroking and teasing. She felt his palm slide under her sweater and cup her waist careful to avoid her wound. And when it moved higher to rest on her satin covered breast, she hissed against his mouth.

  No one had ever made her feel the way Xavier Saint did. No one silenced her inner demons and broke through her defenses just to drag her to the jagged edge of pleasure, no one but Xavier.

  His hand kneaded her breast, and she hitched her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him against her. She could feel his erection through her jeans and moaned at the friction he was causing.

  “Angel, I need you. I need to touch you.” He flexed his hips against her, and her head fell back. He shoved at her sweater, and she reached down between their bodies to cup him through the pants of his suit. Xavier groaned at the contact. He found the front clasp of her bra with his fingers and released it. And when his palms skimmed up to hold both breasts, Waverly shuddered with pleasure.

  “Do you remember?” he gritted out against her neck as she stroked the length of his shaft through his pants. “How it felt when I was inside you? How it felt when I moved in you?”

  She gasped and felt tears burn her throat. She remembered, and she knew there was a price to pay for feeling like that. She didn’t want this heat, this need. But she was already tugging his zipper down. Waverly wanted to take him in her hand and make him beg for her.

  The ringing cut through the haze of lust that threatened to suffocate them both, her phone, that ringtone.

  Her fingers fumbled and then stilled.

  “Angel?” He whispered the question against her frozen mouth.

  “I…the phone. I have to take it,” she stammered out.

  He swore softly but lifted her off the counter and let her slide to the floor against him, every inch of their bodies touching.

  She stared up at him, dazed by the contact, swamped by the need. He broke eye contact with her, his gaze pinned to her chest. But when his fingers reached for something, she realized it wasn’t her breasts that held him captivated. Triumphantly, he held up the coin necklace he’d given her on a long ago night.

  She waited for him to say something, to call her out on her reluctance to leave the past in the past as she’d told him she had. But he was silent. His eyes said it all. There was fire in those whiskey depths. Hope. Memories.

  Embarrassed, Waverly pulled the pendant from his fingers and tucked it back inside her sweater.


  “Your phone, Angel,” he reminded her.

  Waverly extricated herself from the cage of his arms and scrambled for her bag on the thick-planked dining table between kitchen and living spaces. Her body was still on fire from Xavier’s touch. She didn’t understand how her heart could be so hardened against him yet her body melted for the man. Her heart needed to have a stern talk with her hormones.

  She found her phone on the bottom of her bag. It had stopped ringing, but she had a text from the same number.

  Tomorrow. Seven a.m. Palo Comado. Alone.

  It looked like she’d stirred up the hornet’s nest as intended. She felt Xavier’s gaze weigh on her and deleted the text. She didn’t trust him not to snoop through her phone. It’s what she would do in his place.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  She turned to face him, her cheeks still flushed with a combination of desire and embarrassment. “Yes, and he’s standing in my kitchen with a hard-on like a Redwood.”

  Xavier wasn’t embarrassed. He looked ready to pounce.

  She held up her hands when he took a step toward her. “Stay where you are. This is not going to happen.”

  “It would have happened if you hadn’t gotten that call,” he argued.

  “Then I owe that wrong number a huge debt of gratitude,” she said pointedly.

  “And I’m going to kill them with my bare hands,” he smiled.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower. Alone!” she added when he made a move forward. A cold shower. With ice cubes.

  “Where would you like me to put my things?”

  “You’re not staying here, Saint.”

  “Agree to disagree, Angel,” he said amicably.

  She glared at him. “There is something very wrong with you, Xavier.”

  “It’s called love.”

  “Stop saying that!” she shouted as she stomped up the back staircase.

  She shoved through the double doors of her bedroom and for the first time didn’t feel the sense of peace and calm envelop her when she entered the space. She’d gone for a creamy khaki on the walls to warm up the room. The hardwoods were a caramel tone complemented by the thick wool rug in cream. The wall of arched windows included French doors that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the front yard.

  She moved into the bathroom. The walls were light and creamy in here, and the light flooded in from one large window over the tub—the exact replica of another in a room in Mykonos—and two skylights. The same stone from downstairs covered the floor in here, but the architect had added radiant floor heating beneath it. Even her feet were spoiled in here. She opened the glass door to the shower and turned the faucet on full blast.

  Waverly undressed as the steam billowed out over the top of the glass and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hoped she knew what she was doing, walking into two lion’s dens at once. The studio was aware of her return and not happy about it. And to further complicate things, she’d willingly almost ripped her clothes off and begged Xavier to take her on the kitchen counter.

  She couldn’t trust herself alone with him. Everything clouded when he was around until Xavier was the only thing in focus. She had a thought and tried to push it away but it took root.

  Was this what he’d felt for her all those years ago? That destructive need that shoved control and instinct and good judgment out of the way? No, she didn’t want to understand or empathize. She wanted to blame him, and keep her distance. She would protect herself now, from Xavier.

  He claimed he loved her. But did either one of them really know what love was? They’d had their chance, had their passionate affair. And now it was over.

