Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (9 page)

When he visibly blanched, she shoved her hands on her hip bones, and growled, “Oh, you can swear and I can't? I don't think so. And your damned buddy had his hand on my boob—”

“Shush.” His hand over Destiny's mouth cut her off midsentence. “Repeat that last sentence.”

He bolted her gaze to his and curled his free hand around her waist. The heat in his palm couldn't shake the icy slither raising goose bumps on her bum and her arms. His hazel irises had all but disappeared.

“Repeat that last sentence.”

Cripes. He's furious. At me?

The pulse at Destiny's temples jumped and throbbed, and her brain screeched to a halt.

What right does he have to be angry with me?

“Destiny, repeat. That. Last. Sentence.”

Bunny rabbits couldn't hop as fast as her heart. She forgot to breathe.

His voice had been soft and gentle, but it couldn't mask the leashed rage coating each word. She gulped and blinked, and his hypnotic hold on her mind surpassed all measurement levels.

“What?” Since his hand still covered her mouth, the sound that came out was more like
wfffgh?
Destiny inhaled and smelled her own essence; the smell coating his fingers came from her pussy. The musky aroma slammed her thoughts into left field.

“Did. Satan. Touch. You?” His fingers slid down to her throat and splayed around her neck.

Cripes, say no. Look convincing.

Her chin dipped.

“Where?”

Destiny couldn’t stop her reflexive glance to her breasts before refocusing on his face. She realized her mistake at once.

Damn.

She forgot to breathe again.

His lips brushed hers in the gentlest butterfly caress. He didn't blink, not a shadow crossed his features. In slo-mo, both hands dropped to hang loosely at his hips. Without saying a word, Linc spun around and walked to the bedroom, his hamstrings bunching and flexing with each long stride.

Mouth dry, lungs burning, more than a tad dizzy, Destiny stared at the open bedroom doorway.

What just happened?

She hadn't been scared he'd hurt her, not for a second, even when she’d grasped the extent of his rage. Her father had backhanded her when he lost his temper—shouted, bellowed, and roared. Linc had gone quieter and quieter, his voice calm, nonthreatening.

Her knees buckled, and she leaned on the wooden wall.

I'm insane.

I've slept with a stranger. Let him do things I've never dreamed of doing.

Who the hell am I kidding?

I've more than dreamed of…of… I've become my stripper name. Sara Parker is a façade.

Why did I take out the passport in my real name? I've been Sara Parker for as long as I can remember. Why am I behaving like a slut? Why do I crave Linc?

You're an idiot.

Grow up.

Grow some balls.

Cripes, who could have predicted the events? A small, rectangular window above the freezer reluctantly allowed watery sunlight to filter into the long, narrow alcove. Flakes fell fast and furious past the frosted glass. Some insane impulse had driven her to submit her real birth certificate to the Lincolnton Station Post Office when she'd learned of the pending trip to Alaska via Canada.

Lincolnton Station? Had it started then? This swift decline into insanity?

Destiny sighed, straightened, and trudged into the main cabin.

Linc was nowhere in sight, but she heard smothered noises coming from the bedroom. She shuffled to the sofa, sat, and winced when her bare bottom encountered chilled upholstery. Seven logs glowed burnt orange and canary yellow in the fireplace. Chin propped on vertical palms, she stared at one spot, which sputtered a flickering flame every few seconds.

What
had
just happened? Was Linc…
jealous?

Couldn't be. She shook her head. What nonsense.

She'd never had a boyfriend who'd showed even a hint of jealousy. Maybe the thought of his friend touching her had pissed him off. The way he'd grown calmer and calmer as he'd asked questions had caused her scalp to tingle, her fingertips to prickle, because she knew his fury had grown exponentially as his voice gentled.

A blast of frigid air whipped her hair to one side, and the cabin door slammed shut. Bounding to her feet, she stared at the patches of snow covering the mat and masking the red Welcome inscribed on the bubbled rubber.

Was he leaving? Because Lorcan McGuillycuddy had tried to feel her up? But why? Oh God. He thought she was Lorcan's leftovers.

Destiny buried her face in her hands.

Were they now even?

Her stomach growled. Well, if he'd left, he'd left.

She squared her shoulders and marched to the bedroom.

