Sin (3 page)

After spending the weekend in Kingsville, I’m glad to be back in Corpus. I took the night off to attend a party Dave invited me to. He mentioned something crazy about wearing bubble wrap, but I blew it off. I turn into a long driveway that cuts through an expansive lawn. Vehicles are parked everywhere, but I manage to squeeze into a spot. The minute I open my door, I can hear music and feel the bass thumping—it pumps through my body. Lights flash through the arched windows that span the length of the large house.

I attended parties on Ocean Drive during my undergrad days at A&M. I’m hoping there’s a house full of hot coeds waiting inside. I knock on the front door. When it opens, I offer the girl greeting me the bottle of Crown I purchased on my way into town. She smiles and pulls the door wide.

“Cover charge paid,” she says, inviting me in.

The living room is a dance floor, complete with laser and strobe lights overhead. “Wiggle” by Jason Derulo is playing and I can’t tear my gaze away from the twerking, bikini-clad bodies all over the place.
Shit.
I hunt for Dave, working my way through the crowd slowly. I find the kitchen, where there’s a group of women slicing vegetables and filling bowls with chips. A cute redhead looks up.

“Lost, darlin’?” she asks.

I smile. “Looking for Dave.”

“DJ Dave?”

I nod.

“In the pool room.” She points. “If you find him, let him know we need more margarita mix.”

“I will.” I head down a long hallway, following the sound of laughter. I turn right, through a set of French doors. When she said
pool room,
I expected a game room, not an indoor pool.

As I scan the smaller crowd, I’m beginning to feel overdressed in my jeans and ribbed T-shirt. Hell, everyone’s in bathing suits or shorts. Dave is sitting at a table near three refrigerators, playing quarters. He sees me and stands.

“You made it.”

We fist-bump. “Glad I didn’t wear bubble wrap,” I say.

He grins from ear to ear. “Just a joke, bro.”

“Is it?” That voice sounds so familiar.

I turn around. Macey is standing there in a black bikini, her hand thrust on her hip. “Who invited you, Ivy League?”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
God,
she’s beautiful, and determined to hate me.

“I’m guilty.” Dave raises his hand, staggering closer. “Chill, Macey, he’s cool.”

My eyes scroll across her body while I wait for her response. I don’t think what she’s wearing qualifies as a swimsuit; it’s little more than three triangles of fabric held together by string. She turns sideways, giving me full view of her profile. Instant fucking erection. I fist my hands at my sides, more than tempted to grab a couple handfuls of her ass.

“If you’re staying,” she addresses me, “you need to change into a bathing suit.”

“Don’t have one.”

She steps closer, then whispers in my ear. “Boxers or briefs?”

“Commando.” Her mouth drops open and I smile. That’s the fourth or fifth time I’ve managed to leave her speechless since the night I met her. I’m beginning to think she’s not used to that. But I like it—too much. “Anything against nudity?” I ask.

“Upstairs, dirty bird.” She waggles a finger at me. “Follow me.”

We need a fucking chaperone—I can’t stand being so close to her without stealing a taste of those lush pink lips. And that heart-shaped ass, when she starts up the stairs…We end up in a bedroom.

“There’s a bunch of shorts in the closet,” she says. “Let me guess—thirty-three-inch waist?”

I’m impressed; she’s right. “Glad you noticed.”

She doesn’t respond, but fans her fingers in front of her face. Is she blushing? “It’s hot in here.” She pops her head into the hallway. “I’ll be right back—I’m going to turn the AC up.”

I open the closet door and find a pair of blue trunks. I kick off my boots, then strip my clothes off. That’s when she appears in the doorway.

“Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry.” She’s frozen in place.

“Are you?” There’s nothing I can do about it—I’m fully erect and she’s eyeballing every inch of me. “Turn around if it’s too much.”

“Unbelievable,”
she says, covering her eyes. “Meet me downstairs when you’re finished
taking care of yourself.
”

An involuntary rush of breath escapes me as I take in every glorious inch of his perfect physique. He’s devastating. And I’m not even sure Joshua Camden qualifies as a mortal anymore. There are guys like Wesley, and then there are fantasies—I’m staring at one now. Reality whooshes back into my paralyzed brain.

