Yours (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 4)

by Elena M. Reyes

  Maybe Malcolm sent this?

  With that thought, I open the door partway and look at the kid with a raised brow. “Can I help you?”

  “Delivery for a Mariah Asher,” he squeaks out, and I fight back a smile. All men are the same, and with how little I answered the door in, I’m surprised the looks-to-be high schooler hasn’t drooled a bit. Because I know I’m a beautiful woman, that I turn heads, but I don’t live in a land of delusion where appearances make you untouchable. I can hold my own, and I’m just as deadly as Malcolm when pushed.

  “That’s me. Who sent you?”

  His eyes sweep down quickly over my crop top, and he swallows hard. “No name, ma’am. I was just told to deliver and—”

  Whatever explanation he has dies the moment a dominating presence makes itself known. He’s here, standing but a few feet from me with a handsome smile on his face, taking me in as I do him, though, when he reaches the expanse of bare skin—between my crop top and the waistband of my shorts—his expression turns predatory.

  Javier’s eyes narrow and he takes a step closer. Just one, and I feel him as though he’d pressed every square inch of his muscular frame against mine.

  “Hello, Muñeca.”

  “How?” is all I manage to get past the sudden dryness of my mouth and the shaking of my limbs. He’s standing there looking devilish in a pair of grey sweats and a University of Chicago hoodie with a smirk across his tempting lips.

  He’s wearing my alma mater. He’s becoming a weakness.

  There’s just something about a man dressed down, comfortable, and unable to hide the muscles beneath. To hide the hardness between his legs.

  It’s the highlight of the cold months for women all across the world. A special treat we enjoy without being obvious, though, he seems to know where my mind is as a touch of pink grazes my cheek.

  “I’m here for our date.” Javier bites his bottom lip, eyes softening while perusing my figure. He pauses at my chest, then hips, before spending a little extra time on my thighs and the nonexistent gap there.

  I’m curvaceous, and he likes it. More than, and his heavy-lidded eyes are a tell.

  “How do you know where I live?” I ask instead, fighting my smile back at his audacity. At the hint of possessiveness in his stance. Because I can’t deny to myself that his unexpected visit is a bit sexy. Pushy, yet cute. “How sure are you that I won’t shoot you?”

  Javier shrugs, placing a hand on the delivery boy standing a few inches from him. He doesn’t look at him when turning him away. Not so much as a word when pointing toward the elevator bank down the hall, where the kid scurries off to. “I’m sure you can, but a little wound doesn’t scare me.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Let me in, beautiful.” He takes a step forward but I hold my stance, hand on the doorknob. “Are you going to deny me this meal?”

  “I’m tempted to.” But I don’t want to deny him. A large part of me wants to drag him inside and do something that I shouldn’t. Why?

  Why is he getting under my skin?

  Why am I curious?

  Why is the thought of turning him away unattractive?

  “You will.” Then he wrecks me. Utterly destroys my resolve by jutting his bottom lip out in a pout.

  “Get in here,” I hiss out, pulling the door open and stepping back. “Hurry up before I regret it.”

  “Gracias, Muñeca.” The moment he crosses my threshold, I shiver. But more so when he stops an inch from me and lays a kiss on my forehead. “Point me in the direction of the kitchen.”

  “Right through there.” I’m pointing behind me where an archway opens into my kitchen, but my eyes are on him. On the way he bends and picks up the bags with our food. On the way he passes by me and his scent surrounds me—hugs me while I lean over just a bit.

  I slightly stumble. His chuckle pulls me from almost tripping and I close my eyes, gritting my teeth and clenching my uninjured hand. A mistake, since it causes a whimper to slip and for the man in question to rush back to my side.

  It’s then he notices my injured hand, the bandage a little red from the few beads of blood that seeped through the six stitches over my palm. His touch is soothing, a gentle sweep of fingers over my wound that calms and excites. Sends my nerves into overdrive.

