Sweet as Sin

by J. T. Geissinger

  I took it Nico didn’t do much apologizing.

  “So I am.” He paused. “I’m also lettin’ you know if you ever so much as glance in her direction again, naked or not, I’ll rip off your fuckin’ heads.”

  I sighed.

  The woman on A.J.’s left side, a willowy blonde with remarkable cleavage in a BDSM-inspired black leather ensemble studded with silver grommets, pinned me with a stare so full of hatred I instinctively shrank closer to Nico.

  “Your lady?” Her husky laugh was mocking. She slithered away from A.J. and came to stand in front of Nico with her hands on her hips, treating me as if I were invisible. Her perfume was gaggingly strong. “And here I thought I was your lady, loverboy.”

  All the breath left my body as if I’d been punched in the chest. Nico had slept with this . . . this . . . slutty maneater! And holy . . . those legs! Those boobs! That silicone-filled, glossy mouth that looked like it could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch!

  Oh, God. How long had it been since he’d been with her? Two weeks? Two days? Oh dear God I’m going to puke.

  But Nico, being Nico, made it all better with only a few well-chosen words.

  With one side of his mouth quirked, in the most dismissive tone I’d ever heard, he said, “Nah, darlin’, you were never my lady. Or probably anyone else’s lady. More like the village bicycle. Haven’t taken a ride on that rusty, second-hand bike in what, six months?”

  The look on her face was so priceless, I wished I had a camera.

  “You fucking asshole!” she shrieked, red in the face.

  Nico shrugged, then winked at me. “Guilty as charged.”

  It all happened so fast. The surgically enhanced Village Bicycle took a snarling step forward, her right arm cocked back, her intent to slap Nico across the face as clear as daylight.

  So, naturally, because I’m shit for making quick decisions, I slapped her first.

  The crack! of my open palm hitting her cheek was immediately followed by her scream of disbelief. Her head rocked back. Staggering sideways in her heels, she spun around and stared at me wide-eyed, cradling her jaw.

  Holding her gaze, I quietly said, “Back off, bitch, unless you want another.”

  Across the room, the four other members of Bad Habit roared with laughter.

  She lunged at me. Nico yanked me out of the way just in time, and she went flying by in a cloud of cheap perfume, screaming bloody murder. Her girlfriends were up on their stilettos before you could say “boo,” lunging at me, too. It was six against one, and if the boys hadn’t intervened, I would’ve been torn to shreds in a fury of red acrylic claws.

  “Brody, get the girls outta here!” Nico shouted. He held me in a protective bear hug against his chest while the guys corralled the girls to the opposite side of the room.

  “C’mon, hooker, you heard the man, party’s over.” Brody held the brunette firmly by the arm and began to pull her away.

  “Don’t call me a fucking hooker!” she hollered, struggling to get free.

  Brody laughed. “You’re right. That’s an insult to hookers.”

  He ignored her squawk of anger and dragged her from the room, while A.J., Chris, and Ethan managed to get control of her friends. They were escorted out in a spewing hail of profanities, and promises to gut me like a fish the next time they saw me.

  Dumbfounded, I stared after them. “Jesus Christ. Where do you find women like that? The ninety-nine-cent section of hell?”

  Nico turned me around and held me against his chest. He looked as if he was holding back a smile. “Yeah, it didn’t look like you got on too well with them, huh, baby? In fact, I think it’s fair to say you even got . . . aggressive.”

  Shit. He had me. He so totally had me there.

  “And I’m wonderin’ why that might be? Feelin’ a little . . . possessive maybe?”

  “No!” Hello, blatant lie, my new best friend. “I slapped that cow in self-defense! She was about to hit you!”

  “That’s not self-defense, Kat. That’s you protectin’ me. Kinda like I was protectin’ you against the paparazzi, and from my boys seein’ you in all your bare-ass glory.”

  And there it was. The truth with a capital T. Which only meant one thing.

  I was a complete hypocrite.

