Tame

by Colet Abedi

  And now—

  This.

  Michael Sinclair here. Right now. To torture me more.

  It was unfair for him to have so much raw sex appeal.

  He oozed it.

  I was hit with a surge of pure, white-hot lust. God, I imagined he’d be great in bed. The beautiful way he moved, like some exotic cat, the strength I could see in his hands and body. I didn’t need to be a Nobel Prize winner to come to that conclusion.

  “I just needed a moment,” I told him as I pushed the forbidden thoughts out of my mind and tried to tuck my very naked legs underneath my minidress, which was virtually impossible. I was exposed in every way.

  “It’s a party for your upcoming wedding,” he pointed out the obvious.

  “Thank you for the clarification,” I replied, annoyed that he had to be here right now when so many conflicting emotions were racing through my head.

  Michael’s inscrutable gaze studied me.

  “Dimitri seems…” He waited a moment like he was searching for the right word. “Pleasant.”

  I could hear his disapproval, and it infuriated me. This was not something I wanted to deal with at the moment.

  But still, I found the need to defend my fiancé.

  “He’s wonderful,” I told him.

  “Of course,” Michael replied politely. “And you love him.”

  Love him?

  That was rich. I wished I did. I knew I should have agreed with Michael. It was the proper thing to do. But I couldn’t utter the lie. For some reason saying the words, yes, I love Dimitri, made me feel like the sky would open above my head, and I’d be struck by lightning.

  Especially professing the lie to him.

  So instead, there was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Don’t you?” Michael pushed as his keen gaze searched for the truth.

  “What’s it to you?” I asked flippantly.

  He watched me like a hawk.

  “I’m curious.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” I responded. “I’m marrying him, aren’t I?”

  Michael stepped forward and his lips curled in disdain.

  “I never took you for a woman who would marry for money.”

  “I’m not,” I said angrily, genuinely hurt by his accusation. Even though I had basically just insinuated I didn’t love Dimitri, I was horrified that he actually thought I’d marry him, or any man for that matter, only for money. Yes, Dimitri was wealthy, but if he weren’t nice, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. It was a flimsy defense, I knew, but in that moment I didn’t have the time or the inclination to analyze it further.

  “Then what is it?” Michael replied, his eyes watching me.

  My mind raced as I tried to remember all of Dimitri’s pleasant attributes.

  Candy Crush.

  What?

  What was that? Why did that come to mind?

  Well, he is extraordinarily good at it, Abigail.

  “Is it the sex?”

  I was shocked into silence.

  “Is that it, Abby?” Michael went on, his voice low and almost husky. “Does he know how to fuck you?”

  My body pulsed in excitement as he robbed me of the ability to breathe.

  Did he really just say those words to me?

  “I’m not discussing my intimate relationship with my fiancé with you,” I finally said. “And I’m appalled you’d even ask.”

  “Appalled?” Michael said with amusement. His lips curled into a smile as he studied my face.

  “I’d venture to guess he can’t even make you come,” Michael went on to my mortification. “You don’t have the look of a woman who’s satisfied in bed.”

  Holy shit.

  He guessed right.

  But I’d never admit it.

  “Are you finished?” I asked coolly, trying to downplay the conversation and what he was making me feel.

  Michael continued to stare me down in that toe-curling way of his, unnerving every inch of me—inside and out. He was too confident and cocksure.

  And he had every right to be.

  “Why are you hiding up here?” Michael ignored my question and asked another of his own.

  “Hiding?” My eyes rounded. “I’m just taking a break from the party.”

  “You should be basking in love, glued to his side,” he told me as he took a step toward the bed. “Nothing is adding up here, Abby, and I’m trying my best to figure it out.”

  The room suddenly felt so small. His presence seemed to take up every inch. And his words. The insinuations. The truth in them was something I couldn’t deny.

  “There is nothing to figure out,” I finally said. “I am basking.”

  In what feels like acute misery.

  He raised a brow. I knew he didn’t believe me.

  And then Michael’s gaze moved from my face to my naked legs and my practically exposed chest. I could feel the heat burn my skin and I was shamefully turned on beyond belief. The fire in his eyes nearly took my breath away.

  “Neither the dress nor makeup suit you,” he finally said.

  I felt the air leave my lungs as I insecurely brushed back my hair. Why was he doing this to me? Turning me into a hot mess at my own engagement party?

  Goddamn him and his sinful good looks.

  I decided I hated him at that moment.

  “It seems your travels around the world have caused a memory lapse in proper manners,” I said coldly. “You’ve forgotten how to speak to a lady, Michael.”

  “You don’t look like a lady.”

  I sputtered in outrage.

  He took another step closer to the bed, holding my gaze as his eyes glimmered with something I couldn’t decipher.

  “I thought you might want to know.”

  “A real gentleman—” I began in a huff.

  “Whatever gave you the impression I was a real gentleman?” Michael asked quietly, interrupting me.

  Right.

  He wasn’t.

  In so many ways he was the furthest thing from the word.

