Wicked Saint: A Sweet and Steamy Older ManYounger Woman Rockstar Romance by Nichole Rose

Author:Nichole Rose [Rose, Nichole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Everleigh

Saint's house is spectacular, but I see very little of it. I'm in his arms, burning up with a desire I've never felt before as he storms through the front doors and then heads for the stairs. The heat banked in his green eyes is hot enough to start forest fires. Fitting, given their beautiful color. The house passes in blurs and faint impressions. Everything is bright, soft, comforting. This is his private space, guarded like a treasure vault from the outside world. Just like the real him.

He hid that beneath a persona, pushing it down so deep he almost lost it. I think it's coming back to him now, sometimes in little pieces and broken fragments, sometimes in larger chunks. I was right all those times I looked at his pictures and saw something different, saw someone different. He's not Saint Green, Grammy-winning recording artist. He's Saint Greenway, bossy, fragile, and so damn beautiful.

God, he's beautiful. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the sweet things he says mixed all in with the filthy…I didn't know it was possible to fall so completely so quickly. But I shouldn't be surprised. I've spent years dreaming about him, imagining what it would be like to be his. Except I had it all wrong.

I dreamed of him sweeping in and saving me from my boring life where the only thing with any color was my art. Instead, he showed me that my life has always been bright and full. I just had to find the courage to reach out and take it. He's the one who has been living in the dark, the one who needed saving. But he's going to be okay now. He'll never spend another day thinking he's all the hurtful things people say about him. I won't allow it.

People build idols up only to tear them down. They place them on those pedestals where they don't belong, and then gleefully knock those delicate perches out from beneath them. They cheer when they stumble and celebrate when they fall. Not Saint. Not anymore. I may not be rich or powerful. My voice may not count for much in the great big world. But it counts to him. But I'll use it to fight for him.

Just like I know he'll fight for me. We make quite a pair. Neither of us speaks up for ourselves. I let my parents tell me how to live my life and dutifully follow their rules. I'm nineteen, with no more freedom than a girl half my age. I locked myself behind a wall of fear a long time ago and then couldn't find my way free of it.

Saint lets the world call him a terrible brother, a problem child, an embarrassment. He's none of those things, yet he carries that weight on his shoulders as if it's his to bear. He's been locked away too, unable to fight his way free of guilt and shame and regret.

I think I was supposed to run into him on campus.

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