Sinfully Wicked

by Kym Roberts

  “I’m going to take the first group home.” Sister Francesca said as she swung little Ava into her arms. “Can you make sure everything is done, and then I’ll be back for the last group?”

  Sister was one of the best. Working from dawn to dusk and beyond to save as many souls as she could. She’d been instrumental in Téa’s recovery and Téa would do anything for her. Anything. Yet for reasons Téa couldn’t fathom, she still couldn’t tolerate Sister’s touch…or anyone else’s.

  “Absolutely.” Téa nodded. “The rest of us will be waiting for your return so you can call it an early night.”

  Sister Francesca gasped. “And what exactly do you think I’d do with the rest of my night?”

  “Laundry.”

  Sister laughed. “You know me too well, Téa. See you in a bit.”

  Téa continued wiping the tables from the evening meal. Most of the patrons of the Food Bank who’d come for the free meal, had vacated the building, with the exception of the remaining children and a few elderly patrons who were talking to Father Petra near the entrance. They were just a few of the many who would load up into Sister’s vehicle, an old VW bus in dire need of a makeover.

  Téa watched the kids running around the room, and found herself wishing a pair of the little feet pitter-pattering on the ancient stone floors belonged to her. Then reality stormed into her thoughts and she realized how her child would have been conceived—the way all of these ‘little bastards’ had come into this world.

  No. Life would not be easy for the children of prostitutes no matter how progressive society had become. Andrea was on the verge of losing the joy of innocence and ignorance. Soon the children at his primary school would start to tease, bully, and ridicule. She’d already seen the signs of his personality changing in the past several months and she hated the effects someone else’s crimes had these children. Some overcame. The majority did not.

  The bitterness ebbed into her heart and she returned to the task at hand. Tables needed cleaned and the floors swept. Sister would be back soon.

  “Excuse me?”

  English assaulted her ears. Nothing good came from hearing English spoken with an American accent. Téa turned around to find a tall blond man standing too close. She frantically looked around the room and felt a bit of relief when she spotted Father Petra still at the entrance. The elderly patrons had left, and father was tying shoes and putting rain jackets for several children who were waiting for their trip in Sister Francesca’s van.

  Téa took a deep breath through her nose and released it.

  “I guess I should ask if you speak English?” Droplets of water dripped down his face as Téa surveyed grey eyes, which matched the weather.

  Unable to respond, she stood there as if she were deaf and mute. One priest and a few children could not keep her safe. Nor could she keep them safe against this man with an impossibly wide chest and strong physique that could not be disguised by a wool suit.

  A wolf in sheep’s clothing. He smiled and it was obvious he was trying to put her at ease. Real? Or Fake?

  “I’m sorry. My Italian is terrible,” he continued.

  Would he leave if she remained silent? A soccer ball soared across the room, bounced off a wall and knocked over a couple chairs. Téa held her tongue. She couldn’t scold the children while this man was here.

  “I’m looking for my sister. She was taken—”

  Those words alone put him in another class. He was part of them. The families of the lost, most never to be found.

  “I’m sorry.” She’d said the words without realizing it, then bit her lip and turned away. She should’ve controlled her response.

  A strong hand on her arm made her nearly jump out of her skin. Like Sister, he retracted his hand. Unlike Sister, he didn’t acknowledge her sensitivity to being touched.

  “You’re American,” he said. The relief, which washed across his handsome face, was telling. He was searching for someone important to him.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She didn’t want to lie to this man, but it was much too dangerous to say more.

  “Have you lost a loved one?” The sincerity in his voice felt genuine but she couldn’t trust herself. To trust herself was a mistake. She’d made that mistake before, and it’d cost her dearly.

  Andrea yelled to a younger boy to pass him the ball. Téa should tell them to stop. The smaller kids were allowed to play soccer when the tables were pushed to the walls. Andrea, however was too old and too good to play football indoors.

  “Yes.”

  He silently waited for her to say more as his brow furrowed at the commotion behind her. She lifted her chin and let the truth ring in her posture. She had lost a loved one. Two loved ones. As far as she knew, neither had ever been found, but she knew they were dead. A body or remains in a box wouldn’t change that.

  “I was told I might find my sister here. Can I show you her picture?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Please—” His plea was interrupted. “Look out!” He reached for her as she was shoved forward into his arms. Panic would’ve seized her, but instead of wrapping her in an unwanted embrace, he quickly spun her away as he grabbed for another body falling toward the floor. Before she knew it, he’d tucked her under his arm and was holding Andrea up off the floor by the back of his shirt.

  “Little man, has anyone told you not to play soccer inside?” His voice was firm, but not angry as he set Andrea on his feet.

  Andrea looked up, up and up at him with wonder shining in his eyes. The marvel in his gaze wasn’t from the string of English he didn’t understand. Andrea was admiring the stranger’s fast hands.

