Sin (5 page)

She nods, understanding exactly what I mean. Then I pick up the phone and instruct Martin to bring her clothes to my office.

By ten o’clock she’s curled up on my couch, wearing a pair of my warm-ups, and watching footage of me wrestling in high school tournaments. I’m on the balcony flipping inch-thick meat patties on the grill—laughing every time she covers her face or makes a smart-ass comment.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” she yells at the flat screen. “My God, half the positions you guys get into should be banned—it’s vulgar.”

I have a perfect view of her and the TV from outside. “Medium?”

“Yes,” she answers. “No!” She looks my way. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were into dudes.”

I grin; on the screen, my head is trapped between my opponent’s knees and I’m struggling to break free. “Can’t win them all.” The burgers are done and I head inside. “Ready to eat?”

She doesn’t look up. “Hold on—this is the best round.”

My stomach growls and I slink to the coffee table, grabbing the remote. I press pause. “Eat now, watch wrestling later.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, then scrambles off the couch. The dining room table is set, complete with lit tapered candles in expensive crystal holders my mom gave me when I bought the place. I pull out her chair.

“Thank you,” she says. “Tomatoes, pickles, romaine, jalapeños, olives, sweet relish, mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, and pineapple slices?” Her eyebrows jump in surprise. “Impressive, Martha Stewart.”

“Hey,” I play along. “I’m a serious burger connoisseur. Wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

She reaches for the lettuce and tomatoes. “Try asking next time.”

“Didn’t want to disturb my newest wrestling fan.”

“Well.” She smooths a stray curl. “I admit there’s something titillating about seeing you in that black mini, the way it hugs your ass.” She takes a generous bite of her burger. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

“This is
sooo
good.”

She’s adorable when she’s happy. “By the way, wrestlers don’t wear minis.”

“No?” She tries to sound innocent.

“It’s called a singlet.”

“Have one lying around anywhere?”

I nearly spit out my food. “Why?”

“We can play fashion show after dinner.”

I take another bite; it’s safer to keep my mouth shut at this point.

She finishes her food, then heads to the fridge for another beer. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

When she offers it, my fingers skim over the top of her hand. She freezes, her gaze locked on mine. “Did you feel that?” she asks, her demeanor instantly changing.

If she’s talking about the electrical discharge between us whenever we touch—
fuck yeah
, that’s the problem. She looks so broken up about it, I give her a sympathetic look and pull out the chair closest to me. She sits.

“Can you believe he showed up at the club?” She rests her elbows on the table, her cheek pressed against her palm. “And I’m supposed to just forget about everything and open up my arms and legs and welcome him home.”

“You lived together?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “But we spent a lot of time together.”

“You’re not alone, darlin’,” I confess, hoping she’ll sense how sympathetic I am. “My ex-fiancée decided to have an affair a couple months ago. It didn’t end well between us.”

After what feels like an eternity of silence, she speaks up. “What happened?”

“We lived together in upstate New York while I completed my grad degree. She knew from the beginning I intended to come home after I graduated. But when she found out I accepted the job at the Den, she freaked. End of story.”

“Where is she now?”

“At the moment…” I look at my watch. “Less than a mile away.”

“What?”

“She called a few nights ago and told me she’s in town. Asked if we could start over.” I laugh bitterly. “Seems like we’re both stuck between the same rock and hard place.”

Her eyes soften. “Screw them.”

“She wants to be ‘friends,’ ” I add for effect.

She clicks her tongue, then moves into a more comfortable position, stretching her perfect legs out. “And here
we
are.” She flicks me a cryptic look.

I flex my hand behind my back. Waiting for her to give me the green light. One word. That’s all it will take and I’ll attack her.

“What’d you major in?”

My cock withers a little. “Biology for my undergrad, MBA from Cornell.”

“I’m sure you know about my educational failure.”

I do. That’s something she can easily remedy. “Honestly, I’ve had other things on my mind.” She’s blunt; time for me to be the same.

“In a hurry?”

“Desperate,” I admit, facing her straight on.
I am.

She bites her bottom lip. “Would you take me home to meet your family?”

“Darlin’…” I slide my chair closer. “I’d take you anywhere.”

She squeezes my hand. “I’m nervous.” I can tell; her legs are restless.

Of course that makes me want her more. I’ll purge all fear from that tiny body once she gives me permission to touch her. My body is in overdrive, my mind stuck on what almost happened in my office earlier. She needs assurances. “I don’t want to do anything stupid, Macey.”

She gives me a dead-serious look. “Neither do I.”

“Whatever we’re feeling deserves a chance to grow.”

“B-but…”

“You can trust me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Realistically, she hasn’t known me long enough. Nevertheless, she needs to or I’m going to explode. I lift her hand to my lips. “I want you.”
God,
she’s beautiful.