Men always left. Always lied.

What a rat. Running out like that. Leaving her all alone. If he thought she couldn't cope with a little snow and a little cold, he didn't know Destiny Driven.

She rummaged in the dresser drawer, found the lone pair of sweatpants she'd packed and her version of a comfort blanket, her fluffy pink flamingo slippers. The black beaks on the fuzzy pink shoes bobbed and weaved when she stomped through the cabin.

You are not going to look out the window. You are not.

Destiny repeated the two phrases as she gathered all the materials necessary for eggs Benedict. Cooking calmed her. She loved the aroma of onions sautéing, the sound of the ham sizzling in the cast-iron frying pan, and he way the egg whites fluffed as they poached, becoming little cumulus clouds surrounding a sunny yolk.

Bitterness coated her tongue and fisted in her throat. Moisture slicked her lashes, and she gritted her teeth.

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. It was a one-night stand. He's a stranger. That's why you did it, Destiny Driven. What did you expect? Love at first sight?

“Ha!” she spat, then slammed the flexible spatula on the counter.

The door banged shut, and she stumbled, stubbing one big toe on the stove's clawed foot when she spun around, her heart battling the containment of her ribs.

Linc carried a pine tree that topped his height by about six inches. The evergreen's leaves danced and leaked snowflakes when he placed the trunk against the coat stand's edge and leaned the luxuriant fir against the cabin wall.

Chaos ran amok in her brain.

A tree?

He hadn't left.

Something hot and wet blistered her shin.

“Ow!” she squealed, lifting one foot. The fuzzy pink flamingo slipper bobbed when she hopped.

A circle of oil had dripped from the spatula onto the middle of her shin.

“Damn,” she sputtered, grabbing a checkered kitchen cloth while bracing a hip on the kitchen counter.

Before she could bend over to examine the injury, Linc was at her side.

He smelled of wood and wind and man. They stared at each other for long seconds. His swarthy complexion had reddened, his full lips tinted blue from the cold; snow dusted his open jacket, and his eyes glistened like moss-hued caramel.

“Where do you hurt?” He leaned closer, cupping her jaw, and his mouth brushed hers before he craned back, touched a finger to her nose, and asked again, “Destiny, where do you hurt?”

It took a few seconds before his words sank in.

“I'm not hurt. Not really. Just an oil drip.” She eyed the spatula, then her shin, in mute, idiotic communication.

“Let me see.” Linc took the dripping spatula from her hand and sank down on one knee. “I don't think it will bubble, but we should put some ice on it. Love the pink birds.”

He flashed her a cheeky grin.

The man had razzle-dazzle down to perfection.

He rose to his feet and their gazes met. “Are you hurting, Destiny Driven?”

Confused, she nodded and then shook her head. “Linc?”

“D'you like the tree?” The color of his eyes now matched the pine, a deep forest green. His icy exhale chilled the heat rising in her cheeks.

“I guess.” Burned bread wafted to Destiny's nostrils. “The muffins are burning. I have to take them out.”

“Don't use too many appliances at once. I don't know how much juice the generator's got.” He flipped the toaster switch up, and two brown-black slices popped. “What's the matter? Why so withdrawn, Destiny?”

The fuzz shadowing his strong jaw glistened when the muscles in his neck and throat clenched and bunched. Unable to resist, Destiny cradled his cheek, her fingers wandering to the slight cleft in Linc's chin. “You didn't leave.”

He drew back. “Leave? You? Not going to happen. I just had to work off a little excess energy.” One corner of his mouth quirked. “Come here, doll. I need to hold you.”

The man liked her horizontal; he had her in his arms in seconds.

“You were mad as all hell.” Not about to let his abrupt disappearance fester and grow until her insecurities exploded, Destiny doggedly continued. “Was it because you thought I'm Lorcan's leftovers?”

He straightened and opened his mouth.

As fast as the Quick Draw McGraw cartoon character, she pressed her hand against his cold lips. “Because I'm not. Your friend tried to cop a feel. I smacked him good.”

Linc's broad grin at her last words and the way he winked at her reminded Destiny of an ape beating his chest and roaring victory. “That's my woman. He'll
never, ever
lay a hand on you again. On my word of honor, Destiny, no man will ever touch you again.”