  I rested my forehead against his chest, and sighed. “You know, if you’re going to be right all the time, it’s really going to get old.”

  He laughed. Really laughed, his chest shaking with it.

  “And smug is really going to get old, too!”

  “Yeah, but you bein’ mad ’cause I called you out on some shit you were just pissed at me about is never gonna get old.”

  “Shut up.” It was a halfhearted “shut up,” because, once again, he was right. I would find the same thing extremely hilarious if the situation were reversed.

  Nico tilted my face up with a knuckle beneath my chin. His eyes were warm and soft, his voice even softer. “Make me.”

  Still smarting from the encounter with Miss Thing, I reluctantly rose up on my toes and gave him a dry little peck on the lips.

  “Yeah? That’s all I get for bein’ so right? A grandma kiss?” He clucked in disapproval.

  “Try not to break your arm patting yourself on the back, there, loverboy,” I said tartly.

  Nico gathered me in even closer. His chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “Love it that you’re jealous over me, baby. But you don’t have to be. I’m all yours now.”

  I might have harrumphed, but I loved hearing him say he was all mine.

  Too bad it wasn’t true.

  “Nico.”

  We turned to find Brody, white faced and nervous, standing in the doorway.

  “What’s up?”

  Brody cleared his throat. He glanced at me, and I knew. I just knew it was bad, before the words were even out of his mouth.

  “Got a situation, bro.”

  Nico tensed. He stepped in front of me protectively. “Yeah? What?”

  The sound of the air-conditioning kicking on seemed unnaturally loud in the brief silence that followed. “Think you should come see for yourself.” Brody looked at me again. I went cold with fear.

  “Stay here.” Quiet and firm, this was directed at me. Nico should have known better.

  “No.”

  “Baby—”

  “No.”

  “Uh, Kat?” Brody chimed in. “I, uh, think that might be the best thing.”

  I glanced at him. “Well, then. Definitely no.”

  “What the fuck is up, Brody?” said Nico, bristling.

  Brody cleared his throat again. “Got a visitor.”

  For a moment there was no reaction. Then, as if he suddenly understood, Nico muttered, “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. He turned to me, his eyes dark. “Need you to stay here, baby.”

  “Nico—”

  “I’m askin’ you to stay here. Please. Go up to the bedroom and wait for me there.”

  We stared at each other. In his eyes I saw the conflict, the anger and frustration. I wondered if he could see the disappointment in my own. Without thinking, my hand lifted to the charm resting at the hollow of my throat. Nico’s eyes followed the motion, then flashed back up to mine.

  To trust, or not to trust? That was the question.

  Well, I’d come this far. If our relationship was the Titanic, I’d find out soon enough if we’d just hit the iceberg or were still sailing out on the open sea.

  “Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  I specifically didn’t say I’d be going to the bedroom.

  Without waiting for an answer, I brushed past him and left the room. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard two relieved exhalations as I went.

  Outside it was growing dark. The sun had dipped below the mountains, and the house was filled with shadows, stretching along the floors, crawling up the walls. I hurried up the grand staircase, hugging my arms around my body, desperate for answe
rs.

  I didn’t know if I could count on them from Nico. I’d have to get them on my own.

  Nico’s bedroom was on the back side of the house, overlooking the city and ocean beyond. Which meant that there was a room on the opposite side that overlooked the driveway and courtyard where we’d parked. That’s where I was headed.

  It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. My heart pounding, I crept into one of the many sterile, silent rooms on the second floor, drawn to the soaring windows. The long driveway came into view as I moved slowly forward through the room. I saw the large roundabout with the fountain at its center, Nico’s Escalade, and a trio of other expensive sports cars parked haphazardly around that I assumed belonged to the other members of the band.

  I crept closer. Was that shouting I heard?

  Trying to stay out of sight from anyone who might glance up from below, I moved even closer to the windows, drawn by what I now realized was, in fact, shouting. Furious shouting. A woman was screaming at the top of her lungs. I couldn’t make out her exact words, but every so often she said a word I recognized.