  Javier doesn’t say anything, but those warm brown eyes stare into mine, gauging my reaction, and when he’s happy with what he sees, I’m swept up and into strong arms. I’m cradled against his hard, warm chest. He’s kissing my temple while striding back to my kitchen.

  “I’m okay,” I say, voice low, feeling almost shy for a second as he deposits me atop a counter stool and disarms me on my next breath. Javier takes my gun and places it beside me; I can feel his gaze as if it were a caress. “It’s just a small cut.”

  Two fingers tip my face up, and my breath catches in my throat at the look of lust mixed with pride. His face is close to mine. His exhale is my inhale. “Still unacceptable.”

  “Javier, I—”

  “Let me feed you, Mariah.”

  “Okay.”

  6

  “OKAY.”

  The word sounds like heaven coming from her plump lips. She was granting me entrance into her life with it, a soft agreement that I’d be around from now on getting to know her. And if tomorrow her attitude returns and her eyes challenge me, I’m not backing down.

  Not after holding her close and receiving the small smile she’s giving me.

  Because there’s something about this fiery beauty that calls to me—that pulls me in closer with each interaction. I know it’s fast and dangerous for me as I now work for her cousin, but I like tempting death and I’m unafraid of the possible repercussions.

  “So what did you bring me?” Mariah’s peeking at me from beneath long lashes and my cock jerks, the movement caught by her. The sweatpants do little to hide my length and girth and the little demon licks her lips, unaware of her reaction. There are goose bumps across her flesh and hard nipples pressing against the thin strap of fabric she calls a shirt, highlighting the piercings there.

  My mouth waters and I swallow hard, fighting back the desire to nip each nipple. “Do you like your food spicy or mild?” There’s no mistaking the hunger in my tone, nor the way I admire her body. “Anything in particular you don’t like?”

  “Hot.” It’s breathy. “Very hot.”

  “Good girl.”

  “And no onions if possible. Just not the biggest fan.”

  “As you wish.” We’re more alike than I thought, and I hide my smile because I hate the vegetable and order everything without it. It’s another coincidence that I plan to take full advantage of without her knowing, like the fact we live in the same building, my unit being two floors below hers. “Is tea okay, or do you want a Coke?”

  “Tea, please.” So complacent. So sweet. Such a little liar.

  Pulling out the first container from the Thai place I found a few days after moving here, I begin to lay them out on her counter. Because nothing in life is simple, and she’ll put up a fight. It’s in her nature to do so, just like it is for me. This life hardens you—family ties will hold you down—and Mariah will give me as good as I gift tenfold while smirking and taunting me with what she believes I’ll never own.

  It’s a dare I’ll accept. Be there every fucking step of the way, and when reality smacks and she’s left choking for air, I’ll pat her back with a grin.

  There’s a reason we are both here, and I won’t let her stand in my way of putting together this enigma and the feelings she evokes.

  “Do you like green papaya—”

  “I love it! I’ve been known to eat an entire container all by myself.” Her little squeal is so far removed from the woman I met earlier yesterday, but I like it. More than I probably should, but this is another side to her, and uncovering each is fast becoming an obsession. “This place has the best, too. Did you get any drunken noodles? And chopsticks? Can’t eat this without chopsticks.”
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  “You’re beautiful when you smile.” The smile drops and she eyes the gun and then me, trying to figure out who’s faster if push came to shove. Dangerous little criminal. “I’m not taking your piece, calmate.”

  “What does that mean?” she asks after a minute of silence, watching me dish her meal onto paper plates I brought with me. Noodles, salad, and my newest addiction: chicken basil fried rice.

  Setting her food down, I reach back into the bag and produce a few sauces and the chopsticks she needs. “It means to calm down. Now eat.”

  “I’m not that—” A loud growl comes from her stomach, and I raise a brow. “Fine. I’m starving...are you happy?”

  “Very.” Plastic fork in my hand, I grab the container of rice and dig in. No talking. No glares. We eat in silence while watching the other. I’m leaning against the counter behind me and she’s perched like the queen she is in her seat, eyes happy while enjoying a little takeout with me.

