The Sinner Who Seduced Me by Stefanie Sloane Page A

that it would change their shared past, but it was something.
    “I do. I do believe you,” she whispered, uncertain whether he heard her over the wind howling just beyond the ship’s walls. Had she uttered the truth? She couldn’t know … not yet. But she needed to believe in something—in someone—right now more than anything.
    He tightened his grip, giving her a small smile as he nodded. “It’s about bloody time.”
    Cries from above rang out just as a loud, crackingnoise reverberated throughout the cabin. Clarissa screamed again. James lowered his cheek to rest against the crown of her head.
    “Perhaps I should see if I can be of any use above-deck,” he said, shifting as though to leave her.
    Clarissa held tightly to his arm as the ship shifted and swayed. “You’re needed here,” she said resolutely.
    James looked at the door. “Clarissa, I’ve some sailing experience. This may be the best way to keep you safe—”
    “Do not make me regret the words I spoke mere moments ago, James.”
    He settled back against the wall, taking her with him, tucked securely within the circle of his arms.
    His embrace was unexpectedly comforting. Though the ship threatened to break apart at any moment, held safe in James’s arms Clarissa felt as though everything would, somehow, be all right. He was, for better or for worse, she acknowledged, her only ally.
    “A truce, then?” Clarissa offered, settling more fully against him.
    “Truce,” James agreed, bracing against the bed’s wooden frame as yet another wave slammed against the ship.
    “Must we?” Clarissa sat on the trunk, her back to James.
    The ship had bobbed in the roiling sea for hours, the storm finally settling near dawn. James had held Clarissa the entire time, inquiring after her painting, which he knew from past experience would distract her. She’d fallen asleep at some point, and yet he’d held tight, telling himself it was for her safety.
    The slower speed of the ship and the sounds coming from the top deck told him they were nearing the portof Dover. James had it on good authority that the captain had an understanding with several of the customs officials, which would make their putting into port much simpler than their taking leave of Calais had been.
    “We must.” With scissors in one hand, he gathered Clarissa’s hair into the other. The thick, black strands nearly slipped free as he paused, scissors poised and ready. “May I?” he asked, though the question was only a formality.
    Clarissa nodded without speaking, and with genuine regret James made the first cut, the length of long silken hair falling to the floor.
    She gasped, but to her credit remained still.
    “It will grow back,” James reassured her as he gathered another fistful and cut. He made quick work of the chore, wanting the moment to be over—for both of them.
    When he stepped in front of her to reach the silky bangs that fell in an ebony fan over her forehead, he nearly faltered at the stark lack of emotion in Clarissa’s eyes. Then he steeled himself and resolutely wielded the scissors before stepping back to assess her close-cropped hair.
    “Well?” Clarissa asked somberly as she stared at his boots.
    “You look … you look beautiful,” James answered, disbelief in his voice. He hadn’t thought it possible for Clarissa to look any lovelier. But the short hair emphasized her distinctive features and drew the eye to her long, bare neck in a most disruptive manner.
    Clarissa lifted trembling fingers, running them through the shorn locks. “Impossible,” she muttered, tears welling and threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Well, there’s no going back now.”
    “There never was,” James confirmed, his mouth a grim line.
    Clarissa’s steady gaze was bleak as it met his. She looked away, rising from the chest to brush the clinging bits of ebony silk hair from her shoulders. “No, I suppose there was not.”

“Well, it is—”
    “Pretentious.