Then her gaze darts to a picture on one of my bookshelves. She frowns. “Who’s that?”

I let her hand drop, mentally beating myself for leaving a photograph of my ex out. “Julia,” I say.

She sighs, rubbing her arms. “There’s not even a speck of dust on the frame.” She stands, then walks to the shelf. “Perfect.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. Yes, Julia is picture-perfect, but she’s hideous on the inside. “There’s no comparing the two of you.”

“I don’t expect there to be,” she says with complete confidence. “I’m comfortable with who I am, Joshua.”

It’s beyond gratifying to hear that insolence in her voice again. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

She swings around. “You’ve only known me for a week.”

“I don’t care if it’s been one day,” I say, sliding my chair back. “Remember what I said about nature always winning?” I take a cautious step toward her. “This isn’t my choice.”

Her shifting body alerts me to the fact that I haven’t won her over yet. I hold my hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She closes her eyes and I hear her moan. “That’s what
he
said.”

“I’m not Wesley,” I growl. By the time she opens her eyes again I’m in front of her. “Choose, Macey.” I can’t take the tension anymore. If she’s not ready, I need to put some distance between us until she changes her mind. I’m nearly powerless to control what’s building up inside me. “Do you want me?”

She nods her head slightly, speechless.

I lower my mouth to hers, skimming her bottom lip with my tongue. She tastes like vanilla and it drives me nuts. Our tongues meet and her mouth is hot and inviting. I back her against the wall and grind my hips against her. She digs her fingernails into the sides of my head, pressing harder against me.
Fuck.
I pull back for a second, searching her eyes. She’s vulnerable and nearly heartbroken.
Don’t do this.

“Joshua—”

“I’ll wait,” I pronounce without thinking. “Anything that promises to feel this good is worth it.”

“Thank you,” she says sweetly.

“For what?” My mind and body are at war.

“For showing me what a gentleman you truly are.” She stares between my legs, then meets my eyes again. “I’m through waiting.”

I need her lips on mine—
now.
I crash into her, ramming my tongue inside her mouth again. This time I don’t hold back. The kiss turns into a frantic assault as my hands slide underneath her shirt, finding the tips of her breasts, already pebble hard with excitement. I tweak her nipples, my tongue overpowering hers, my hips slamming against her. She slides her hands up my arms, stopping on my biceps. She has perfect
breasts—overflowing
in my palms.

Then my hands sink lower, grasping her firm thighs. I need to strip her down. “Turn around, Macey.” I let go so she can move.

With her facing away from me now, I practically rip her T-shirt off, flinging it across the room. Next, I slowly ease my sweats down her long legs. I love her mocha skin. She’s wearing a G-string—a kind I’ve never seen before. Instead of a strip of thin fabric running up the crack of her tight little ass, all I see is a string of sequins no wider than my pinkie. Hardly legal to wear at the club. I inhale through clenched teeth, while my gaze wanders up her backside. There’s a tattoo on the small of her back. Not the typical tramp-stamp design but an intricate weave of black Celtic knots and thorns surrounding the words
LOYALTY IS THICKER THAN BLOOD.

She gazes over her shoulder. “Found my tat?”

“Among other things,” I say, my eyes locked on her perfect ass. “Is that how you really feel?” I need to know.

“Nothing matters more.”

I lose it. Already crouched, I kick my boots off, then strip down to my boxers. She hasn’t moved and I don’t want her to. My intention is to take her from behind, with her standing where she is. “You drive me crazy, Ms. Taylor.”

Our bodies collide. My hands are everywhere, exploring her curves, finding the secret spots that make her moan and squeal. I lick my way up her back, following the curvature of her spine, ending at the base of her neck. I bury my hands in her long dark hair, breathing in the soft scent of her shampoo. Everything about this feels right.

After I sweep her hair aside, I finally get a full look at her neck. She’s flawless. And I don’t waste any more time; I bite her left shoulder, hugging her from behind. She arches her neck, resting her head against my chest. Desire surges through me and I grind my cock against her and whisper in her ear. “Only you.” Then I release her momentarily and ensnare her wrists, spreading her arms wide, so her palms are resting on the upper shelves. “Don’t move.” I twist out of my underwear.

Leaning into her again, I gently bend her over, silently encouraging her to thrust her ass in the air. Her hands never drop from where I placed them. “Good girl,” I say.

I tickle my way up the center of her hot pussy and impale her with my thumb, my fingers finding her clit. She’s fucking drenched. Her body jolts with pleasure as I slide in and out. I lean over and she turns her head just enough so I can capture her mouth. Our tongues swirl together and my cock aches to be inside her. I tease her some more, pinching her clit, easing in and out. After minutes of relentless torture, I’m unwilling to wait any longer. I extract my hand and reluctantly break our kiss.