  This feels right.

  “Can’t use chopsticks?” Mariah asks, bringing me away from that thought. I’m so at ease with her. She’s patting her stomach after finishing two-thirds of her plate and eyes the rest of the salad. “Are you clumsy...” Mariah picks up her iced tea and brings it to her lips, sipping while assessing me “...or a messy eater?”

  Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I mock glare. “No. Just never used them.”

  “So, the big bad man isn’t good at something.”

  “I’m good at plenty.”

  “Tell me one?”

  “Ruffling your feathers.” At my words, her eyes narrow. “And you? What are you good at, Ms. Asher?”

  “Shooting. I have a very precise shot.”

  “Always with the threats.” I tsk, shaking my head. “After all I’ve done for you.”

  “Done for me?” There’s a curse that slips through thin lips and a twitch in her hand, but I don’t back down. I’m getting to know her through each interaction. With the gestures that come naturally and not the composed heat at work. “Please enlighten me here. What exactly have you done again?”

  “Saved you from a boring existence.” A flush of red sweeps across her cheeks and her breathing accelerates, chest rising rapidly. It’s a beautiful sight.

  This woman in a simple pair of shorts and top, with her nipples hard and the barbells through them rubbing against the cotton, fuming at me while trying to dispel her truth. “Now, it’s my turn to ask the second question.”

  “Hit me.” Yeah, I’m under her skin, and she hates to crave it.

  “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

  “Life hack videos that make no sense.” Mariah takes another bite from her salad and then tilts her head to the side. “Weirdest food you’ve eaten?”

  “I’d say fugu on a trip to Japan.”

  “You ate a poisonous fish?”

  “Yes.” At my blasé response, her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Cute. “It was quite the experience.”

  “How so?”

  “My cousin, Emiliano, ate too much and couldn’t feel his tongue and lips all night. Let’s just say he drooled on himself more than once.”

  “Oh my God!” Snickers erupt from her, shoulders shaking while a small palm meets the countertop. “That’s priceless.”

  “His wife didn’t think so.” I snort, and that only causes her to laugh harder. Full-on belly laugh. “She ran him down the street with a flip-flop after he left a trail of spit down her cheek. He went in for a quick kiss and left a nasty mess.”

  “That’s mean,” she tries to say with a straight face but fails and falls into another fit of giggles. “Why did you let him eat so much? Shouldn’t you have—”

  “We warned him. The chef warned him.” Bringing the can of soda to my lips, I take a quick drink. “But Emiliano, being the stubborn mule he is, decided that a little venom couldn’t hurt and that the tingling feeling on his lips was fun. That was all on him.”

  “Still messed up.”

  “My turn.”

  Her amusement dies and she juts out her jaw. “Hit me.”

  “Favorite animal?”

  “I’m a dog lover and miss owning one.” Sadness flashes in her eyes, but she looks away and finds whatever is above my head fascinating. “My Frenchie passed away six months ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, doll. My condolences—”

  “And you? Favorite animal?”

  “Wild? Jaguar. Domestic? Dog.” Seeing we’re no longer eating, I pick up our trash and clean up, storing the leftovers in her fridge. I’m thankful now to have bought two containers of the green papaya salad, not knowing it was her favorite. “I have a Doberman back home.”

  “Are you bringing him to the States?” Once again, those seafoam eyes meet mine and my skin prickles with electricity—this almost dominating force that makes me take a step closer. And closer. I don’t stop until I’m around the counter and sitting beside her curvaceous form.

  Knees touching. Arms brushing.

  Why am I so intrigued by you?

  “No. Chulo is staying with my mother in Colombia.” Her expression is soft and inviting, and all I want to do is kiss her. Taste her. “I’ll miss my little Parcerito, but she needs him more. He’s a great dog and very protective of her.”

