The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) (19 page)

“Do we?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

But he wasn’t. He sat utterly rigid on the stool and his eyes had been reduced to icy shields.

“I want to be with you,” I said slowly and maybe a little condescendingly, because I thought it was blindingly obvious.

His jaw clenched and he stared me hard for a long moment before standing up and stalking away to the balcony doors.

“Sin?” I stayed where I was because I wasn’t sure how to deal with an angry Frenchmen even after all my time in Paris.

He continued to stare broodingly out the window. In only his low-slung jeans with the sunlight kissing his skin, he looked like stolen art, something far too glorious to ever belong to me.

“You cut a dashing figure standing there but maybe you could talk to me?” I asked as I scooted onto a stool to make myself comfortable while I waited.

He looked over his shoulder at me but his face was cast in shadow. “Come here.”

I slid off the stool before I could even process his request and I hesitated when I realized how easily my body revealed his dominion over me. He was in front of me before I could make a decision one way or another, his fingers sinking into the hair over my ears while his thumbs tilted my chin up.

“I have done nothing in my life to deserve you, Elle. Absolutely nothing. I’ve fought to be a good person when it is not in my nature to be kind or good, not like you.” He shook his head and his thumb brushed against my lower lip. “I do not deserve to hold something so precious in my hands.”

I turned my head, dislodging one of his hands so I could kiss his palm, leaving the imprint of my love for him like a lucky coin. I closed his fist over it and held it with both my hands. There was no way to articulate the toxic cocktail of emotions rolling churlishly through my veins and if I couldn’t, my enigmatic Frenchman probably couldn’t either.

Besides, we hadn’t really spoken about where we would go from here but as it stood, this was my last morning as Daniel Sinclair’s lover and I wanted to make the most of it.

“Can I show you something?” I asked, as my girlish excitement made me bounce on my toes.

Without waiting for his answer, I turned around to grab the large canvas tilted to the left of the French doors. My heart trilled with nerves as I turned to prop it on the easel. I avoided looking back at Sinclair as I stepped back into line with him so that he could see the painting unobstructed. It was the one I had been slaving over between my projects for the art gallery opening but I had only finished it yesterday.

It was based on the sketch I had started in Mexico, the one with the two contrasting lovers a breath away from a kiss. It was my favorite piece in my growing collection because it was so clearly Sinclair and I, lost in the murky shadows but burning so brightly our features were nearly obscured in the blaze.

I looked up at him, bouncing maniacally now, but his gorgeous face betrayed no emotions.

“Well?”

His lips twitched and he crossed his arms. “Well what, siren?” His grin broke free when I hip checked him. “It’s simply remarkable.”

“You think?”

He turned to face me, taking my hands in his so that he could stare down at them. My nails were industriously short and there were smudges of charcoal across the thumb and forefinger on my right hand from sketching earlier but Sinclair gazed down at them as if they were precious gems. He brushed each finger with his lips, slowly and reverently, before looking down into my eyes.

“I know. You are extraordinarily gifted, Giselle, and beyond that, you are brave. Exploring the hidden side of lust and longing is not for the faint of heart,”

“No,” I agreed, thinking of us. “It isn’t. But I’m hoping that it’s worth it in the end.”

Chapter Fourteen.

Apart from Mama’s, Prune was my favorite restaurant in New York, particularly for the insanely busy Sunday brunches so I was pleased when my blind date suggested the restaurant for our outing. I decided to walk there, even though it was on the opposite side of Manhattan and I had to say goodbye to Sinclair earlier than I wanted to. He had stayed overlong with me anyway, heading over three hours later than usual into the office. His tardiness delighted me.

The Indian summer was finally ending and the breeze was cool between the tightly packed buildings but I welcomed it. Since Sinclair had left, my heart had stopped racing but my body was still flushed with the memory of his touch. My nipples scraped against the lacy material of my bra, sensitive from his mouth and the clothespins. In the aftermath of last night, my skin was so responsive that it was hard to resist the urge to touch the swell of my tastefully exposed breasts or the delicate inside of my wrists where Sinclair had nibbled just that morning.

The only thing that intruded on my memories – apart from the occasional New Yorker’s elbow – was the prickly feeling at the base of my neck. At first, I thought it was a stray itch, one that I scratched until the skin was raw, but as I neared the restaurant the feeling grew until I was almost certain someone was following me. Looking over my shoulder and finding unfamiliar faces every time didn’t alleviate my growing anxiety.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the first number on my speed dial.

“Hello?” Cosima’s throaty voice was breathless. “
Bambina
, what is the matter?”

“Would you think I was crazy if I said someone was following me?”

There was a long pause and a vague cacophony on the other end of the line.

“How long?”