“Why—”

“Don’t talk.” She faces forward, her ass bobbing as I position myself. I hear her take a deep breath and can feel her heart pounding. “Ready, darlin’?” She nods. Heat is fucking rolling off me as I plunge inside her, deliberately smooth and controlled. I don’t want to hurt her.

She screams and I stop; my jaw clenches. I’m only halfway in. “Shit, Macey.” I retreat slightly, giving her a second to recover. “Ready?”

Her head falls forward and I grip her hips, pounding into her with everything I have.
Fuck.
She’s so wet. I can’t stop. I pull out, then fill her again, enjoying the view of my cock disappearing inside her. I do it again, stretching and filling her to capacity. She moans, her hips moving with mine—her tiny body struggling to keep up with my thrusts. She cries out in pleasure.

I withdraw completely, then spin her around. She’s heaving for breath, her curls a damp beautiful mess. “Bedroom,” I growl, scooping her into my arms. I stalk down the hallway; I’m glad there’s a nightlight on in my room.

I lay her horizontally across the bed, covering her with my body. She could absorb me with those eyes. “Are you okay?” I lace my fingers through hers, lifting her right hand above her head. She’s too quiet for comfort. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” she whispers.

I’ve rendered her speechless again. I give her a roguish grin.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, squeezing my ass cheek with her free hand.

I clench my eyes shut, enjoying the feel of her touch. “I believe I’ve found another way to shut you up.”

She slaps my ass. My eyes pop open and I release a slow rumble, completely turned on. I thrust punishingly inside her and she circles her fingers in my hair, smiling. “Like that?”

She nods.

I strike again, hard and deep this time. But the play doesn’t last long—the intimacy of the moment affects me in ways I’ve never known, lying face-to-face with her and knowing how incredible it feels to be rooted inside her. My tongue sweeps across her lips. And when she opens up to me, we kiss tenderly, my hips matching the easy rhythm. We’re both ready to come and she writhes beneath me, her little noises making it difficult for me to maintain control.

“Joshua…” Her nails digging into my flesh.

“Let it go.” Violent spasms rack my own body as I explode inside her, fully aware of her pulsing core. She’s amazing. I cup her face, taking her mouth, swallowing the last of her pleasure-filled cries.

And then it hits me—Macey Taylor is mine.

I’m a mess, physically and emotionally. I did everything I promised myself I wasn’t going to do. I recall some adage about the weakness of the flesh and groan, resting my fist on my forehead. I’m weak, and guilty of something I can’t quite name yet. Not because I still want Wesley. I don’t. I gaze at Joshua—he’s a stomach sleeper, his left arm draped over me. He looks so peaceful, but I’m not. I also hope he’s a heavy sleeper. I lift his hand and slide down, repositioning him. I walk to the bathroom, closing the door halfway. I flip the light on and stare in the mirror.

My lips are still kiss-swollen. My hair is nothing but tangles and I grab a comb off the vanity and attempt to fix it. Next, I take a washcloth and towel from the closet, electing to take a sponge bath so I don’t wake Joshua up. The hot water feels good on my skin. I wipe the remnants of our sex
away—remembering
how wonderful that Adonis made me feel. I dry off, then throw the dirty linens in the hamper. My clothes are in the living room, so I pad down the hallway.

The condo is luxurious, the floor tiles black with mother-of-pearl inset. I run my fingers down the textured, sand-colored walls. The east-facing wall in his living/dining room combo is nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, with two sets of extra-large sliding glass doors opening to a balcony that runs the length of his home. Of course it overlooks a private beach. The drapes are open, and I get caught by the sunrise—the fiery orange and yellow streaks in the cloudless sky are beautiful.

As for his taste in
furniture…everything
is understated elegance. A natural-toned leather sectional and three matching recliners grace the expansive living room. And his dining room resembles something I’d picture on the new set of the TV show
Dallas.
I have an eye for fashion and interior design. I’m sure his mother had something to do with it.

I find my G-string near the built-ins where he stripped me and spot my T-shirt across the living room. Of course I can’t locate the jeans I wore to his house or the warm-ups he let me borrow. I shrug, desperate for a breath of fresh air. I slide the glass doors open and step onto the balcony. A cool wind whips my hair and gulls screech overhead. I smile. I love Corpus Christi, especially in winter.

I rest my elbows on the railing and stare across the water. If I didn’t work until two o’clock in the morning, I think this would be my favorite time of day. Everything’s peaceful; there are no cars racing down Ocean Drive. Only the sound of the wind and birds, and the waves crashing against the seawall.

“Coffee?”

