Flirting with Sin (3 page)

Go to the resort or she’d tell their father Neveah hated working in the family business and wanted out.

So much for confiding in her twin during a vulnerable moment. Payback was a bitch…and so was her sister.

“The other winner has already arrived and is settling in the suite. Let me finish checking you in, and I’ll have a concierge show you to your room.” Still beaming, the clerk returned to the computer. Damn. Even her typing sounded cheerful.

Five minutes ago, her friendliness had been welcoming. Now, it just irritated the hell out of Neveah. Of course, the clerk hadn’t been extorted into spending a week alone with a complete stranger who hoped for a love match.

Love
. The dirtiest four-letter word of ʼem all.

“Thanks.” Neveah caught the lack of enthusiasm in her own voice.

Ten minutes later, she trudged behind another happy employee who rambled on about the attributes and amenities of the resort and, by the time he stopped in front of her suite door and unlocked it, she prayed the Kool-Aid all these people seemed to be sipping was stocked in the refrigerator.

“Here we go.” The concierge swung the door open and Neveah rolled her eyes. Jesus Christ, he was so damn happy he practically chirped.

She followed him in and halted just inside the luxuriously appointed suite. Shock and pleasure rooted her feet to the floor, the same as it had outside the resort and in the lobby. Was there anything about this place not screaming history, wealth and beauty? In the common area of the room, two large, high-back arm chairs and a wide, long sofa gathered around a huge fireplace and mounted flat-screen television big enough to satisfy the manliest of man caves. An oak dining room table flanked by matching chairs decorated the other side of the open floor plan, while a surprisingly roomy kitchen occupied the farthest end of the room. A quartet of floor-to-ceiling windows granted a breath-stealing view of Lake Noble, mountains and the small village of Noble Pass in the distance.
Gorgeous
, she breathed.
Just gorgeous
.

“Here’s your living and dining room combination. Of course, you have full access to the main dining room with all of your meals covered by the hotel. But, just in case you decide to eat in, you have a fully appointed kitchen. You have a tower suite, so there are two balconies. That door there,” he pointed to a door she’d mistaken for a window, “leads to one, and there’s another in the second bedroom.” He waved a hand toward the closed door on the left side of the suite.

The closed door slowly creaked open, revealing the man she would be roomies with for the next seven days.

The rest of the concierge’s spiel fell on deaf ears. She couldn’t catch anything beyond the dull roar reverberating in her head like noise in an empty, vast cave.

Tattoos.

Lots of them.

They swirled in vivid tones of red, blue, purple and black from his wrists, up muscular arms to disappear under a dark, vintage AC/DC T-shirt. More stark lines crept from under his collar and up the strong column of his neck. Most people would’ve probably called his skin “olive,” but that would’ve been a misnomer. It was golden. As if God Himself had trapped liquid sunshine in His hand and created this man out of it.

Tearing her gaze from the strange allure of his throat, she dragged her study down his wide shoulders to his narrow hips and long legs encased in loose denim. He was tall, lean but with a whipcord power not unlike a very large predator.

Sleek, beautiful, controlled…
dangerous
.

She retraced her visual journey, eager to glimpse the face accompanying this body and rivaling the view outside the bank of windows. Jesus, he managed to pilfer her breath just standing there fully clothed. Naked, he would send a woman into a lust-induced cardiac arrest.

Now there was one for the medical journals…

Oh. Shit
.

A sinful, carnal mouth was emphasized by a dusting of dark-brown facial hair above his top lip and along his chin and jaw…and the small, black hoop piercing one corner of his slightly plumper bottom lip.

A black baseball cap shielded his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know they would be a startling shade of gold and green, exotic, unique. No, she didn’t need to see them because the mouth was enough.

She could never mistake it. Hell, she’d stared at and fantasized about those sensual curves since she was eighteen.

“Hello, Mr. Riley.” The hotel employee beamed, wielding his perpetual cheeriness on the tatted, pierced, brooding newcomer like a sledge hammer. “You’re suite mate has arrived. I’d like you to meet Neveah Morgan.”

Mr. Riley
?

Suite mate
.

Her heart pummeled her chest wall and the thunder in her ears grew louder, but for a different reason. Not nerves. But a very feminine fear and excitement.

And confusion.

Either the staff here was incredibly discreet or they didn’t get out much. Or watch television. Or listened to the radio.

Because the last name of the man standing several feet away from her, shoulders squared, arms crossed and feet spread in a don’t-fuck-with-me stance wasn’t Riley. It was Sincero.

She closed her eyes, ordered herself to breathe and not run screaming out the door and hotel and down the mountain like a lunatic. Hysterics wouldn’t serve to accomplish anything but a severe case of hypothermia. And with her return ticket home scheduled for next Monday—a week from now—and predicted snow possibly shutting down the mountain road, she was good and stuck.

Yup.

Thanks to her sister, it looked like she would be spending her vacation with a rock star.

J
ack had screwed him but good. Without lube.

Son of a bitch. Ari tightened his crossed arms, fingertips digging into his biceps as the hotel employee droned on and on to his new roommate about the suite.

Jesus H. Christ
. He’d sought solitude for the coming week and had ended up with a fucking BFF. He twisted his mouth at the irony. In a past life, he must’ve despoiled a virgin or something equally heinous for God to hate him this much.

To be fair,
he
had asked
Jack
to trade vacations with
him
. Had actually insisted Jack take his place at the Cabo San Lucas hotel where Ari had planned to stay while Jack holed up in Colorado. So accusing God of having a vendetta against him wasn’t totally fair. Still…the Big Guy couldn’t have burned a bush, risen someone from the dead—
something
—to warn Ari his idea had trouble written all over it?

