Across the way, she looked at him from the corner, as beautiful and demure and resplendent as ever, her eyes pools of compassion and warmth, her alabaster skin glowing in the dim light cast by the street lamp outside.

He waited for a response and then reminded himself one wasn’t coming: The Mary Magdalene statue he’d stolen at dawn remained as quiet as it had been when he’d taken it from the church.

He’d had to take her. Now that he knew what his woman did for a living, it was his representation of his love, the thing to tide him over until he finally and permanently got her where she belonged—which was with him.

The statue also reminded him that he shouldn’t kill her just because she was a dirty, filthy slut. She was…a woman misled, strayed, off the right path. Something he himself was guilty of. But he’d done his time and he was back on track now….

Well, with minor exceptions.

As he knelt in front of the statue, he reached up to cup the face in his palm. He loved being able to touch his woman and it was a little disappointing not to have her stroke him back or worship him as she should.

But that was why he needed the real thing.

CHAPTER
23

Marie-Terese had been convinced Vin was going to kiss her on the mouth.

And there was a part of her that wanted just that, but she’d been panicky, too: She might have technically been having sex at the club, but it had been three years since she’d actually been kissed. And the last time it had happened it had been forced on her as part of an act of violence.

Instead of giving her what she both wanted and feared, though, Vin had just pressed his lips to her forehead and eased her up against his chest—and here she was, in the strong arms of a man whose heart was beating close to her ear, whose warmth was leaching into her own body, whose big hand was making slow circles around her back.

Marie-Terese smoothed her palm up his pecs. Underneath the cashmere, his body was hard, suggesting that he exercised a lot.

She wondered what he looked like without his clothes on.

She wondered what his mouth would feel like on hers.

She wondered how having him skin-to-skin would be.

“I guess we should probably go,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest.

“Do we have to?”

His breath caught and then resumed. “I think we’d better.”

“Why?”

Vin shrugged, the movement rubbing his sweater against her cheek. “Just think it’s for the best.”

Oh, man…how about that for a polite brush-off. Good God, what if she’d read it all wrong?

Abruptly, she shifted upward, pushing herself off of him. “Yes, I think you’re right—”