Yeah, you’re too much for me to handle.
And he knows it.
“Unbelievable,”
I say, covering my eyes, trying not to
hyperventilate.
Abstinence isn’t my thing, and after nearly nine weeks of going without sex, I have a hair-trigger, and supermodel over there isn’t helping. “Meet me downstairs when you’re finished
taking care of yourself.
”

His warm laughter follows me down the hallway as I seek sanctuary in my room. I slam the door, leaning against it like I just successfully outran some serial killer. Or at least a lady killa. Regaining my composure, I seek out a long-lost friend that lives in my dresser drawer. I keep my tiny vibrator wrapped in a silk scarf. Half expecting the batteries to be dead because I haven’t used it in so long, I switch it on. The low hum makes me giggle. I turn it up a notch and laugh again. I walk to the side of my bed, seriously considering taking my need for orgasm into my own hands. I’m not into one-nighters, and there’s no way I’m calling Wesley and asking for a pity fuck.

I turn around to sit on the bed and scream the second I see Joshua filling my doorway. Of course my toy is still buzzing away on the medium setting. He takes one look at my face, then gapes at the vibrator.
Oh, good God.
This is turning out to be one of the worst nights of my life. In fact, I can’t remember ever feeling so embarrassed and ashamed. Our gazes lock. His lips twitch as he takes a few steps forward, shutting the door behind him.

“Why are you here?” I snap, forgetting where and what I am.
Oh yeah
—in my bedroom and horny and single. Then I remember the vibrator.

But before I can move, he reaches his hand out. I’m not sound-minded at the moment; in fact, I think someone spiked my drinks downstairs and I’m hallucinating. “Give it to me.” My gaze darts nervously around the room.
Just die,
I think,
it would be so much easier than facing him.
He doesn’t ask again, but gently removes the toy from my grasp, turns it off, then places it on my bureau.

“I got worried when I didn’t find you downstairs,” he says in a husky voice. “I even knocked—”

“Please,” I croak, wiping nervous tears from my eyes. “Go.”
And never come back.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Ms. Taylor,” he whispers. “We can’t help who we’re attracted to. Nature always wins.”

I can’t believe it. The truth is finally out: underneath that pristine Italian silk he wears is an arrogant bastard of the highest order. I stare at his broad chest, purposely avoiding his intense eyes. But it doesn’t help; I feel my temperature rise anyway, my legs tremble. I see the huge bulge between his legs. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to be able to resist if he touches me.

“Tell me…” He’s inches away now. “Did
I
inspire you?”

I lift my head, catching his gaze. I’m instantly high on
green—completely
lost in his eyes. “Why bother asking?” I retort. “You already know.”

My whole body is on fire—I feel wet heat surge to my core. And I’m caught between my mattress and him. There’s no way around him. Just when I think he’s going to laugh, his features morph into something dark and brooding. I know what he’s thinking. The same thoughts I had two minutes ago before I got caught.

Caught like a fish in his fucking silk net.

His hand slides under my chin and he tugs my head up. “Let me help.”

Every instinct I possess screams
run,
but my legs won’t move. I hold my hand up in a pathetic attempt to stop him, but he knows it means nothing. Lifting me from my feet, he gently drops me on the edge of the bed, wedging himself between my knees. I never realized how tall and powerful he truly was until now. I shut my eyes, blocking the view of his golden skin, his disheveled curls, and those incredibly kissable lips.

“Open your eyes, Macey.”

I don’t want to, but our gazes meet. My heart is pounding. This isn’t supposed to happen—men don’t have this effect on me. But when he cups my cheek and his thumb grazes the corner of my mouth, I go crazy. I can’t struggle against what I can’t see—I can’t deny myself something I don’t know. He leans in, brushing his lips across mine, testing me—seeing how far I’m willing to go. Warm chills spiral up my spine. I palm his chest, desperate to feel skin. He’s flawless—all velvet and soft hair. Then he slants his mouth over mine. Our tongues roll together gently at first, exploring and tasting.

I fist my hands in his hair, wishing I could pull him inside me.

He deepens the kiss, forcing me down. The back of my head meets the mattress. He straddles me then, his powerful thighs pinning my arms at my sides. Although my feet are still planted on the floor, I feel completely helpless. His merciless tongue surges deeper and I moan, melting into him. With one hand, he slides the cups of my bikini top aside, then squeezes my breasts together, burying his face between them.

“Good God,” he growls, circling my nipples with his skilled tongue. “You’re killing me already.”

Killing him?
My hands
are plastered at my sides. He’s the one eliciting all the wild sensations rolling through me, raising all the gooseflesh. And he knows it. He’s a control freak—a fucking pleasure cannibal.