I jump, startled by the intrusion. It’s not Joshua. A handsome middle-aged man in a terry-cloth bathrobe is standing on his balcony a few yards away. I gape at him, momentarily dazed. Late thirties? Does it matter? How often do I fall asleep wrapped in the arms of a Greek god and wake up to a Pierce Brosnan look-alike?

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.

I smile, realizing I’ve been caught with no pants on. I stretch my T-shirt so it covers most of my crotch. Thank God I put my G-string on. “That’s okay,” I say. “Just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up so early.”

“The offer still stands.”

“Coffee sounds wonderful,” I say, maybe sounding a little too friendly.

“Be right back.”

He disappears inside, returning seconds later with a steaming mug in his hand. “Cream and sugar?”

I meet him by the stone planter that separates his and Joshua’s balconies. “How’d you guess?”

His gaze roams freely down my body, then meets my eyes again. “Took a chance.” He hands me the cup. “Are you related to Joshua?”

Code for
Are you sleeping with him?
“We’re friends.”

He grins, his bronze eyes sparkling. “I’m Dr. Bishop Singletary.” He reaches out.

“Macey Taylor.” He lifts my hand to his lips.

“Thought I was hallucinating when I saw you standing out here alone. I had to make sure you were real.”

“She’s real.”

We both go silent. I spin around, finding Joshua leaning against the far wall, girded in a bath towel, my jeans hanging off a couple of his fingers. “Forget something?” He doesn’t look happy.

Bishop clears his throat. “Joshua.”

“Doc.”

I’m completely lost, wondering what kind of subliminal messages are being transmitted between them. Apparently not friendly ones. Joshua scowls at his neighbor, then holds out his hand to me.

“Ready, darlin’?” he asks.

I turn back to the doctor. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, handing him the mug.

“Any time,” I hear over my shoulder as I join Joshua.

He drags me inside, then slides the door shut. “Enjoying the morning air?”

He’s jealous. “As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Good,” he says. “Next time put some clothes on.”

“Really?”

“What do you want me to say, Macey? I wake up and you’re gone. Then I find you on my balcony half-naked and flirting with my neighbor.”

“He’s hot,” I confess, but that doesn’t make it right. “Sorry.”

He stares at me in silence, then gives me that lopsided grin I adore. “There’s bad blood between our families. It’s not your fault.”

“A real Texas blood feud?” I tease, eyeing his sculpted chest and thick arms.

He drops my jeans on the table, then strides toward me. “Bishop is a third-generation cardiologist. His father misdiagnosed my cousin years ago. After Danny died, my family won a major lawsuit against Singletary. This condo was part of the settlement. I bought it from my uncle a few months ago.”

Before I have time to respond, he takes my mouth. It’s not a gentle kiss. He needs something and doesn’t ask if I’m willing to give it. He seems stressed out—his eyes are a flash of chaotic green, then grow dark as he cups my backside, lifting me. My legs naturally hug his waist and he carries me to the kitchen, gently placing me on top of the cold granite island. He jams his knee between my thighs, spreading my legs wide. Breaking the kiss only long enough to lose the towel and sink his fingers inside me—he doesn’t take my panties off.

I don’t care, his lips and fingers are magical. And that crazy tongue…I moan, riding his hand like there’s a wild stallion between my thighs. Pressure builds in the pit of my stomach as his fingers work my clit. I’m caught somewhere between pleasure and torment as my body sinks into submission, fantasizing about his enormous cock filling me again. There’s no question what this man is capable of. He knows what I want, and my insides start to pulse.

Just as I’m about to let go, he stops, tugging me to the edge of the countertop.
Damn him.
The waves of pleasure retreat. I moan in protest, only to be silenced by his savage lips and penetrated by his length. My body instantly shatters—I arch my back, preparing for another brutal thrust.

“I don’t want you near Bishop Singletary,” he whispers against my mouth. “Understand?” If I don’t, I’m sure he’ll fuck me until I change my mind.

I nod—prepared to do anything as long as he takes me where I want to be. He pounds forward. I grip the edge of the counter with both hands, meeting him stroke for stroke, spurring him on. This isn’t supposed to happen. Emotions swirl inside me—I’m falling too fast and too hard. I convulse head to toe and throw my head back, screaming his name.

He palms my thighs, hammering deeper and deeper until the world starts spinning.

“Joshua…”

When he erupts inside me, his body goes rigid with pleasure, his hands smoothing hair from my eyes. “Fuck, Macey.” He stares at me—framing my face with his big hands. He’s sweaty and panting as if he just ran a marathon. “What are you doing to me, baby?” He sounds like he’s in pain.

I’m in awe. If I could name the eighth wonder of the world, Joshua would be at the top of the list. I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t find the words. I need him.

“Macey,” he says. His expression looks fragile. “I care.”