Catching Sin, page 3
“What nights do you work?” he asks my back in a soft purr, his smooth baritone wrapping around me and warming places within me that have forever remained cold and desolate.
“I don’t dance. That was an anomaly.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I spin around to face him and immediately realize my mistake. I was far more protected with my back to him, or with the cart in front of me as a barrier, because now it’s impossible not to notice his size and appreciate the chiseled lines of his handsome face. My gaze rakes over the defined lines of his chest and abs beneath his plain gray t-shirt and the bulging of his biceps that appear as if they’re teaching that t-shirt a lesson in dominance. I feel his body heat envelop me as he takes a step forward. I wish he would have maintained his distance. Now I’m forced to crane my neck and peer all the way up, seeking out his beautiful blue eyes.
I inhale a silent breath, berating myself for getting into this position with such a dangerous man. It’s that long, smooth, angled jaw; those soft, full lips that are such a stark contrast to the raw interest in his eyes. I find myself leaning forward, drawn to his delicious magnetism like a moth to a flame. This is terrible. The bastard is silently killing my bitter resolve.
“I’m a waitress.”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking at me like I’m something else.” I want to stomp my foot at him like a petulant child would. He’s playing games he knows nothing about.
“Hard not to when I know you are.”
And there it is. It’s not even about the dancing or the fact that he pretty much knows what I look like naked. It’s Conti he’s after. Conti he’s interested in. And I’m the eternal go-between. “I’m no help for you with him. Stalk someone else.”
“You misjudge my intent, Starshine. I don’t care about him.”
I narrow my eyes, practically hissing at him in Parseltongue. “It’s always about him. Especially with people like you.”
His eyes devour me, dropping to my thrift-store blouse and jeans and worn-out boots before crawling so damn slowly back up. A fire I have no name for or experience with burns my skin, making my face flush in a way that angers me more than it turns me on.
“You don’t have to tell me.” He smirks. Smiles. Plays foolishly with my life and his. “I’ll find out all on my own.”
“Then you’re even more daft than I pegged you to be.”
Now he laughs. “Probably. Catch you later, Starshine. Let me know how those Depends work out for you.”
Ha. Ha. Bastard.
I turn back to my cart. I don’t watch as he walks away. I don’t listen as his footfalls grow fainter. And I certainly don’t care that he’s feigning interest. No. Because he may play the game and know how to flirt up the caged girl, but at the end of the day, he’s not a dumb man. He may not know the how of my life, but he knows the who.
It’s all an act, I tell myself.
And I tell myself that it’s just my protective instincts making me search for him out of the corner of my eye as I finish my shopping. Nothing else. I get into the checkout line and there he is, two lanes over from me. The girl checking him out shamelessly flirts, twirling her hair and giggling at something that cannot possibly be nearly as funny as she’s making it out to be.
I sigh before I can stop myself. So lame. But I can’t pull my eyes away, either. I watch voyeuristically in snarky mean-girl horror as she writes something on his receipt before handing it to him. He stares at the piece of paper, at her swirly handwriting that I can see from here, and then says something I can’t hear. She gave him her number. After not even knowing the guy for two minutes.
He takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket.
I scoff. Whatever. I don’t care. Let him call Miss Perky Blonde Checkout Girl. Let them date and get married and have babies. “Whatever,” I grumble under my breath and leave the store, ignoring the curious glances of my own checkout person.
I make my way outside, turn toward the street and watch as my bus pulls away from the stop, heading back out into traffic. Crap! Now I’m going to have to wait another fifteen minutes for the next one. God, I hate today. And today is supposed to be one of my good days.
“Missed the bus or can’t find your car?”
I roll my eyes. Of course he’s behind me.
“There’ll be another bus soon.”
I start to lift my bags out of the cart, ready to head to the bus stop when he steps in front of me. “I can give you a ride if you need it.”
“I don’t.”
“Stop being stubborn. It’s just a ride.”
I turn to look up at him. “I don’t know you and I don’t get in strange cars with strange men.”
He considers me for a minute. “What if you dialed up 911 on your phone and held it in your hand the whole way home? Would that make you feel better?”
My phone. That’s a whole other issue.
“I have pepper spray. Still doesn’t change things.”
“I can’t leave you here to wait for the bus with all those bags.” He steps into me, crowding me and making my stupid heart lurch.
“I’m sure your peppy checkout girl can help you pass the time.”
His mouth curls into a smirk as he takes me in feature by feature, his expression unreadable. “Saw that, huh?”
I scrunch my nose up, turning away, back out into the street, willing the bus to hurry up and save me just in the nick of time.
“Thanks for reminding me. I would have forgotten.” He takes the receipt out of his pocket and without even glancing at it, crumples it up into a ball and tosses it into the nearest trash bin.
I swear, I take no enjoyment in that.
“You’ll break her heart.”
He chuckles. “Doubt it. Now come on. My Jeep is right over there.” He points to the large black car parked near the front of the store. I don’t move, though the temptation to accept his ride is growing steadily by the second. I hate taking the bus with arms full of groceries. It takes over a half an hour to go less than ten miles. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman and on my best behavior. Promise. You’re safe with me.”