I cry out when he pinches both of my nipples, but he ignores me, nipping and licking his way down my body, until his knees hit the floor. He just stops everything. I lift my head, wondering what just happened.

There’s a wicked grin on his face. “Three points of contact,” he says, eyeing me head to knees. “You’re a quick study, Ms. Taylor.” He stands, turning to the dresser.

I’m taken aback, but I chuckle nervously. Until he returns with the silk scarf I wrap my vibrator in. He’s folding it.

I arch a brow. “Getting a little bit ahead of yourself, don’t you think?” Of course the idea of being tied up has some appeal, but not yet.

He smirks, his lazy smile as attractive as ever. “Indulge me.”

“In what?” My mind is racing. I don’t think we’ve had a civil conversation since the night we met. Yet here I am, exposed and vulnerable, mentally begging for my new manager to fuck me silly. I let my head drop, then groan. I couldn’t be a bigger fool: he’s my boss, the guy who’s trying to force-feed me ridiculous rules at work.

I start to roll onto my side, but he stops me and kisses me hard on the lips. “I’m not finished with you yet. Lift your head, Macey.”

At this point, I’ll come on command. I do as he asks and he blindfolds me. It’s a little unnerving. I like seeing what I’m doing, or at least what’s being done to me.

“You’re too fucking beautiful,” he says. “Relax.”

I hear him moving around, then he rests his palms on my knees. After a few seconds of nothing, the tip of his tongue makes contact with my navel. I nearly leap off the bed.

He groans. “Easy, darlin’,” he whispers, his serene tone lulling me back to comfort.

My mind drifts as he massages my arms, then my thighs. He trails feather-light kisses down the center of my belly, hovering just above my crotch. I can feel his hot breath through my bikini bottom, which is held together by two shoestring-thin bows, one on each side. My body quivers when he unties the first. I swallow a cry when he undoes the other. Now I’m at his mercy.

“Macey…” His voice is pure torment. “I wish you knew what you do to me.”

So do I…
I grab two fistfuls of comforter, preparing for whatever sweet torture is about to follow. When his tongue finds my clit on the first lick, I scream. I’m mega-sensitive—like I’ve never been kissed there before. Then he impales me with his fingers, his tongue thrusting in and out of me. What am I doing? I wiggle my legs, hoping he’ll ease up, but he doesn’t. Instead, his tongue somersaults inside me while his fingers tickle and pinch my clit. My whole body stiffens, I kick my feet. I can’t do this. I’m on the verge…

He parts my nether lips, ramming his tongue deeper, rotating his fingers. Again and again. I arch my back, abandoning all fear. I ride his face, letting him do whatever he pleases. My fingernails dig into his flesh. I unravel in a burst of incapacitating
pleasure—crying
and laughing at the same time. I’m a hopeless mess.

He lightly kisses each thigh. And then I hear him stand and shuffle around at the end of my bed. Before I can pull it together enough to speak, I hear my door open and shut. I tear the blindfold off, staring dazedly at the door.

I can’t believe he just gave me one of the most mind-bending orgasms of my life and walked out. I grab a couple pillows off the bed and throw them across the room.

Joshua Camden—you’ll live to regret this.

I slip out the front door before anyone tries to stop me. I don’t even bother putting my boots on. I just made Macey fucking scream and left her lying in a wet spot on her bed. I grin—holding up her bikini bottom, my trophy. I’m not an asshole—but when I found her standing in her bedroom holding that vibrator, instinct took over. I wanted to fuck her. It confirmed everything I suspected from the moment we shook hands in my office.
She wants me.

As I stagger to my car, I breathe in her sweet essence. I jam the key in the lock and get in on a curse. Then I drop my boots and the bikini bottom on the passenger seat.
Fuck me.
Rock hard and nowhere to go, except back upstairs, where I’m sure she’s still lying, sprawled across her king-sized bed cursing the day she met me.

I slam my hands against the steering wheel, the impact of my arousal hitting me full force. I stare at the house, her mansion. I didn’t know until she took me upstairs. It caught me by surprise. She’s smart, fiercely independent,
and
apparently wealthy. According to her employee file, she’s also a high school dropout. How did that happen? And why is she living in a half-million-dollar house on Ocean Drive? I shrug. Hell if I know, but I plan on finding out. Everything. There’s nothing ordinary about that girl. Another reason I didn’t take advantage of the situation.

I want her.

And if we have sex tonight, the chances of it turning out to be more than a one-night stand were slim. I invaded her private space. I knew where she went and why, to get away from me.