  “Chulo? That’s a weird name.” That teasing tone does nothing but excite me, but I don’t fall into her trap, choosing instead to just roll my eyes. Something out of character for me, but that’s what she’s doing—breaking my normal behaviors and replacing them with childishness. She’s trouble. “What does it mean?”

  “That he’s the most handsome good boy out there.”

  “Doesn’t sound very threatening or protective.”

  “It’s meant to be that way. Always confuse your opponent. What they see is never what you are.”

  “Hmmm,” is her response before jumping down from her perch, the stool a little high for her, and I find the action cute. Adorable even. Walking around to her Keurig, she opens the pod holder beside it and peruses the contents. Seconds turn to minutes. Our breathing and the sound of plastic pods jiggling against each other fills the space before she huffs and turns. Green eyes on mine, she purses her lips. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” This is my cue to leave. Mariah is a difficult woman, the few interactions we’ve had prove as much, but I know when to back off. When to strike. There’s something hidden behind those eyes—a little wariness she fights to conceal—but I see her. All of her, and plan to erase every doubt with my actions. “I’ll be heading out.”

  If she’s surprised by my words, her expression doesn’t show it, but body language never lies. Tense muscles, hands clenching, and the tapping of her right foot. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s unaware of these actions, but I’m loving every single one.

  Fight all she wants; I’ve gotten to her.

  “Let me walk you out.”

  “No need. I know the—”

  “That wasn’t a request,” she grits out, chin jutted out. Gorgeously defiant.

  “Of course.” Without waiting for her, I turn and head in the direction of the front door. And I’m almost there when she sighs, causing me to smile.

  I stay silent, though. Waiting to see what she does or says.

  “By the way…why a jaguar?” Mariah asks suddenly a few seconds later. Her curiosity makes me pause and look back, causing the little beauty to bump into my back. “I never asked you to stop walking.”

  “You asked me a question.” Before she can step back, I turn and hold her close. Breathe her in. “I’m being thoughtful.”

  “How so?” A small shiver runs through her as my fingers grip her hips and run soothing circles over the flesh there.

  “By giving you my undivided attention.” Dipping my face down to hers, I lay a kiss on her cheek and then the other, loving the sudden rush of goose bumps and her stuttered breath. “And to answer your question, I love jaguars because they’re deadly yet regal. Dominant o
ver their habitat while bowing to no other predator.” Another tiny peck, this time right on the tip of her nose and I turn, leaving her apartment before I bend her over the entry table and bury myself to the hilt.

  This was a win.

  The beginning of something that holds a wicked promise.

  I’m going to wear you down, Muñeca.

  7

  “RIGHT THIS WAY, Mr. Bennett.” I step aside, and the three people I picked up this morning at the airport walk into the conference room on the executive floor. They’re an affluential family from California, a Silicon Valley genius with a penchant for walking a fine line between the ethical and immoral while spoiling Mrs. Bennett. He’s here with his wife and one guard, a man I’ve been watching from the moment they put a single foot inside the all-black SUV I drive.

  His attention isn’t on security or asking me what has been done to assure his boss’s safety, but instead, on her. The wife. She’s unaware—face pinched tight in anger while holding her husband’s hand—but I saw, and by the clenching of her husband’s jaw, so did he.

  What are they playing at?

  “Thank you, Javier,” the wife answers, and the other two enter with nothing more than a nod in my direction. Not that I give a single fuck as the object of my frustration walks toward me with a stoic expression on her stunning face. The same expression was saved solely for me since our mini date in her apartment.

  All five feet and three inches of perfection in her high-waisted black skirt, white cap-sleeved top, and red stilettos saunter in my direction with her hair down and the ends curled. With ruby lips and the sweet scent of flowers surrounding her—infiltrating my senses. Embedding itself into my DNA.

  Mariah is teasing me. Avoiding me; a week of silence unless work-related and even then, the responses are minimal and to the point.

  Her stubbornness doesn’t deter me, though. Not one bit.

  I find her adorable.

  “Morning.”