Page 6 of Savored Sins
“Alright,” Trey says. He claps his hands, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows exactly what this little stare down was about. “You got your key, kid. Now let us get some sleep.”
Suddenly, there’s a flash of movement beyond the door. It’s fast, quick as lightning—like someone pulled the cord on a flash bulb. I tense, craning my neck to peer beyond Autumn’s frame and further into the house.
“Wait,” I say. “What was that? Do you have the TV on?”
Autumn’s eyebrows raise, and she looks at me incredulously. “What was what?”
“That flash.”
I gesture beyond her to what appears to be an elegant foyer, but as I do, I know exactly what it was. Because now the whispers have started—the swirling, rhythmical lilt of voices I can never understand, but which I can always feel. Ghosts.
Autumn just looks confused. Behind her, it’s Trey’s turn to sigh dramatically.
“No clue what flash you’re talking about,” Autumn says, “but I’m going to bed. Bring the key back tomorrow—and don’t lose it.”
As she turns to head back into the house, I catch a glimpse of faded black ink above her ass, peeking out from beneath the camisole. Interesting. I like.
But then she shuts the door on me—this time for real—and the light flicks off in the foyer. I pocket the spare key and set off down the sidewalk, bounding once again across the grassy span leading to the cabin. Ghosts or no ghosts, I need a cold fucking shower. Autumn Carroway and her perky tits made sure of that.
four
AUTUMN
As soon as I shut the front door in Zeke Holloway’s face, I flip the deadbolt into place and lean my head back against the heavy wooden doorframe. As much as I’m trying not to notice it, my heart’s racing. That look Zeke gave me? Just now, when he leaned that tanned, sinewy forearm on the frame of my door and let those glacier-blue eyes of his roam my figure, clearly liking what he saw? It’s got my head spinning, my thighs feeling like they’re going to give out. He’s always been too good looking for his own good—that whole damn family is—but tonight…
Honestly, he looked delicious.
Trey’s face is pressed up against the living room window, watching as Zeke makes his way back to the cabin I’ve so graciously—and stupidly—offered to let him live in.
“That kid wastheZeke Holloway? Of TikTok fame?” Trey’s still peering out the window. His face is incredulous, but he looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to growl or bust out laughing.
“The very same,” I say, sighing. “I mean. I guess. I don’t follow him—I didn’t want any more reasons to have to debate kicking him out.”
I’m still trying to shake Zeke’s spell. Which is stupid—he’s, like, a teenager. I mean, not really. But he may as well be—he’s Will’s little brother.
I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.
Trey lets the floor to ceiling curtain fall as he moves back across the living room and flicks off the lights in the foyer. He snorts. “That’s for sure. I’ve followed him since the minute you told me he was moving in, and he’s on another level. I don’t like how he looked at you.”
“How he looked at me?” I deadpan. I’m suddenly glad Trey and I are standing in the dark again because now I’m certain my face has gone as red as my hair.
“Oh, come on, Autumn,” Trey scoffs. He nudges me back toward the staircase, gives my ass a little shove. It’s dark, but I’d bet this house he’s rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t exactly subtle. I haven’t seen anyone blatantly eye-fuck someone like that since my own husband during his Jonathan Bailey in Bridgerton phase.”
“I mean, duh. Dustin’s got good taste,” I rib. I’m still trying to deflect from the subject of Zeke. “He marriedyou, after all.”
Trey takes the stairs two at a time. “I see you trying to dodge this conversation. But I’m serious, Autumn. Zeke Holloway’s a player—andhe’s, like, fifteen.”
“I think he’s actually twenty-three,” I say. “I remember Lydia saying something about?—”
“Oh,whatever,” Trey says, cutting me off. There’s a night light on in the upstairs bathroom down the hallway and it casts just enough light that I can see the whites of Trey’s eyes as he rolls them at me. “Fifteen or twenty-three—what’s it matter? You’ve been through the damnwringer, Autumn, and the last thing you need is some scrawny man-child bending you over the bathroom sink while he admires himself in the mirror and then leaves to go post it on TikTok.”
His description nearly makes me suck in my breath. Because now that’s exactly what I’m picturing—me and Zeke, naked in my en-suite bathroom, nothing between us but the sweat of our heaving bodies. Honestly, I’d probably be the one admiring him in the mirror.
Gross, Autumn.
I try to scrub my mind of the thought. That’s Will’s little brother I’m lusting over.
Instead, I laugh and say, “You think Zeke’s scrawny?”