I start my car and merge with traffic on Ocean Drive. I live minutes from Macey.

I walk into my condo and kick the door shut. I drop my boots on the floor, then peel my shirt off. Nothing feels better than air-conditioning; even on a cool South Texas night, the humidity outside can make you sweat. But I know the real culprit; she’s only a few blocks away. I picture her taking a late-night swim, naked. I fantasize about what it would have felt like pumping inside her until we both came together. Feeling her writhe beneath me, catching the sound of her feminine moans.

I pad to the fridge and pull out a Killian’s Irish Red. I look at the breakfast bar: I have messages. The only reason I keep a house phone and answering machine is that Mom refuses to call my cell.

I hit play: four messages. Of course it’s the last one that captures all my attention: Julia Henderson.

I’m sorry, Josh. I can’t believe I broke up with you. Clark isn’t who I thought he was. Is there any way you can forgive me? I’m in town…

I shake my head and plop down on my leather recliner. Two years—I spent two years catering to my ex’s needs. I gave up traveling, spent holidays with her parents, and paid $10,000 for an engagement ring
she
chose. The minute I announce I’m taking the job at the Devil’s Den, she informs me that she’s been seeing Clark Gallagher, a dick she met four years ago at a frat party who stalked her for months. I comb my fingers through my hair, angry she’s here. New York City is where she belongs, rubbing elbows with the elites. Not back in Texas.

Then I picture her soft blond hair and big brown eyes, the gentle curve of her hips. I take a long swig of beer, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. She stole two years of my life. And I still have unresolved feelings. Although I’ve never met Clark, I’d love to break him in half. Not because I want Julia back; merely on principle. There’s an unspoken rule among Texas boys. Even if the grass is greener, you stay on your side of the goddamned fence. My cell rings and I fish it out of my front pocket.

“Josh?”

Silence. “Hello, Julia.”

“Did you get my message?”

“Sure did.”

“That’s it?” Her usually even-keeled voice sounds strained. “Surely I mean something to you still.”

“Is that a question or an observation?”

“Don’t get all analytical on me.”

“I’m not,” I say. “Wondering why you’re calling me.”

“Can’t old friends talk?”

I laugh. “Were we ever really friends?”

“Maybe not,” she says, “but we could
try.
”

“Don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Really want me to rehash all the details? You fucked another guy while we were engaged.”

She sniffs. “I’ve apologized a hundred times. I truly am sorry. It’s just—well, I couldn’t fathom you working in that…that place.”

“Bar—say it. The Devil’s Den is a bar.”

“No it’s not,” she snaps. “It’s a flesh market.”

“You mean
meat
market, darlin’.” I chuckle. “Tell me the difference between the clubs you frequent in the city and where I work.”

“Those girls are naked, rubbing all over
strangers—selling
themselves…Disgusting.”
She’s talking herself into a corner.

“I recall some of the
costumes
you wore to the city—let’s just say it was hard to differentiate between the hemline and neckline. Oh, yeah,” I’m gloating now, “and what about that night I caught you doing lines at Cielo?”

She clears her throat. “Low blow, Joshua.”

“It’s the truth. You know how I feel about drugs, Julia, zero tolerance—but I forgave you.”

“I know.” She’s quiet.

“We’ll never agree on anything, Julia. I like the entertainment industry; you don’t. I shared my professional vision with you long before grad school. We could have made a clean break back then, but you begged me to give you some time to adjust to my professional ambitions. So I did. And what did I get in return? Lies. Every day I ignored the obvious—how many times did you try to manipulate me into making a commitment to some Manhattan firm so I’d stay in New York? You love the city; I hate it. I admit that part is my fault. I should have played my man card. Instead, I let you get away with everything. Call me old-fashioned. Or maybe I just didn’t give a shit about anything at the time. And…you fucked another guy…”

“You already said that.”

“Let me say it again. You—”

“Stop it, Joshua!”

I swallow. “There’s nothing left to say.”

“We’ve known each other for twenty years,” she cries.

I consider our history. Connected through church and her great-aunt. Although we didn’t attend school together, Julia spent every summer with her aunt in Kingsville. We were inseparable. Hell, I taught her how to bait a hook and swim. Julia taught me how to French kiss when I was eleven. Maybe that should have served as a warning. I laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“Just remembering our first kiss,” I say. “Who taught you how to use your tongue?”

“Like I remember.”

