King of Sin: Las Vegas Syndicate Book One

by Michelle St. James

  Had Jason intended to confess his feelings for her all along? Is that why he’d drank too heavily? Or had it been a last-minute decision? Maybe something he would apologize for tomorrow? Something they would be able to laugh about?

  She didn’t believe it. Not when she put the key into her front door or ten minutes later when she washed her face and used eye drops to hide the fact that she’d been crying.

  She redid her makeup as quickly as she could and went into the bedroom, digging out the black lace bra and matching thong she’d bought earlier in the week. She’d told herself it wasn’t because of her date with Max, but deep down, she didn’t believe it.

  She slid the little black dress she’d chosen over her head and finished it with a pair of simple black heels. When she was dressed, she chose a thin gold chain with a tiny sapphire at it’s center, one of the first beautiful things she’d bought herself after graduating from State.

  She’d just finished twisting her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck when the doorbell rang.

  She smoothed the dress as she headed down the stairs and took a couple deep breaths, trying to cleanse her mind of everything that had happened an hour before.

  She’d been waiting for the date with Max all week. Had spent hours with his voice in her ear as she lay in bed or paced her living room, surprised by how easily they’d fallen into intimate conversation and how natural this new facet of their relationship felt.

  Now she couldn’t deny the butterflies in her stomach. Texting was one thing. Even talking on the phone was different from being together in person. Would it still work? Would it be awkward? Would he regret taking their relationship to a new level?

  Would she?

  She opened the door before she could change her mind.

  And then he was there, right in front of her, as beautiful as ever. He wore black trousers that left just enough room for her imagination to picture his muscular thighs. His dark blue button-down was buttoned almost to the neck, but the patch of skin visible at his throat was enough to imagine what it would feel like to press her body to his, to unbutton his shirt as she touched her lips to his skin.

  She forced herself to focus on his face, on the fact that he’d shaved, although she could already see the shadow at his jawline. She could picture it as it would look in the morning — not that she would still be with him in the morning — when it was darker, could almost feel the scratch of it on the inside of her thighs.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said.

  She blinked, almost surprised to find herself still standing on one side of the threshold while he remained on the other. She didn’t know know long she’d been staring, but his wicked grin made her think it was a tad too long.

  She smiled. “Hello.”

  He stepped toward her without waiting for her to open the door further and slid an arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was long and slow, his tongue igniting the embers that had been glowing at the center of her body all week.

  “Figured it was best to get that out of the way,” he said softly. “Now we can enjoy the rest of the night without wondering if it will be weird.”

  She laughed. “Good thinking.”

  She pulled him inside and led him into the living room. “Can I get you a drink before we leave?”

  “Sure,” he said as he made himself at home on the sofa.

  At the front door, Max’s beauty had left little room for anything else, allowing her to set aside her dismay over what happened with Jason. Now it came rushing back as she poured an inch of whiskey into two glasses. She felt Jason’s hand over hers, the alarm in her body — the one she’d relied on in those years when she hadn’t been able to rely on much else — telling her it wasn’t right. The feverish shine in his eyes, the hurt when she’d told him no.

  She carried the drinks to the sofa and handed one to Max. They clinked glasses and she sat next to him.

  “I want to tell you how beautiful you look,” he said, his expression serious as he looked into her eyes. “And I want to tell you how I’ve been counting the minutes until I could see you again. But first, I have to ask you what’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “I’m fine."

  He gave her a sad smile. “Abby.”

  She looked down at her drink. He’d been in her company during every iteration of her tragedy — the times she’d come to his house sobbing, the times she’d been filled with quiet resolve, the times when the only outward symptom of her distress was the way she used to pick at the skin around her nails.

  He knew her too well.

  He took her hand in his. “We have all the time in the world.”

  She looked up. “It’s about Jason.”

  She had to say that first, because Max didn’t like to talk about Jason. It had been an unspoken agreement that Abby had honored even when it put her in an uncomfortable position.

  But no position was as uncomfortable as the one she was in now.

  It would hurt Jason to know Max had been party to his humiliation. And even though this new thing between her and Max was unknown, she had a feeling it would only make the conditions worse between him and Jason.

  “Okay.” His voice betrayed no sign of the discomfort she knew had to be playing out inside him.

  “We had dinner tonight,” she said. “A business dinner to discuss the financial implications of some possible ventures.”

  “All right,” Max said.

  She drew in a breath. “He was… he was drunk. And then he walked me to the car and he… he…”

  “He what, Abby?”

  There was a warning in Max’s voice, but it was too late to stop now. He would never let it go.

  She looked at him. “He tried to kiss me and it was so… weird and uncomfortable, Max. If you could have seen him…”

  He’d gone still. “Did he force himself on you?”

  “No! Nothing like that, I swear. It was just… so sad. He was drunk, and I was worried about leaving him alone, but he wouldn’t let me stay and help. I’m just so upset and confused.”