  He was the enigma of the Sinclair family. The one who threw out women the way one would do to trash. The one who reveled in a good pub brawl. The one who flew around the world, chasing humanitarian causes. The one who everyone in our social circle said could never ever be tamed.

  A man I so desperately desired.

  Even now.

  I had to get away from him.

  Michael Sinclair was my weakness. An addiction I had never been able to shed since I was a child. I could resist chocolate, but I could not resist this man. I scooted off the bed as elegantly as possible, trying my best to keep my short dress in place and not give him even more of a view than necessary.

  “I guess I was mistaken,” I told him as I reached for my stilettos.

  “You were,” was his taut reply.

  I could feel his hot eyes on my body.

  I wondered if he was judging me. Like I was some foolish child incapable of making a decision on her own. I couldn’t stand it.

  “Is there a reason you came in here? Did you intentionally seek me out to insult me?” I let him hear how annoyed I was. “Or let me guess, you’re meeting a lover for a quick shag? If that’s the case, there are plenty of other rooms that are empty.”

  “I’m not meeting a lover,” Michael replied quickly.

  The relief I felt from his words was staggering.

  And not the type of reaction a woman who was about to get married should have for a man other than her fiancé.

  “Not yet, at least,” he went on.

  Right.

  I fought the urge to throw my high heel at his handsome face.

  “Well then,” I said with false bravado. “I’ll leave you to it. The night is still young, and I know there are plenty of women out there who are just dying to become another notch on your belt.”

  “Know of anyone I should look out for?” Michael asked with a raised brow, the look on his face sinful.

  Bastard.

>   I ignored his question, standing up and wishing more than anything my feet weren’t hurting so badly so I could walk out of the room without looking as if I was in acute pain.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said as I tried to make my way past him.

  He grabbed hold of my arm and the surge of desire I felt from that single touch was astounding. My entire body was burning with longing.

  Why, God?

  Why did he have to make me feel this way?

  “I haven’t said you could leave,” he growled.

  A shiver of nervous energy shot down my spine. I looked up and met his stormy gaze and wondered why he seemed so angry.

  “I don’t recall needing your permission,” I replied.

  His blue eyes narrowed.

  “You don’t need a husband, Abby. You need a keeper.”

  “A keeper? How medieval of you. But thank you, I’ll be sure to take your opinion into consideration.” I rolled my eyes, smirking. “Now please let go of me.”

  I felt his hand loosen its grip as his finger lightly brushed my arm. My entire body was on hyper alert. I couldn’t think properly, let alone make my legs move. My breath was frozen. My insides were highly aware of the sexy man standing so painfully close. I could feel the goose bumps appear on my skin and I hated myself for reacting.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Michael’s voice was rough, hypnotic, as his cerulean eyes met my gaze.

  I tried to look away. But I felt trapped. Was that desire I saw? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?

  “Completely.” My voice was breathless. I couldn’t help it. I was turned on. Like want-to-rip-off-his-clothes-and-jump-into-bed-with-him-turned on.

  Michael broke my gaze for a brief second before hitting me head-on with his intensity.

  “I think I read somewhere that it’s custom for the bride to receive a kiss from someone other than her fiancé before she’s sent off for marriage.” Michael’s gaze flicked to my lips then back to my eyes.

  My heart leaped out of my chest.

  “Whose custom would that be?” I asked shakily.

  Michael shrugged.

  “Must be someone’s.”

  I tried to laugh it off, but when I saw the look on his face, my eyes widened in fear. If he kissed me, I was done.

  “Michael—”

  “Abigail—”

  I didn’t stand a chance.

  In a second, he looped his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him as his lips began to descend upon mine.

  “What are you doing?” I put up a half-hearted fight. The kiss was exactly what I wanted.

  “Something I’ll probably regret,” he said enigmatically. “But then, I think I’ll regret it more if I don’t do it.”

  I wasn’t given a chance to argue. Or to push him away. His lips were on mine before I could even think of a proper reply.

  And at the second of impact, I knew I wouldn’t have stopped his onslaught if I could.

  Michael Sinclair didn’t just kiss.

  He devoured.

  He consumed.

  He owned my soul with a single brush of his sensuous lips. He showed me just how good it would be if I were lucky enough to fall into bed with him. He knew what he was doing. What he made me feel. He was a master at seduction, and I was so willing to be schooled by him. His strong hand pulled me up against his taut body as his lips slammed into mine and took every inch of my soul.

  It wasn’t just a kiss.

  It was mouth-fucking at its best.

  His lips coaxed mine as his other hand wrapped itself in my hair, pulling me toward him so that he could have deeper access and control. I was unable to stop myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him in. This was the man I dreamed of my whole life. And he was giving me exactly what I continually fantasized about.

  His tongue swept into my mouth as he deepened the kiss. His fingers moved from waist to my ass, cupping it, as he pulled me against his hard cock. I was soaking wet within seconds. If possible, he deepened the kiss, ravaging my mouth, claiming me, owning me in the way no other man had in my entire life. He was all that I wanted.

  Needed.

  My knight in shining armor come to life.

  It was so wrong.

  I was about to be married.