I exhaled loudly, grateful but unsurprised that she believed me. Cosima had always had a suspicious mind and given her close association with the Camorra in Napoli and the black eyed Dante I knew she had experience with this kind of thing.

“About fifteen minutes,” I guessed, walking a little more quickly as the heat of paranoia lit me on fire.

“Okay,” Cosima spoke calmly but I could still hear the mess of her movements in the background and even the low register of a male voice. “Stay on a busy street. Where are you going?” I told her and she thought about it for a second before continuing, “I hope you are wearing something cute,
bambina
, you have been too lonely since your mystery lover in Mexico.”

“Shouldn’t I cancel if someone really is following me?”

“No, it’s best if you keep to your normal schedule and go to lunch. You should be fine once you get into the restaurant but call me before you leave.”

There was more noise as she spoke with someone in the room with her. It could have been my imagination but I thought I heard a British accent.

“I can’t be home for a while more and I don’t want you to be at the apartment alone,” she said. “So, I just texted Elena and you are going to stay there tonight.”

“No,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Gigi, now isn’t the time to pull the sibling rivalry card. Mama is working tonight and Sebastian is in Toronto. Until we figure out what is going on, it is safer for you to stay with family.” She hesitated before adding, “There have been a few strange phone calls to the apartment. A man asked for you the first time, but otherwise it is always silent on the other line. Please, stay with Elena tonight and let me take care of this.”

I chewed on my bottom lip as I focused on the pink awning of Prune in the distance. I really didn’t want to stay with Elena and her Daniel after I had just spent a remarkable night with
my
Sinclair. But I didn’t want to worry Cosima or be one of those stupid girls in horror films who goes against common logic and gets murdered.

So, I promised Cosima I would and hung up just as my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Elena:
Guest bedroom is made up. Left a key with the receptionist, please let yourself in.

I sighed, and was about to put my phone away when another text came in.

The Frenchman:
Please don’t worry about tonight. And, more importantly, please think of me during your ‘date’.

I grinned, shook my head and tucked my phone in my bag just as I reached the long line leading into Prune.

Ulrich Wick was an incredibly nice guy.

He was also incredibly dull.

“I tried to explain how important the discrepancies were to the overall dynamic of the company’s infrastructure,” he continued, “but of course, it was beyond comprehension for someone with such a pea sized intellect.”

“Of course,” I murmured, looking down at the salad he had ordered for me without my consent. Prune had so many delicious things on the menu that I had felt robbed when I arrived to see him already seated, our orders in place. I had spent the last twenty minutes watching him daintily consume a plate of
spaghetti alla carbonara
and it was torture.

Not to mention the endless conversation about corporate accounting.

“You wouldn’t know either though, I suppose, being a painter.” He smiled at me, and the worst thing was that it was a pretty smile, a truly kind one despite his patronizing words.

“Oh, excuse me for a moment but I believe that is Willa Percy coming this way.” Ulrich pushed ungracefully out of his chair, exhibiting more passion in the single movement then in our entire hour-long brunch. I couldn’t understand his enthusiasm, I had met Willa Percy and she was not passion inducing.

“Mrs. Percy, it is lovely to see you again,” Ulrich gushed, reaching out with both hands.

Willa’s eyes weren’t on my date though. Her stare pinned me in place so that she could get a really good look at every inch of me, finding fault with my freckled skin, overdramatic curves and harlot red hair.

But instead of burning shame, of comparing myself to my flawless sisters, I thought about Sinclair, the only person in the Percy family I cared about. I thought about the map his hands, lips, and body had drawn over my skin in the last twenty-four hours and suddenly, Willa’s scrutiny didn’t matter anymore.

Ulrich was still talking and Willa was indulging him with miniscule facial ticks, but eventually he noticed the tension and petered off.

“Giselle,” Willa began, her voice cool as silk wrapping around my throat. “You will wait with me while they bring my car around.”

It wasn’t a question and normally, I would have protested but Ulrich looked ready to swoon at the privilege I was being bestowed and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Willa Percy was a self-serving heartless bitch, so I grabbed my purse and followed her outside.

She didn’t speak for a moment, opting to fix her lipstick in the mirror of a Chanel compact instead. Her elegance was absolute, from the tips of her pale pink painted nails to the bottoms of her low-heeled cream pumps and I felt worse than bohemian next to her. I wondered if she had ever known poverty, how she would have judged my perfect older sister or me if she had witnessed the desperation of our childhood.

“You think I don’t like you,” she began, in a cool voice like poured cream, “and you are mostly correct. It is obvious that you lack elevated social graces, a sense of fashion and the common sense not to get involved with a taken man, let alone a man pledged to your very sibling.”

A thin smile punctured her cheek, cutting off my protest before I could even open my mouth.