He's jealous. And possessive.

Wild elation curved her lips, and she inhaled, thrilling at the intense emotion in his eyes.

“Fucking right. I am both where you're concerned. By the time I'm done with Satan, he's going to be hurting all over.”

Cripes, she'd spoken her thoughts. As much as his growled statement showered pinpricks of happiness, the realization he meant every single word had her glaring at him. “You will not hurt Lorcan McGuillycuddy. He didn't do it in a bad way. I have a feeling that man is like a bulldozer unless you throw the brakes. Stop scowling. I want your word that you will not hurt him.”

“Uh-uh. No way.”

“I'm not going to try out the
Deep Throat
scene that you choose until you give me your word.”

His eyes crossed, his brows gathered, and he brought his face to within an inch of hers. Hot, pepperminty breath fanned her nose.

“I won't. Don't you want me to lick you, deep throat you?” she asked, sliding her tongue across his jaw and then suckling one spot. Destiny, now a siren, drew back to meet his stare. “Promise me you won't hurt Satan—Lorcan, oh, whatever his name is.”

“Word of honor, I won't hurt Satan,” he grumped. “But you have to agree to do a scene from Debbie Does Dallas too.”

“What's that about?”

“Cheerleaders.”

“Do all men have a cheerleader thing?”

“You bet. Cheerleaders and convent girls.” His eyes had that smoky smolder she now recognized as desire on steroids. “Tall socks and short skirts. How hungry are you?”

“Hungry. We're going to eat first. I cooked a great meal, and you're going to eat it.” She liked this feeling of power, the way Linc devoured her with that heated gaze. “Let me down now.”

He slid her down his body, his hands cupping her backside and squeezing her cheeks. “Jesus, you feel good.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head, tapping a finger on his jacket. “Go take off your coat. I'm going to have to toast two more English muffins.”

“Yes ma'am.” He kissed the tip of her nose and swatted her behind. “Anything you say.”

“Hmm. So you can be controlled by sex promises.” The way he consumed her features made her think of devil horns. “Why're you staring at me like that?”

“Later.” He winked and pivoted.

She eyed his massive shoulders when he shrugged off the jacket.

What did he have planned?

Both euphoric and a tad apprehensive, Destiny popped two muffins into the four-slice toaster, which burned one side and barely toasted the other if she didn't keep hawk-eye watch on the damned appliance. Clouds-and-sun perfectly poached eggs had blurred into a scattered-mist-swirled-golden mixture.

“Damn.” She puffed out a long breath.

“'S'matter?” She glanced in the direction of his voice, her jaw sagged, and her eyes bugged out. Glorious and nude and flagstaff erect, arms akimbo, Linc waggled both brows. “I love the way you gawk at my dick.”

Destiny licked her lips and dropped the spatula.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Damn, he knew exactly what he did to her.
Drat the man.

Wanting to hide the blush warming her ears, she bent over and took her time in retrieving the spatula. With her back to Lincoln, she assembled the first muffin, ham cut round, egg, and a blanket of hollandaise. She'd made two for Linc, so she reached for a bigger plate.

“One plate. You're eating on my lap.” His breath feathered her nape; Linc stood behind her, his erection nudging the crease of her bottom. He licked a diagonal path up her neck, leaving a trail of wetness that tingled as he exhaled and inhaled.

“Mmm.” Destiny arched her neck, her mind fogged, and she forgot the protest she'd intended. She wouldn't be able to eat a morsel.

“I'll get the cutlery. How about champagne?” His voice faded as he stalked to the radio room.

“I never saw any champagne,” she yelled, making short work of the other two Benedict portions, and then balanced the plate on her fingertips.

“That's because you didn't know where to look.” Confidence notched to arrogance coated each syllable he uttered.

Destiny rolled her eyes, but grinned and swung about. Her lungs stopped working, and she stared, her mouth going suddenly dry.

The sight of Linc's powerful legs in motion and the way his penis slapped the hard ridges of his belly when he moved struck her like a lust lightning bolt. Creamy moisture pooled at her center, slicking the insides of her thighs. The absence of a pantie allowed a trickle to roll down the inside of one leg.

Not a single one of the three men she'd slept with rivaled Linc's size or the girth and length of his shaft.