  She stepped under the stream of water and let it gently wash away the hours of travel, the days of worry. She was home and tomorrow she was going to get the answers she sought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She padded into her bedroom in a fluffy white towel, skin pink and glowing from a hot shower, and froze when she spotted him sitting on her bed. She still wore the chain around her neck, he noted. God, the spark of hope he’d had when she’d kissed him back had ignited into a slow burning flame when he saw the necklace he’d given her in its rightful place.

  It had all meant something to her, too. And he was going to remind her of that.

  “Uh-uh, it’s not happening, Saint. Get out.”

  He held up bandages and tape. “Don’t be an asshole. You know I’d never force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “You mean like let you stay here? Or let you follow me around and pretend to be my security again?”

  Xavier grinned. “Quit whining and let me change your dressings.”

  “I can do it myself,” she snapped.

  “Oh, I’d love to see that. Now, lose the towel.”

  “I’m naked under here!”

  His fully hard cock was already well aware of it. “Then go put something on if you’re so self-conscious.”

  “Nice try,” she shot back at him as she stomped into the closet. He’d had a peek at it while she was in the shower. There were no men’s clothes in it, which was telling, just rods and shelves and drawers of all the facets of his Angel. There may be a section for club wear—which he would never let her out of the house in—and nearly double the number of shoes she’d had five years ago, but the majority of her wardrobe was still lounge clothes and workout wear. Maybe things weren’t as different as she wanted them to appear.

  She returned wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top in rich garnet under a thick, cozy cardigan.

  “Ground rules, Saint,” she said as she worked her thick, damp hair into a braid. “No kissing, no extraneous touching, no sexy talk.”

  “Think you’ll still be able to control yourself?” he baited her.

  “Shut up.”

  She lay face down on the bed, and he made quick work of the wet bandage on her back. She was healing quickly. The stitches would probably come out in another day or two. He sealed the tape to her skin and told her to roll over.

  He took his time here, rolling the tank up under her breast to bare her abdomen. When he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra every drop of blood in his body pooled in his groin. But he forced himself to focus on the wet dressing, not the sleek flat stomach or those perfect rounded breasts just inches from his hands.

  “Your security system looks familiar,” he said, trying to focus on anything but her nipples that were demanding his attention under thin cotton.

  “It should. It’s Invictus,” she told him. “Also, stop snooping.”

  He’d done a lot more than just snoop, but Waverly didn’t need to know that, yet.

  “You had Invictus install your system?”

  She smirked up at him and tucked her hands under her head. “Micah did, actually. We never had the parting of the ways that you and I did.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Xavier muttered, placing clean dry gauze over her wound.

  “Don’t be a baby. After the whole Ganim thing, I asked Micah to come out to my parents’ house. I didn’t think it was right to drop Invictus right after that whole stabbing thing just because you were an ass.”

  Xavier tensed. He’d never be able to joke about it, and there were nights when he wondered if there would ever come a time when he’d be able to fall asleep without reliving that moment, that terror, over and over again.

  “It would look like I blamed the company for what happened,” Waverly continued.

  “You should have blamed me.”

  “I blame you for being a dick and walking out on me, not for Ganim. Anyway,” she continued. “I asked Micah to keep you out of any of my dealings with Invictus.”

  “I guess I can add ‘pound on Micah’s face until his jaw is wired shut’ to my To-Do list tomorrow,” he said, gently sealing the tape the whole way around the gauze.

  “Don’t blame Micah,” Waverly said rolling into a seated position. �
��It was good business.”

  He spotted the scar then. A thin streak of silver against the tan skin of her neck. He nudged her chin up and trailed a finger over the jagged sliver.

  “Did I not say no extraneous touching?” she reminded him dryly.

  He ignored her. “What about the scar on your chest?” he asked.

  “You’re just trying to see my boobs,” she joked.

  He gave her a cool look, and she muttered a complaint, but when she pulled the strap of her tank top down Xavier considered it a small victory. The scar was there, another serrated mark, this one thicker, more obvious damage.

  He ran his fingers over it.

  “The plastic surgeon suggested I have scar revision surgery,” Waverly said, doing her best not to look at him. “But I wanted it.”

  “Why?” Why would she want a reminder of the night he’d almost cost her her life?

  Her smile was wry. “A souvenir of survival, I guess.”

  Xavier remained silent, remembering in exact detail how she’d earned that scar. The flash of the knife under streetlights as Ganim wielded it over her head. The impact of the SUV’s tires flying over the curb. Three shots as the knife flew downward.

  “Did you ever talk to anyone about it?” Waverly asked, finally looking at him.

  Xavier shook his head. He’d never discussed the incident with anyone, not even Micah.

  She sighed. “I figured you’d go the stoic hero route. I, however, am a normal human being and had to talk my way through it. I used to wish that I could have talked to you about it,” she said, her fingers plucking at the creamy satin of the duvet. “You’re the only other person in the world who knows what it was like.”

  “It’s over now,” he said lamely. He’d never been able to talk about it, never been able to put words to the clawing fear in his throat that he was too late, that the blood spilling on the sidewalk wouldn’t stop until she was gone.

  “Yeah. It is,” Waverly agreed. But he knew she wasn’t talking about Ganim. She was talking about them. He decided not to press his luck and to let that remark go. He would find a way to make her see that they were never over. They were just getting started.