  “Confused?”

  She looked into his eyes and saw the worry there, touched his face. “Not about you and me! Nothing like that. I just… I didn’t see this coming, and I keep replaying conversations we’ve had over the years, looking for any hint that this was how he felt, looking for anything I might have done to encourage him.”

  “Hey, hey…” He pulled her toward him and leaned back on the couch. She tucked her head against his shoulder. “Stop that. This isn’t abut you. You didn’t do anything to encourage him. You’ve been his friend, his employee. If he read into that, it’s on him. You aren’t responsible for his interpretations or his feelings.”

  She breathed in the scent of him, letting it calm her as he stroked her hair.

  “I know you’re right.” Intellectually, she did. Years of therapy had taught her these things. Had taught her that what her father had done to her wasn’t her fault. That she wasn’t bad or dirty or a slut or a horrible person who deserved to be abused. “I’m just sorry it happened.”

  “I'm sorry, too.” His laugh was brittle. “I won’t deny wanting to kill the bastard for touching you though.”

  She looked up and met his eyes. “Don’t.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “but only because he didn’t hurt you or scare you.”

  “Nothing like that,” she said.

  “Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “Because if anyone ever hurt or scared you, I’d have to tear them limb from limb.”

  She smiled into his shirt. “You might have an overload of testosterone there, Mr. Cartwright.”

  He tipped her face up and looked into her eyes. “Damn right.”

  Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue tenderly exploring her mouth, his movements languid and sensual.

  She let her body sink into his, molded herself to his side. There was nothing but his mouth, warm an
d soft, his arms solid around her, the knowledge that the only thing separating skin from skin was a few scraps of fabric.

  He was the one to pull away, his eyes a shade darker than usual as he looked down at her. “We need to go before I lose sight of my gentlemanly intentions.”

  She smiled. “And what would those be?”

  “Dinner,” he said, standing and pulling her to her feet. “Conversation. Me gazing adoringly at you until you get sick of it."

  “I’ll never get sick of it,” she said. “Besides, maybe I want you to lose sight of your gentlemanly intentions.”

  He slapped her lightly on the ass. “The night is young, beautiful.”

  The look in his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation through her body as they headed for the door.

  Twelve

  Max was still trying to tamp down his anger as he navigated the car around the city. He had no right to be angry — he’d made a move on Abby himself less than a week before — but the realization did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his veins.

  Jason had touched Abby. Had tried to kiss her.

  Did Jason know about the burgeoning relationship between them? Or was the timing sheer coincidence? And what would happen now that she’d rejected him? Would Abby keep her job? Would it become more dangerous for her now that the veil of friendship had been lowered by Jason? Would he try again?

  “I thought we were going to dinner,” Abby said.

  Jason looked over at her as they passed the exit for the Strip. “We are.”

  “Where are we going?” Abby asked.

  “My place,” he said. “I promised you dinner, and I’m going to personally deliver on that promise.”

  “You’re cooking for me?” she asked.

  “I can cook,” he protested.

  She laughed. “I know! I’m just surprised you want to.”

  He reached for her hand, tried and failed not to be affected by the spark that ignited between their palms. “I want to do everything for you.”

  He’d brought a lot of women home in the years since he’d gotten out of the Army. Hell, Abby had been to the house more than once.

  But this time, opening the door felt important. He realized he was actually nervous, wondering what she thought of the house, if she thought it was too ostentatious in spite of his attempts to make it warm, if his money was a deterrent to her feelings for him.

  Then he shut the door and Abby continued into the living room like she had so many times before, kicking off her heels near the sofa and hitting the switch for the lights.

  The room was instantly illuminated and Max made his way to the switch, covered her hand with his, and lowered the dimmer to make the lights softer.

  “Oh, no.” She chuckled softly. “I’m in the lion’s den now, aren’t I?”

  He bent to give her a quick kiss and had to resist the urge to linger over her lips. “No, I am.”

  He knew it was true as he started the music and headed into the kitchen. He might be practiced in the art of seduction, but he was infinitely less so in the art of love.

  And he already knew that what was between him and Abby fell into the latter category.

  “So what’s for dinner?” Abby asked, following him into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving.”

  She grinned. “True.”

  “I made sushi,” he said, pulling the tray from the commercial refrigerator.

  “Wait… did you just say you made sushi?” she asked. “As in, you didn’t order it?”

  He pulled a bottle of saki from the cupboard. “I’m starting to think I’ve under-represented my talents,” he said.

  “You definitely have,” she said. “Although I haven’t tasted it yet.”

  He grabbed his chest and stumbled backwards in pretend pain. “Ouch.”

  She laughed and reached out to run a hand through his hair as he set two tiny saki glasses on the counter. The gesture took him by surprise. It was so personal, so full of tenderness.