  Even Téa stepped away with a sense of wonder tingling through her limbs. She’d sensed danger, but didn’t know where it was coming from, and as soon as he’d pulled her against his strong, hard length the panic disappeared. He smelled of a clean fresh aftershave, and special scent that was all man—masculine in every language spoken, yet somehow in that moment she hadn’t feared his touch. Their bodies had pressed against one another, and panic had not sent her running in the opposite direction. The thought brought hope alive somewhere deep in her chest. She wasn’t sure why this man’s touch felt safe, but somehow deep within her she’d felt protected for the first time in five years. Five years—

  “May I help you, sir?” Sister Francesca asked in Italian as she ran toward them from across the cafeteria. Her coat was dripping as much water as the sky and she nearly crashed into them with her wet shoes. He reached for Sister and steadied her, then made sure she was okay with a nonverbal cue of dipping his chin and the raising his eyebrows. His expression was real. Real, genuine concern for Sister Francesca without any ulterior motive in sight. In the span of sixty-seconds, he’d stopped two women and one child from falling. Not to their death, but his actions spoke to his humanity. He was born to protect.

  “He’s looking for his sister.” Téa answered in English.

  Sister’s face went blank. Téa never spoke English to anyone. It was part of her disguise. The nun turned her back on Téa and asked the man again, this time in English. “May I help you?”

  “As she said, I’m looking for my little sister. It’s been nearly five years since she disappeared and I was about to show—” He hesitated as if one of them would offer her name, but neither she nor Sister would do that. The risk was too great. He smiled, accepting their caution with understanding. “I was about to show the young lady my sister’s picture when the soccer game interrupted us.” His smile warmed as he met Téa’s gaze, and for the first time in a lifetime, she felt her cheeks heat with a blush. He winked as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph.

  His grin was infectious. That’s all there was to it. She certainly had no explanation for the joy that blossomed in her chest and formed on her lips. It felt strange. Foreign.

  Wonderful.

  Sister reached for the photo, and for a moment, the image ling
ered between Sister and the man who’d affected her like no other. It was as if Sister wanted to snatch the photo away and he was reluctant to let it go.

  “Her name is Téa,” he said. His eyes met hers and the smile he’d sported several times during their conversation, faltered at the same time Téa’s happiness disappeared completely.

  Sister yanked the photo from his hand while pulling Téa tightly against her back. They were about the same height, but Sister’s habit and girth could hide a couple of children. Téa wanted to be one of those children as she grabbed hold of the woman’s coat, not caring that she was becoming soaked.

  “No. I don’t know her. I’m sorry, sir. We’re closing for the night and it’s been a very long day.” As if to punctuate that statement, one of the children began to cry. Téa wanted to join him.

  “Of course.”

  He reached for the photo and it was only then that Téa glimpsed the image Sister reluctantly returned. It captured an exuberant Téa at sixteen. Her hair was short with a shot of pink running through the bangs. She was grinning from ear to ear as she hugged her nonna and held up her paper driver’s license for a selfie. Her grandmother had taught her to drive and she’d been so proud of Téa’s accomplishment that she’d taken a photo on the spot at the DMV.

  “I apologize for delaying you further.” He nodded in Téa’s direction. Never once acting as if he’d recognized her as the girl in the photo.

  Téa wanted to snatch the photo out of his pocket, then whimpered at the thought of losing the only memento of her childhood she’d seen in years.

  “Shhh.” Sister murmured over her shoulder.

  “I was in town on business and heard about your shelter. I’d hoped my sister had traveled here, but my last lead was in France. I should go back and search there.”

  He knew. The emphasis on the words, my sister, was slight, but it was there. She hadn’t imagined it. He knew it was her, and yet he turned away. The fear of losing everything she’d ever loved nearly tore her in two.

  “Wait!” The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. He turned back toward her an expectant and hopeful expression on his face. Nothing about it spoke of a sinister motive. Did it?

  “Don’t.” Sister ground the word out in Italian, but Téa couldn’t let him leave without asking.

  She stepped around her guardian. “C-could I keep the photo, t-to show around?” She was stuttering and her chest was heaving with the effort it took to force the words from her lungs.

  His smile was genuine. It had to be. He reached into his pocket once more and pulled out the photo. A moment later she was touching her past and he was gripping her hand as if to mold her future. It was an odd feeling. Not frightening as she would expect, but calming and reassuring as he expressed a gratitude she didn’t deserve.

  “Thank you. I appreciate any help I can get. I only want what is best for her.” His words were soft and gentle.

  Best for her…

  Before she could say anything, he walked away, and instead of rubbing her skin to relieve the sensation of someone touching her, Téa wanted to hold onto that moment forever. His touch was everything, but evil.

  It was her.

  He’d been talking to the girl he’d sought for the past sixteen months and hadn’t even recognized her. Yet he couldn’t blame himself for the error. The photos her grandmother had given him depicted a vibrant young girl full of life and hope with a budding beauty no one could deny. The woman in the food bank hadn’t resembled her in the least.

  Téa Bello had lived a lifetime of Hell in the span of a few year. Her hair was much longer. Not dirty, but not groomed either and she had a tendency to hide her face behind the lackluster mahogany curtain as if it shielded her shame. Her deep brown eyes were dull and barren—until that smile. That brief glimpse of who Téa Bello was born to be nearly knocked him on his ass.