  Nico.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  I leaned in the final few inches and saw the tableau below. The six hoochie mamas who had arrived with the band were clustered together in a knot, all of them standing stock still. Brody, Chris, Ethan, and A.J. stood off to the right side of the driveway, surveying the scene with an air of solemn discomfort, but no great surprise.

  In the center of the driveway stood Nico. His back was to me, but I could tell just by his posture that he was once again thermonuclear with rage.

  A few feet opposite him, screaming like a banshee, stood Avery Kane.

  I gasped. My hand flew to cover my mouth.

  She was in rehab. She was supposed to be in rehab! Or . . . was that just a story that had been concocted for the press?

  Was that just a story Nico had concocted for the press? Or they had, together?

  My mind whirled furiously with speculation. I tried desperately to remember what I’d read about Avery checking in to rehab, or what Nico had told me about it, but couldn’t focus on anything because I was drowning in quicksand.

  Suddenly Avery threw herself at Nico, pounding his chest with her fists. He quickly subdued her, wrapping his arms around her to say something into her ear. She collapsed against him, sobbing. They stood there like that for a moment, Nico obviously trying to comfort her, before he led her over to his Escalade, put her inside, started the engine, and sped away, tires spitting gravel.

  Shaking, I stepped back from the windows into the deeper shadows of the room. I felt as if someone had just driven a stake through my heart.

  What the fuck? What am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait for him to come back . . . from where? Where is he going with her?

  “He doesn’t know you saw her,” I said aloud. My words echoed eerily in the stillness of the room.

  Nico had his back to the house. He couldn’t have seen me. I was pretty sure no one else had seen me either, given they were too preoccupied with the drama playing out in front of them. And there were no lights on in the room . . .

  So as far as Nico knew, I’d gone to his bedroom and didn’t know squat about what had just happened.

  I stood there in the gathering darkness for a few minutes, trying to calm myself. Then to the empty room I said softly, “Okay, Nico. I’m done playing. I call. Show me all your cards.”

  I turned and went to his bedroom, to wait.

  Night fell. Hours passed. He didn’t call. He didn’t return. I lay on my side on his bed, fully dressed, with my legs drawn up and a pillow under my head, watching the city lights shimmer far below, waiting.

  And waiting.

  And waiting.

  Never in my life had I passed a night so long. It felt eternal. I couldn’t sleep from all the buzzing in my head, all the clamor in my heart. Each minute that ticked by aged me incrementally, so that when the first, faint rays of dawn began to spread pink across the sky and I heard the front door open and close, I wasn’t sure my ancient head would have the strength to lift from the pillow.

  Footsteps on the stairs. My heart began a thundering gallop inside my chest. I closed my eyes, lay still, and let him come to me.

  He paused in the doorway to the bedroom. I felt him looking me over, felt the weight of his gaze, felt the air grow thick with tension. Still I refused to turn. He moved slowly toward me. The mattress dipped with his weight. I heard a deep, quiet sigh, then the sound of rustling fabric. I wasn’t sure if he was undressing, but I damn well was sure I wasn’t going to turn around and look.

  Then he was beside me, pressing the warm length of his body against mine.

  His knees drew up. A heavy arm settled across me and squeezed. I felt his nose in my hair, his lips brush the nape of my neck. When I realized he was spooning me after being out all night with her, I almost grabbed the clock off the nightstand and beat him to death with it.

  The fucking. Nerve.

  He whispered, “Talk to me, baby.”

  He smelled like cigarettes.

  “Those whores of yours threatened to gut me, but it looks like you’ve got them beat.”

  His voice dropped even lower. “Don’t say that. Please.”

  “Which part? About your whores?” I knew I was being a bitch. I also knew no woman in her right mind would blame me.

  A desperate edge came into his voice. “They’re not mine. They just hang out with the band sometimes. A.J. likes to keep them around, but they’re just . . . window dressing. They don’t mean anything.”

  Words. Semantics. The man was a grand master at saying pretty things in order to dodge all the ugly underneath. He hadn’t even bothered to address the important part of what I’d said to him.