And dammit, Jack could’ve given him a head’s up. Tried harder to share the facts behind his stay at this little resort-love nest. The last thing Ari needed, or wanted, was a woman. He couldn’t even fuck this one because he couldn’t send her away the next morning. Not when her room sat across the damn hall.

And what the hell was up with this contest anyway? Once Ari had been greeted as the Noble Pass Affaire winner and escorted to the suite he would share with the other contestant, he’d fired off a text to his manager asking
What. The. Fuck?
A hot phone call later, Ari possessed all the details of the contest and its romantic ramifications.

Which begged the question of why Jack needed to enter a damn contest to get a woman in the first place. He might not be a member of the band, but he had as much pussy thrown at him as the rest of them. So what was this shit?

A mystery Ari would solve as soon as he saw his friend in a week. Well, once he removed his hands from around Jack’s neck, Ari would have his answers.

For now, though, the next seven days stretched ahead of him like an endless road, and he had to get through them. With…what had the Adam Sandler look-alike said her name was? Nina? Neva? No,
Neveah
.

He shifted his narrowed, angry gaze from the far wall and, for the first time since entering the room, settled his attention on the woman clutching the strap of a bag as if it were all that stood between her and a nosedive over a steep cliff.

She wore clothes.

Huh. That was novel.

Most women wore as little around him as possible.
Little
being the key word. Micro-mini skirts, barely-there tops and no bras, all with the aim of revealing as much skin as legal. Her, though—a red bubble coat concealed her from throat to mid-thigh. Dark blue jeans sheathed her legs, disappearing into knee-high brown boots. Not even stilettos. The effect was fresh, different and strangely…charming.

Charming. Now there was a description he didn’t use too often. The females who flocked around the backstage areas, the dressing rooms and clubs didn’t care for much conversation beyond, “I love your music,” and, “Fuck me.”

To be honest, neither did he.

He lifted his gaze…and blinked. Once. Twice.

Smooth, beautiful skin the color of French Vanilla hot chocolate—his favorite drink. Graceful, ebony eyebrows. Almond-shaped, liquid dark eyes. Delicate, high cheekbones. An unpainted mouth with lips celebrities paid surgeons to give them. Long, thick sable waves the perfect length for wrapping around a fist. That mouth and hair—they decimated the image of innocence her other features conveyed. Made a man hunger to corrupt her purity…or wonder if she sucked cock like an angel.

Lust poured through his veins like thick, dark molasses. His dick thumped behind his zipper, a ready and willing volunteer to solve the mystery.

Yeah, God definitely had it in for him. Why else would He set him up with the most fuckable,
untouchable
woman Ari had ever seen? Because she was definitely off-limits. Her type didn’t follow tour buses like a gypsy caravan or troll bars looking for a screw in a back room or alley. No, her kind wanted—expected—more. Commitment. Intimacy.

Love.

All the things he no longer believed in. The things he didn’t have in him to offer.

Once upon a time, he’d had faith in them, had given them. And three years ago, they’d killed the woman who’d been his everything.

The memory of Caro snuffed the greedy flames licking his skin like fingers pinching out a candle’s light.

A drink. He needed a drink. Several of them. Enough so he stopped thinking and started drowning.

“So, if you need anything at all, just call the front desk and we are at your service.” With a last smile and nod, the concierge exited the room, leaving him alone with temptation in the flesh.

Silence pervaded the suite. The walls didn’t seem thick enough to contain the tension-strained heaviness of the quiet.

“I, uh…” She slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips and he smothered a groan. “I don’t mean to pry and I definitely won’t say anything, but I know who you are.”

Well, damn
. He unfolded his arms and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He would’ve taken her for a Taylor Swift or Katy Perry fan. Fun, flirty pop seemed more her style, not the hard, gritty rock he, Darius, Oliver and Liam played.

“Like I said, I won’t out you, but you also don’t need to wear your,” she waved a hand toward his cap, “disguise around me while we’re in here.”

“Yeah?” He snatched off the cap and dragged his fingers through his hair, not analyzing why he so readily trusted her to keep his identity secret. He did, though. Call it sixth sense, instinct, whatever. He just couldn’t see her crawling into bed with him while he slept and snapping pictures to tweet or post on Facebook. Or selling her story of being his love slave to TMZ.

“Thanks.” He tossed the hat onto the back of the couch. A swift gasp reached his ears, and he glanced at her. Pink stained the caramel skin over her cheekbones. And her eyes—a rich brown so dark they almost appeared black—widened. “Something wrong?”

“Y-yes, I’m just tired. Long trip here with the plane and then drive. Then there was Minas Tirith and snow. And now a, uh, a man.” She flicked her fingers toward him, indicating he was the “man.”

The chick was losing it. Still…

“Minas Tirith? As in Gondor, Minas Tirith?” What did
The Lord of the Rings
have to do with anything?

She tipped her head back on her shoulders and released a short bark of laughter. “Oh, hell, for real?”

“Are you okay?” He seriously doubted it. From the incessant babbling and the way she ground her fingers into her eyes, he wasn’t the only one who could use a drink.

“Uh, no.” She snorted, tilting her head forward. A wry, self-deprecating smile twisted her pretty lips. “I was blackmailed into this whole thing by Hell, only to discover for the short foreseeable future I will be living across the room from a rock god who has been plastered across every magazine, tabloid, television, internet engine and social media outlet in the free world…including my computer wallpaper.
Fuck
.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, her face screwed up in a disgusted moue as if the implications of what she’d just confessed hit her. Once more, the word “charming” popped into his mind. Two times in a matter of minutes. But between her appalled pout and the verbal diarrhea, she struck him as a bracing breath of fresh air. As fresh as the mountain wind outside these walls.