Safe with him, eh? Maddox strikes me as a lot of things, but safe isn’t one of them.
“I see you wavering, so I’m going to take the initiative and help move your decision-making along.” He slides his hand across the bar of my shopping cart, removing it from my grasp and pushing it toward his car. I realize he’s only holding two bags and he’s doing that with one hand, freeing up his other to push my cart. He does this with such easy confidence, knowing I’m giving in without agreeing. It makes me hate him and really like him for that confidence.
For some inexplicable reason, I ignore the voice of reason that’s screaming in my ear to grab my cart and run the other way, and instead follow him, even though this is potentially the start of something disastrous.
Four
ISABEL
* * *
Maddox unlocks his car and opens my door for me. Gentleman, indeed. And here I thought those were extinct along with the dodo bird and the western black rhinoceros.
I eye him curiously as he shuts my door with a triumphant smile and then goes about loading all the groceries in the back. He slides in and starts the car with the press of a button.
“Who are you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He laughs but doesn’t answer my question. Not that I expected him to.
“What’s your address?”
I tell him, and he punches it into his navigation screen, and off we go. His car is nice. Soft leather and a cool, sleek interior. The best part? It smells like him. But with an added something—like he took this Jeep off-roading through the wilderness and some of that clean, fresh air stuck to his seats.
“Will you tell me your real name now?” he asks as the sun slowly begins its descent on the western horizon. The orange ball of flames that accompanies this time of day and this time of year casts a warm glow, making his hair appear almost blond and his eyes colorless.
I take in his profile. He’s just a bit too perfect. The sort of beautiful that is almost impossible to look at for any length of time. It’s the type that affects you without permission, like a pleasure-filled pain you can’t help but indulge in.
“No,” I reply. I’m not sure why I’m holding onto it. It’s stupid, really. He can just look up my address to figure it out.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Usually.” I laugh, but it’s humorless. “Where are you from, Maddox?” I make a point of saying his name, hoping he’ll think my stubbornness and bitchy attitude are unappealing. He’s the sort of guy a girl could develop a crush on without even breaking a sweat. And a crush is the last thing I need right now. “I know it’s not Las Vegas.”
He glances over at me for a brief moment, then turns back to the road. “No. It’s not Las Vegas. I’m a Southern boy, but since you’re being a brat and won’t tell me your name, I won’t tell you where I’m from.”
“Fair enough. And before you go off and get ideas about me, I’m not fucking you.”
He grins, his hand abandoning the wheel in favor of rubbing his jaw almost absentmindedly. “I didn’t expect you would.”
“Expect? Maybe not. But you shouldn’t hope, either.”
Now he laughs and it’s big and hearty, the sound warm and so very unwelcome as it seeps into my pores. “I can’t do much about that, but I promised I’d be good, and I will be. So, how about after we drop off your adult diapers, you let me buy you dinner?”
“A date? You’re asking me out on a date?” I fold my arms and lean back against the leather. I’m smirking. But that’s only because I’m doing my best to fight the smile threatening to break free.
He catches my eye. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He looks almost as surprised as I am. That killer boyish smile that no doubt gets him whatever he wants is out in full force.
Subduing the butterflies in my stomach, I say, “I can’t date you, Maddox.” I hope he catches the undercurrent in my voice. He pulls into the parking lot in front of my building and I point in the direction of my apartment. “Thank you for the ride.”
I move to hop out, but he grasps my hand, stopping me. He shakes his head, indicating that I should wait, and then he gets out, walking around the front of the car with long, purposeful strides. I watch in wonder as he opens my door for me and helps me out. “Where are we taking these?”
Maddox lifts my grocery bags out of the back of the car. His brand of charm is a weapon I’m ill-equipped to fight. No one has ever paid me this much direct attention before. At least, not in a positive way. That thought alone has me clearing away the lump in my throat before I dare try to speak. “Second floor. Apartment two-twelve, but I should warn you, Evelyn is a different breed of woman than you’re used to. Your charm won’t work on her.”
“Nonsense. My charm works on all women.” He cocks an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his full lips. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”
Bastard. It totally did. He carries all the bags, not allowing me to take even a single one, up the stairs and down the catwalk.
We reach Evelyn’s door and before I can ring or knock, the door flies open. “And who is this?” she asks without any preamble, her thick, Brooklyn accent coming out in plumes, matching the cigarette smoke escaping her lips. Her gray hair is up in pink foam rollers and she’s wearing a matching house coat.
“Evelyn, this is Maddox Sinclair. Maddox, my neighbor Evelyn.” I wave a hand back and forth between them and Evelyn’s whole face lights up.
“Nice to meet you, Evelyn.” Maddox puts on his million-dollar Southern charm and Evelyn simpers. Actually simpers. “Where would you like these, ma’am?” Maddox holds up the bags of groceries.
“Well, well. Look at you.” She gives him a big once over. “You can set those on the counter, young man. It’s so kind of you to carry these all the way up just for me.” I mentally roll my eyes and the second Maddox is out of sight, she turns on me. “Well, he’s a looker. Tall and strapping, too. The sort that could really take care of a woman, if you know what I’m saying? I bet he’s hung like a horse.”