  “Kat—”

  “Where did you go, Nico? Where have you been all night?”

  A beat of silence. C’mon, superstar, I thought bitterly. You’ve had plenty of time to concoct a really fantastic cover story. Let’s hear what you came up with.

  His quiet exhalation stirred the hair on my neck. “Avery was the situation that Brody was talkin’ about. She showed up here, high as shit, screamin’.”

  A shade of hostility faded from me. He was telling the truth, so far, at least.

  “Then what?”

  “Then I took her back to rehab.”

  That’s all he said. I started silently screaming. And? For the other ten hours? But I didn’t break. I just waited, breathing shallowly, rigid as a plank.

  He rose up on an elbow and looked down at me. I stared at the ceiling, refusing to get sucked into his penetrating gaze.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice, Kat.”

  “You’re giving me nothing to go on.”

  “Nothin’ except trust, you mean.”

  God, that made me furious, throwing that in my face. Had this whole insistence on having trust been a setup for situations just like this? So I was supposed to, what, feel bad for asking questions? For wanting to know what was going on?

  Screw that. Screw that to the one millionth power.

  “Let me ask you a question, Nico. I’d like to find out if you have a good answer for me, because I can’t figure it out. What’s the difference between trust . . . and blind, stupid faith?”

  It was a while before he answered. Finally, in a voice whiskey rough and breaking, he said, “Love.”

  I gasped. Tears pricked my eyes. “That is so unfair!”

  I made a move to leave, but Nico prevented that by rolling me flat on my back and straddling me. His big thighs pinned me to the bed. I’d been right in my earlier assumption; he’d removed his shirt, and his shoes, and was wearing only jeans.

  His naked chest mocked me. His golden skin mocked me. Every tattoo and rippling muscle and stupid chiseled feature mocked me, as did his hair, his eyes . . .

  Oh, fuc
k this. I hated him. That was it. I hated him, and I was done.

  “Get off me!” Shoving had exactly zero effect. Nico didn’t budge, but he did grasp my wrists and hold them against his stomach so I couldn’t scratch his eyes out, as was my plan.

  “Settle down!”

  “Or what, you’ll walk out for the entire night, give me no real explanations when you get back, and expect me to lap up all your bullshit like it’s goddamn gelato? Been there, done that, OVER IT!”

  His lips parted. Into his eyes came a look of fury so acute I quaked inside. There was a split second of stillness—rabbit, meet the wolf that’s going to snap your neck!—then Nico bent down and crushed his mouth against mine.

  His tongue was hot and invading, his hands around my wrists were hard. I jerked my head to the side to break the kiss, but Nico let go of my wrists and pinned my head in place with both big hands around my jaw. Pushing against his chest got me nowhere. Trying to shove him off got me nowhere. I was so frustrated I wanted to scream.

  But then his kiss began to take effect.

  Even through my anger and hurt, the taste of him, the sweetness of his mouth, thrilled me. Thrilled me and drugged my senses, making the world narrow to our lips and tongues and panting breaths, the unforgiving pressure of his hands against my head.

  My traitorous body arched into him, wanting more.

  He made a sound deep in his throat. Without breaking the kiss, he adjusted himself so he was lying flat on top of me. He was already hard; I felt it as soon as he pressed his pelvis against mine. One of his hands left my face to rove roughly over my body. He cupped my breast, pinched my nipple through the thin fabric of my T-shirt and bra, slid his hand down my thigh, and pulled my leg up to his waist. All the while his mouth was on mine, demanding, angry, and hot.

  I pulled my other leg up to his waist so he was settled between my thighs and wound my arms around his back.

  He finally broke the kiss to rear up. With one hard tug, he yanked my shirt off over my head. My bra followed, torn apart and tossed aside, then his mouth was on my breasts, greedily, brutally sucking.

  I moaned. This was wrong. He’d been out all night with another woman. I couldn’t let myself do this. He was using me, playing me, he didn’t respect me at all—