  I was supposed to be the happy bride-to-be. But this kiss, this man, proved me wrong in more ways than I ever knew. He pulled his lips from mine as he grazed my neck with his teeth, marking me first, then placing soft kisses on my skin. I grabbed hold of his head, ran my hands through his thick hair and pulled his mouth back to mine, as I sucked on his tongue, melded my lips to his and unleashed all the passion I had for him.

  Within seconds he ripped himself away from me and stared down at my flushed face. I was panting with need. Longing. I would sleep with him right then and there—propriety, the fact that I was supposed to be getting married next week—all of it be damned. All he had to do was ask. Make one move, even.

  But he didn’t.

  His eyes were dark and wild as he pulled away from me, creating distance between us.

  “Jesus,” he panted. “Who the hell are you?”

  It was a fight or flight moment.

  I chose to fly.

  Because at that moment, I had no idea who I was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “The bagel, Abby!” Ronald hisses as he pulls the blackened bread from the toaster.

  Crap. I burnt it.

  “You’ve got to pay attention! I saw you staring off into space again.”

  “I know,” I admit guiltily. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ronald must be tired of hearing me say the words.

  “You keep saying the words but your actions…” He lets out an exasperated sigh.

  “Maybe this isn’t for you.”

  “It is!” I rush out in fear of getting fired. “I’ll stay late to learn how to work the machines and I’ll figure things out. I’ll do whatever it takes. I need this job. Please. I promise I won’t mess up again.”

  Ronald doesn’t look like he believes me.

  “Swear,” I nod earnestly. “I won’t let you down again.”

  “Just work the cash register,” he mumbles. “You can handle that without too many missteps.”

  I choose not to answer and turn to stand in front of the register as someone comes up to place an order.

  I plaster the fake smile on my face before I look up.

  “Good morning,” I say. “What can I get you?”

  It is unfortunate Ronald didn’t let me continue burning bagels.

  Fuck.

  Me.

  It’s Michael bloody Sinclair.

  Standing right in front of me in all of his magnificent glory. Unexpected desire shoots through my body as I smile awkwardly and try to straighten out the green apron I’m wearing. I’m immensely grateful I’m wearing the company hat today. I’m hoping it covers up my flushed cheeks.

  If he’s surprised to see me working as a barista at the popular coffee shop it doesn’t show. I realize the last time I came this close to him was months ago at his younger brother William’s funeral when he was overcome with grief. We had barely exchanged three words.

  Now, this.

  Not exactly how I hoped I’d look or what I’d be wearing when I saw him again.

  Mortifying!

  “Abigail.” His voice is like velvet.

  Rich. Delectable.

  Heavenly.

  Fuckable.

  I look up at his ruggedly handsome face and suck in my breath. Good Lord, he is perfect.

  He has a bit of stubble, and his blue eyes practically beam out of his face as he stares at me with the Sinclair intensity. He’s dressed casually in a thermal black shirt that stretches out over his broad chest, a puffer vest, and blue jeans. His black hair is longer than usual and held back with a hair band.

  He looks delicious and dangerously appealing. Like one of those high-calorie, mouth-watering Frappucinos I’m forced
to make every day and use all my willpower not to consume.

  “Michael,” I give him a big smile, pretending like working at a coffee shop is the most normal thing in the world for me. “Nice to see you.”

  “You too.”

  “So what can I get you?” I know my voice sounds awkward. I really wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

  “Just this,” he says as he hands me a bottle of water.

  “It’s on me,” I tell him with a fake smile.

  He hands me a hundred pound note.

  “Take it,” he says.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I insist. We’re family, after all.”

  I know my face must be the color of a tomato with how embarrassed I feel. As if my life can’t get any more depressing.

  Michael’s keen gaze meets mine for a long moment.

  “Thank you,” he says then proceeds to drop the hundred pound note in the tip jar.

  I see the gesture for what it’s meant to be.

  Charity.

  Michael feels sorry for me and this is his way to give back to someone in need. Exactly the way he does with his company—The Michael Sinclair Foundation. He runs one of the world’s largest charitable foundations—doing everything from helping children around the world have clean water, saving endangered animals, wildlife and marine conservation, researching climate change and fighting for Indigenous rights. Did he just add me to his list of those he needs to help?

  To say I’m mortified is the understatement of the century.

  But more than that, I’m angry.

  Furious, actually.

  I keep my smile plastered on my face, reaching into the tip jar to pull out the note to hand it right back to him.

  “I think you made a mistake,” I tell him.

  “I didn’t,” he tells me, raising an eyebrow like he’s chastising me. “It’s yours… cousin.”

  Now I know my face has really changed color. I can hear the innuendo in the word. Like he knows it makes me uncomfortable as hell. I see the way his eyes flicker to my lips. Teasing me. Turning me on.

  The image of his mouth on mine comes to mind.

  Kissing cousins.

  That’s what we are.

  It’s not like we’re blood-related.

  I’ll have to talk myself off a ledge in no time thanks to this man.

  “It’s actually ours,” Ronald says in excitement as he comes up to stand next to me. He’s obviously been listening in on our conversation. “We split tips. Wait. You guys are cousins?”