  Immediately he recognized the vitality of her spirit. The warmth and caring heart her grandmother spoke of. Even the scar at the corner of her mouth, which obviously hadn’t received medical treatment at the time of her injury, couldn’t detract from her beauty. It was as if someone smashed a mallet over his head and his vision cleared.

  Téa Bello had been in his arms, and he’d let her go. He hoped to hell his instincts were correct. She wanted to connect with her past, which was evident in the sheen of tears in her eyes when he gave her the photo. He hoped his declaration to look for his pretend sister Téa in France put her at ease and that she didn’t run. If she did, his search would start all over again.

  But something about their brief contact tugged at him. Before he recognized her as Téa and before she knew he was searching for her, there’d been an undeniable chemistry between them. At the time, he’d ignored it, yet something inside him had reached for, and found the pain ravaging her from the inside. She knew loss very, very intimately. If he’d suspected it before, he now knew for certain her parents were dead. Alessandro and Olivia, along with their teenage daughter, had been missing for several years, and Téa was the only one to come out alive.

  He needed to keep her that way. He needed to figure out how to get her home, get her to give a statement to clear Ty’s name, and give his sister the future she deserved. Then maybe, just maybe, Téa Bello would begin to live again.

  Eight Months Later

  Chapter Two

  The eternal city was just that, an immortal landscape of beauty. Every time he was there, he marveled at the gracefully majestic sculptures adorning the ancient architecture while fountains sparkled with aquamarine water. Some might say the everlasting historical city of Rome was romantic, as well. At the moment, he would kill to have an umbrella pine tree looming over him instead of the heated noon rays of the sun making his shirt stick to him while his tie nearly strangled him.

  Khaos didn't feel the romance. He felt controlled anger wanting to erupt at the least possible movement. Having a man underneath him smelling of sweat, and God only knew what else, was the last thing he'd associate with the warm fuzzy feelings that made his dick want to dance. The man below him, however, had other ideas.

  “You cannot deny the chemistry between us,” Stefan insisted as his admiring gaze traveling down the front of Khaos.

  He felt Stefan’s idea of chemistry and couldn't stop the growl from forming at the back of this throat. How had the man turned over in midair? He was sitting on top of Stefan like he was a boyfriend, not a man he was going to put in jail. He pulled himself off the brute while securing one of Stefan’s arms. Then Khaos rolled him onto his stomach and twisted his arm behind his back before he could resist.

  “Give me your other hand.” Stefan complied and he addressed the issue he’d been dealing with for several months. “The only connection between us, is the one you forced when you climbed that barrier.” He nodded toward the four-foot fencing that had been put in place to keep crowds back when the vice president visited in the coming week.

  Stefan twisted in an attempt to make eye contact. “I know you felt something when our eyes met for the second, third, and fourth times this morning.”

  He nearly laughed. Stefan really didn’t want to know what he was feeling. The twitch in his trigger finger might make the man pee his pants.

  “The first time I was trying to tell you, obviously with little success,” the last part was muttered under his breath, “not to ignore the barrier. The fence was put there for a reason. The second time I looked at you, I was giving your description to the guards while I tried to convey to you that climbing the fence was a bad idea. The third time…” Khaos ground out between his teeth. “I was telling you, you were under arrest.”

  Stefan gave him the creeps. Not because he was gay; Khaos couldn't care less, but because Stefan Asher wouldn't take no for an answer. It was as if Stefan was following him from city to city. To his own ears, that possibility sounded incredibly vain and ludicrous. Yet, he couldn't ignore the countless emails he’d received from Stefan thr
ough his work email. Nor could he excuse the countless public encounters he’d had with Stefan across Europe. The whole thing was beginning to reek of stalking.

  Thank God, he didn’t have any social media accounts for Stefan to harass him; not that he hadn’t tried. Khaos had received two different complaints from men with the first name of Daniel and last name Artino, whom Stefan had cyber-stalked on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It was embarrassing, and he knew rumors had started up in his own office that he’d given Stefan reason to hound him. Rumors he’d hooked up with Stefan back home in Denver and then dumped the poor bastard after using him.

  Khaos never would’ve dreamed he’d feel the need to defend his sexuality, but he did. With every sly look and whisper he’d overheard, a part of him wanted to punch the ever-living shit out of someone. But he was the boss. His composure was his trademark and he knew his reputation for coming down hard on agents who mixed the job with their sexual exploits, only fueled the fire for rumors as juicy as Stefan had created. He just never expected anyone to believe that a guy like Stefan Asher could turn his head. Stefan was bigger than him, which was rare, and with a little training, Stefan could probably have him for lunch.

  Strike that. Khaos would never be this guy’s lunch no matter how much training Stefan had under his belt.

  Shit. The last thing he wanted to think about was what was under Stefan’s belt. But if he was ever to be turned on by a man, it certainly wouldn't be a large hairy ape that had hair coming out of his ears.

  Jeezus.

  “Am I interrupting a private moment?”

  He didn't need to turn around to identify the feminine voice above them. Megan.

  Shit. He rubbed the sweat forming on his forehead off with his shoulder. At five foot two, it didn't seem possible that Megan could spot trouble from a mile away, but she could. Hands down she was the best people reader he’d ever met. Except in this particular situation.