“Too many beaus to count?”

“We were eleven.”

“Yeah—did you fuck another guy back then, too?”

She hangs up.

I’m standing at the bar on Wednesday night, having a drink with one of our regular customers, when Macey arrives. She’s wearing a dress that reminds me of something I’d see in Paris or in a classic film; it’s red and clings to her curves. I can’t help staring. She has to walk by me to check in with the DJ. We haven’t talked since Monday night.

As soon as she’s nearby, I smile. “Good evening, Ms. Taylor.”

Without glancing my way, she flips me off and keeps moving.

“What’d you do to Macey?” Glenda calls from behind the bar.

I turn halfway, resting my elbow on the counter. “Couldn’t say.”

“Really?” She throws me the you’re-full-of-shit look. “I’ve known that girl for over fifteen years, before she ever popped her pretty head in this place.”

I can’t imagine Macey as a little girl.

“And you want to know something?” Glenda leans over the bar, her large breasts brushing against my arm. “I’ve never seen her act that way before,
never.
”

“I’m obligated to agree,” Gilbert adds, before sucking down the last of his rum and Coke. “Macey always has a smile…”

“Yeah,” I say, holding up my hand to silence Macey’s fan club. “I get it. You’re the resident historian.” I smile at Glenda. “And you…” I slap Gilbert’s shoulder. “I haven’t quite decided what you are yet.”

“Just sayin’.” Glenda laughs.

The woman can see right through me. I am curious about her connection with Macey, though. She’s only twenty-four, and well, Glenda is older than dirt. I smile. “How’d you meet?”

She clicks her tongue. “See, Gilbert,” she comments. “The boy’s curiosity goes beyond the workplace.”

“Maybe,” I admit.

“Neighbors,” she says. “Let’s just say her father was a regular customer—a professional gambler. Sometimes Darren would host after-hours parties. A little poker, a few dancers…Long before the city cracked down on strip joints.”

“And?”

“Her mother died when she was very young. And her daddy wasn’t exactly father-of-the-year material. Some nights, the poor thing would end up sleeping in Darren’s office. I used to check in on her.”

Reads like a tragedy and pisses me off for some reason. Somehow I’m not surprised. That’s the dark side of this business; the women often come from unstable backgrounds. “Thanks for the history lesson, darlin’.” I throw a ten on the bar and leave my empty glass.

I walk to the DJ booth, hoping to catch Macey alone. She’s just stepping out when I turn the corner. She stares, those sapphire eyes sweeping over me.

“Macey…”

“Save your breath, Ivy League.”

She starts to step around me, but I latch onto her wrist. “Not so fast.”

“Anything we had to say should have been said on Monday.”

“You’re right,” I admit, loving the feel of her slim wrist in my hand. I keep my gaze fixed on her. “Didn’t you feel good?”

She shakes her head, then stares at the floor. “That’s not the point.”

I tip her chin up. “I just wanted you to feel good.” The corner of my mouth lifts into a smirk. “The least I could do after—”

“No.” She places her finger on my lips to shush me. “You don’t get the satisfaction of saying
you
made me horny.”

I arch a brow. “No?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s been building for a long time.” She looks completely serious. “A
really
long time.”

Another piece of vital information I’ll keep tucked away. She’s sexually frustrated. I can help her with that—hell, I’ll provide a long-term cure if she’ll let me. “Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes, Ms. Taylor.”

“For what?” She steps back. “I need to get ready for my first set.”

Coincidentally,
Dave sticks his head outside the booth. “You’re up soon, Macey.”

“See?” She waves her hands.

“Take her off the list,” I say. “She’ll check in after she’s read the employee handbook.”

Dave shrugs, then disappears.

She eyes me with skepticism. “Is everything a game to you?”

Is that what she thinks? “I don’t play games, Ms. Taylor. That’s something I think you’ll learn fairly quick. I expect you to follow the rules like all the other entertainers have agreed to do.”

“Really?” She cocks her head. “Last I heard, we’re down twenty.”

“A temporary setback,” I explain. “Do you plan on leaving, too?”

She feigns a yawn, tapping her perfectly straight teeth with her fingers. “I’ll be here long after you move on, trust me.” She looks at her watch. “Looks like I only have ten minutes now.”

She nudges by, her hips swaying more seductively than I remember. I shove my hands in my pockets, watching. I think it’s safe to say we’ve established a certain rhythm to our fledgling relationship. I make the rules, and Macey Taylor does everything she can to break them.