  “I’m just teasing,” she said. “I always knew you were multitalented, but this whole romance thing would be weird if I didn’t still give you grief now and then.”

  He smiled as he poured, then handed her a glass and raised his own. “Abby Sterling, I hereby encourage you to give me all the shit you want. It will probably be good for me.”

  She touched her glass to his. “Amen to that.”

  They emptied their saki glasses and Max poured them another round before carrying the giant tray of sushi into the living room. He set it on the coffee table, pulled some of the cushions and pillows off the couch, and put them on the floor.

  “This looks amazing,” Abby said, as she settled onto the cushions. “I should have started dating you years ago.”

  The comment gave him an irrational rush of pleasure. He covered it up by pointing a chopstick at her. “That would have been impossible.”

  “Impossible?” She picked up a piece of spicy tuna and set it down, then hovered over the platter before loading her plate with some of everything. “Why?”

  “I would have had to work myself in between Hot Rod Ron and Ample Arthur,” he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

  She sputtered and covered her mouth with her hand while she finished chewing. “That would have been easier than working myself in between Mistys number one and two, and Chastitys numbers one through four.”

  “For your information,” he said primly, “there was no Chastity — it was Destiny, and they were all lovely and studious young women.”

  It felt good to laugh with her. Like he didn’t have to pretend his life had been anything other than what it was. Like she really saw him and wanted to be here anyway.

  They spent the meal talking about their childhood, reminiscing about the good times for a change, giving a wide berth to memories involving Jason, her father, the melancholy that had permeated her life in the years before she moved out to be on her own. There were weeks she could recall with perfect clarity where he only remembered fragments. He didn’t know if it was because his psyche had been fucked by his time in Afghanistan or something else, but it felt like rediscovering the best parts of his past.

  They demolished the sushi and carried the empty platter and their glasses into the kitchen. He rinsed everything off and put away the tamari and saki. When he turned around, Abby was sitting on the counter, her bare legs swinging.

  He wanted to freeze the moment. Wanted to freeze the image of her looking at him in his kitchen.

  Looking like home.

  Because that’s what she was, what she’d always been.

  Home.

  He walked slowly toward her and stood between her thighs, running his hands up her bare calves. Her skin was like silk, the smoothness of it sending a pulse of insistent desire through his body.

  He was immediately hard, and he let his hands travel over her knees, over the dress still covering most of her thighs. The feel of her flesh in his hands made him want to deep dive into her, pull up her dress and rip off her panties, plunge into her then and there.

  But that wouldn’t do. They’d waited too long.

  He ran his hand over the swell of her hips, marveled at the indent of her waist, the swell of her breasts as he slid his hand to the back of her neck.

  He swept her face with his knuckles, drank in the eyes that looked more green than usual, the high planes of her cheekbones, the lips slightly parted and waiting for his kiss.

  “You’ve always been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Abby, but never more so than now.”

  She flattened her hands against his chest and slid them up to his shoulders, scooted to the end of the counter until he could feel the heat of her center against his cock. When she spoke, it was more than a little breathless.

  “Shut up and kiss me, Max.”

  He closed his mouth over hers, and this time there was no gentle exploration, no tenderness. It was all need and want and urgency, her arms travelin
g the length of his back as she met every thrust of his tongue with one of her own.

  He couldn’t get close enough to her. Wanted to meld his body to hers. To prove that she was really in his arms. That she was really his.

  And she was his. She’d always been his, just like he’d always belonged to her.

  He stroked her neck with his thumb as he kissed his way to the corners of her mouth, tracing his way over her cheeks, her forehead. Her lashes fluttered as he touched his lips to her closed eyelids, the gentle exhale of her breath soft against his jaw as she sighed.

  She unfastened the top button of his shirt and pressed her mouth to the base of his throat. His cock jumped in his trousers, straining against the fabric, demanding to be released.

  He groaned, kissing the top of her head as she made her way to the next button, her lips following in the wake of her fingers, branding him as she kissed her way down.

  When she reached the last button, she spread open the shirt and wrapped her arms around his back, lay her cheek against the bare skin of his torso.

  He smoothed her hair, trying to ignore the proximity of her mouth to his throbbing shaft, separated by only a few inches and the wool of his pants.

  He growled when she turned her head to kiss his stomach, the heat of her lips sending an unbearable lick of fire to his painfully engorged cock.

  He grabbed the cheeks of her ass and pulled her off the counter, returning to her lips as he carried her across the kitchen. He was only vaguely aware of crossing the living room, navigating around the furniture toward the stairs.

  Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, the warmth of her pussy like a match to the tinder of his body. They were almost to the stairs when she broke their kiss.

  “Max… I don’t want… Let’s not go upstairs.”

  He stopped moving, one foot on the first tread of the staircase as he tried to reconcile what she was saying with the sensation running through his body.

  Had he misunderstood? Maybe she wasn’t ready to sleep with him yet.