“I know my son very well, Miss Moore, and it does not escape my notice that he seems to be very much in lust with you. You do not need to protest, because I do not blame either of you. My son is quite simply an incredible man and you have your,” she hesitated and gestured vaguely to my body, “obvious charms. So, I do not blame you for your initial bad judgment but I am encouraging you as civilly as possible to cease and desist.”

My lips twisted into something like a sneer but she only laughed softly. “Abandon your pride and think for a moment. If you love my son, as I’m certain you think that you do, then you know that Elena is the best choice for him. Her elegance, intelligence and stature are perfectly suited to Daniel’s pursuits. You know, one day he wants to run for office, just like his father.”

My insecurity vibrated as Willa hammered her point home. I didn’t want to listen to her but it was hard to ignore the truth of her statement especially when she spoke so calmly, so rationally. It was tricky to argue against a lack of passion.

“Daniel had a rough beginning and I for one, believe that he deserves happiness now. You may believe that you are the one to bring him that happiness, but you’re mistaken.” Her eyes swept over me dismissively. “You do not have what it takes to stand by my son.”

A beige town car rolled up to the curb and a handsomely dressed young man with skin like roasted coffee beans came around to open the door for the Governor’s wife.

“Go back inside, enjoy the rest of your meal with Mr. Wick, then go home and call my son. End it. I’m asking nicely, my dear, but the Lord knows I have other ways at my disposal.”

I stood silently, stupidly, while she slid into the car, closed the door and opened the window so that she could stare at me as they pulled into traffic. I stayed there for a long moment after she was gone, my eyes closed and my senses open to the riotous noises of a New York City afternoon. The cacophony calmed the turmoil churning through me and when I opened my eyes again, I started off down the street towards my next destination with renewed confidence.

Despite my earlier determination to see him, I was nervous giving my name to the receptionist. The young ginger haired man smiled warmly at me and complimented me on my choice of dress but his recognition of my discomfort only heightened my nervousness. If it was that obvious, I wondered, was it possible the entire office knew about our secret affair?

I was being paranoid obviously, but not without reason. Sebastian and Cosima already suspected and I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if they had figured it all out for themselves. It seemed almost ridiculous that anyone could remain oblivious to the sultry, heavy air between Sinclair and I when were together but the mind was a powerful thing. It was easy to believe what you wanted to believe.

I was still dwelling on it when I was ushered into the office so it took me a moment to recognize the slick dark haired man grinning at me with his arms outstretched. Of course, the outrageously loud burnt umber blazer helped.

“Santiago!”

He laughed richly as I stepped into his arms. “Beautiful Elle, the New York smog does wonders for your complexion.”

I laughed with him. “You’re just being kind.”

He nodded solemnly. “I am. But this is easy with such a beautiful woman before me. Isn’t it, Sinclair?”

We both turned to smile at the Frenchman who was staring at us with his arms crossed and his feet braced. He looked every inch the successful property developer behind his glass and chrome desk, his hair perfectly smoothed away from his broad forehead. I wanted desperately to tousle it with fingers.

“She is lovely, though I don’t believe that gives you the right to fawn all over her, Iago.”

Santiago laughed, a series of quick high yips that made me grin. I allowed him to usher me to the seat beside his across from Sinclair’s desk.

“I have to say that I am pleasantly surprised to see you. Last time I spoke with Sinclair, he was cursing the fact that you had abandoned him in Mexico. There must be a good story here,” Santiago said.

I bit my lip and looked to Sinclair to answer his friend. I was surprised by the admission that my decision to flee had perturbed him but the longer I thought about it, the more it made sense. Sinclair was a man who appreciated closure and neatly tied up ends. Even more, he was a man of power and I had unwittingly stripped him of that power by leaving before he could say anything.

God, was it outrageous to think that he might have wanted to stop me? That he might have wanted to solidify the bond between us with facts and figures, the where and who of it all so that we might have really been together?

My head pulsed painfully in time with my heart.

“…so I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. You know how much I dislike mixing business with pleasure,” Sinclair was saying when I tuned back into the conversation.

Santiago was frowning though, his thick brows knotting together in one long black smear. “This is ridiculous.”

I laughed weakly. “You can’t make stuff like this up.”

“No, no you cannot. The situation is ridiculous but what I really meant was that you, Sinclair, are ridiculous. The only reason Elle isn’t Mrs. Santiago Herrera right now is because you were there first but if you insist on being ridiculous about it then…” he petered off with a shrug, as if he couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next.

Something like a growl emanated from Sinclair’s direction but before he could calmly slice his friend into ribbons with a steely retort, I said, “Let me assure you, that is not the only reason I’m not your wife, Iago.” I sniffed dramatically. “Now if you bought me a ring bigger than your second wife’s… then we could talk.”