Now I do roll my eyes. “He can hear you, I’m sure.”
“Spectacular,” she exclaims gleefully, sticking her cigarette in her mouth and letting it dangle from her lips as she talks. “Is he your new boyfriend? Because I will be honest, I was starting to worry about you.”
“Why were you starting to worry about her?” Maddox asks, stepping back outside, away from the cigarette saturated air.
“Evelyn—”
“Because she never brings any men home,” she says, cutting me off completely. “She never goes out unless it’s to work or the library or to help me, and then it’s straight back home. For such a young, beautiful woman, you’d think she’d get more action.”
“And we’re done here.” I grab Maddox’s arm, giving him a hearty tug, but the man is a mountain and doesn’t so much as budge.
“Really?” Maddox replies, intrigued. “No dates at all? How fascinating. So, it’s not just me, then? You see, I asked her out on the way over and she said no.”
Evelyn’s eyes widen, a slow smile creeping up her wrinkled face. “I’m betting a man like you can sway her. In my day, women who looked like her had men falling all over them. This one lives like a nun.” She pivots to me. “You should let him buy you dinner, honey. Men like this one don’t come around often.”
“Knock it off or I won’t buy your cigarettes next time. Then what will you do without your cancer sticks?”
Evelyn lets out a grainy cackle that speaks of the fifty years she’s been smoking. “I’m eighty-seven. Something has to kill me eventually. Thank you again, dear girl.” She pats my face. “Do an old woman a favor and let him take you on a date. And if he is hung like a horse, I want details.”
Maddox bursts out laughing, and I just shake my head, because like she said, she’s eighty-seven. No changing her now. Evelyn shuts the door, her three deadbolts snapping into place. I don’t live in the worst neighborhood in Las Vegas, but it’s certainly not the best one.
“Evelyn thinks you should let me buy you dinner.”
“Evelyn smokes three packs of cigarettes a day, her favorite actor is David Hasselhoff and she enters Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes, each time believing she’ll win. I think it’s safe to say her judgment is suspect.”
“But you’re hungry, right? You have to be hungry. It’s dinner time and I was raised to never let a woman go hungry. We’ll order delivery, no restaurants. Say yes.”
I puff out a breath, moving over to the ledge and staring out at the street, scanning each parked car. As much as I should say no, I can’t remember the last time I had takeout. I can’t remember the last time someone bought me a meal or had dinner with me.
“Come on. I know you want to. What else would you be eating tonight?”
“Spaghetti and butter,” I reply automatically because that’s usually what I eat for dinner. It’s filling and cheap and I hate it.
“Do you like lobster?”
A laugh bursts forth, my chin dropping to my chest as I shake my head. I should have waited for the bus. “I’ve never tried it.”
“I know this amazing place, Valaria’s. Have you ever been? They make the best lobster bisque. What about steak? Do you like steak?”
“I’m sure I would if I tried it.”
“You’ve never tried steak?” He’s as incredulous as a person can be. Maybe a bit skeptical, too, because really, who’s never tried steak?
“No. I’ve never tried steak. I’ve never eaten in a restaurant other than Denny’s way back when I was a kid. I’ve had hamburgers. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to steak.”
Whistling between his teeth, he reaches out and takes my hand. And I let him. His hand is large and warm and slightly rough. It feels so good that I never want him to let go. How can simply discussing dinner make me so goddamn despondent? He smiles at my lack of argument, knowing he’s won me over yet again. “I’m calling in delivery for us, Starshine.” I close my eyes at the nickname. “I’m just going to order a bunch of stuff I think you’ll like.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I scan the street one more time, decide it’s clear, and then turn around and unlock my door. I also let go of his hand. “I didn’t think places like Valaria’s deliver.”
“They don’t. I know the owner. He’s a friend. He’ll hook us up.”
Maddox follows behind me, his phone pressed to his ear. He’s talking to someone named Cal as he surveys my apartment, his eyes scanning every surface. He hangs up after ordering a bunch of items I’ve never heard of and then turns to me, so tall, like a giant in my doll-house-size apartment. Everything here—my furniture, my things—seems dwarfed by him. “Food should be here in less than an hour.”
Suddenly, I’m unbelievably nervous. Because as Evelyn suggested, I never bring men home. I’ve never even brought boys home. I don’t go out and I don’t date and I’m never ever alone with them. At least not men like Maddox. Men who look at me with danger in their eyes. Only that danger isn’t from enmity. It’s from hunger. He’s looking at me like I’m the meal he just ordered, and he wants to devour me.
I’m so outmatched with a man like him. He knows exactly what he’s doing with me and I fall into him line by line. Swallowing, I turn around, my mouth drier than the desert outside my door. I head for the kitchen, seeking water and escape.
“I like your place,” he muses appreciatively. “It’s cozy. Lived in.”
“Are those euphemisms for small and worn?” I jest.
“No. I mean it. I really like it. It’s not what I expected.”
I laugh a little at that. “And what did you expect?” Retrieving a glass from my cabinet, I turn on the tap and fill it up, but I can’t resist the pull for long and I turn back to face him.
