For the Love of Sin

by Leanne Banks

  He remembered how soft her cheek had felt in his palm, and the appealing mix of fire and vulnerability in her eyes. For a minute there, she’d looked as if she wanted to trust him, as if she would share her secrets with him.

  He swore, kicking off the sheet. This was going to take patience, and he’d never been patient. He deliberately closed his eyes, and the image of her stole past the barrier in his mind.

  Her mouth was red and taunting, her eyes dark and sensual. His body heated. He swore again. His dear beloved brothers had sent him straight to hell.

  Over the following nights, Senada tried to ignore Troy. It should have been easy. Most of her customers were male. Many watched her, but none with Troy’s unwavering intensity. He wasn’t the least bit sly about it, just propped himself on a stool at the bar, nodded his head in greeting, and watched.

  She really didn’t need this, she thought, five days after he arrived. She’d fled to San Pedro with the intention of going to her father, but once she’d arrived, she chickened out.

  If her father had been unable to handle her mother’s illness thirteen years earlier, how could he deal with Senada’s current crisis?

  So, here she was, still shocked and afraid, and trying to adjust to a new and totally necessary lifestyle. She shook her head and checked the time. These days she was more conscious of the clock.

  Juan sidled up to her. “This man from Tennessee. Troy. He comes every night. Is he bothering you?”

  She flicked a glance at Troy and saw that he must have overheard. “Bothering me?” she repeated. Yes.

  Another regular customer came up behind Juan. “Yeah, like stalking.”

  Senada wrinkled her eyebrows. “I don’t know if I’d really call it stalking. It’s more—”

  Juan waved his friend up to the bar. “If he’s bothering you, you should let us know and we’ll take care of him.”

  Senada rolled her eyes. She could practically smell the machismo. “He’s not doing—”

  “We can make him go away.”

  She felt a stab of alarm. If this got out of hand, it could get messy, and Senada didn’t consider breaking up fights one of the perks of her new job. “You don’t need to do anything. He’ll be going away very soon,” she said, throwing a meaningful glance in Troy’s direction.

  Troy shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

  Juan stiffened and pointed his finger at Troy. “What makes you think you have rights over Senada?”

  Pausing, Troy gave a warning glance at Juan’s accusing finger. He took an unrushed swallow of beer and leaned back in his seat, clearly sure of his power. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve got rights with Senada.”

  Then he looked at Senada, and she felt the impact of his take-no-prisoners gaze to her toes. “She left me at the altar.”

  Chapter Two

  After being ignored for days, Troy felt a measure of satisfaction at seeing Senada stare at him in shock. “I may not be the only one she’s left at the altar,” he continued, elaborating on his fabrication, “but I think I deserve some answers. Wouldn’t you?” He shot Juan a challenging glance. “She told me that all those stories about her ex-husband having to be—”

  “Ex-husband!” Senada repeated, apparently finding her voice.

  “—rushed to the hospital on their wedding night were just rumors.”

  “The hospital,” she sputtered. “You’re lying.” She looked at Troy as if he’d lost his mind.

  “You’re crazy. You’re—”

  Troy nodded. “That’s right. Crazy for you. You stood with me at the altar, then left me. I deserve a chance to win her back.” He nodded at the men. “Agreed?”

  Juan looked uncertainly from Senada to Troy.

  A waitress gave Senada a searching glance. “Why’d you dump him?”

  “I didn’t! He’s lying. I never promised him anything. He’s crazy. He just wants…” She took a breath, running out of words.

  “He just wants what, señorita? Or is it, señora?” Juan added meaningfully.

  “Can you honestly say you didn’t stand beside me at the altar?” Troy demanded, recalling Lisa and Brick’s wedding, where Senada had been a bridesmaid.

  She paused, her eyes narrowing. “No, but that wasn’t our—”

  “There you have it, boys. From her very own mouth.”

  Juan motioned his friends backward. “A man deserves to claim his woman.”

  Senada slammed the pitcher of beer down on the counter. “His woman, my fanny.”

  “Appreciate your understanding,” Troy interjected with a nod.

  She glared at him with enough heat to melt iron, then seared him with a rush of Spanish words for which he could only guess the meaning.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You know, up until this moment, you just annoyed me,” she told him as she rounded the counter. “I had decided you were pushy because you were misguided. And if you were a little thick upstairs, it was probably just genetic, since the rest of your brothers seemed to be the same way. When people annoy me, I ignore them.”

  She leaned closer to him, and Troy was amazed at the quick leap of response in his body. “Now, I really don’t like you,” she whispered in a voice that shouldn’t have been but was outrageously seductive. Her eyes were nearly black with emotion, and Troy felt himself sinking.

  He closed his own eyes, blinking at the odd sensations inside him. Before he knew it, cold beer gushed down his head. Senada put the empty pitcher on the counter. He swore. His hair was drenched, his shirt wet. “What in hell—” He swore again, jerking away and shaking his head.

  Senada smiled. “That’s what I do to people I don’t like. Don’t mess with me, Pendleton. You are out of your league.”

  After his shower, Troy received a call from his brother Brick. “Nothing yet,” he said, toweling dry his hair. “I knew she was moody, but you could have warned me about her temper.”

  “Lisa says she doesn’t like being told what to do. And she gets really upset if she thinks someone is trying to put one over on her,” Brick said.

  Troy glanced at his beer-drenched shirt wadded up in the corner of his room and nodded.

  “Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “Well, if you screwed up, Lisa says Senada loves chocolate.” Brick lowered his voice.

  “Personally, I’d recommend ducking. What do you think is wrong with her, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Even if it kills me,” he muttered, then asked about the farm. After a couple of minutes, he finished his conversation and gazed around his new living quarters. A vast improvement over the hotel, the two-room garage apartment was still too small and hot, but it was clean. After sizing Troy up, his elderly landlord had given him a list of rules a mile long and required two months’ rent in advance. But as they say in real estate, location is everything. His present location was perfect for his purpose.

  Before, his determination to solve the mystery of Sin had been a matter of his promise to his brother and sister-in-law. Now, male pride and a near self-destructive determination drove him. He pushed the curtains aside and looked out his window. Two doors down and across the street stood Senada’s house. He could just imagine her delight when she learned who her new neighbor was.

  The finger prick still hurt, Senada thought as she tested her blood. She just wasn’t very good at sticking herself. She jotted down the date, time and results in the little notebook, then eyed the syringe warily.

  “The needle is my friend,” she told herself.

  “Liar,” she whispered back, and started to perspire. Her anxiety was strictly related to that damn needle, not her lack of insulin. She took a breath and grabbed a premoistened alcohol pad.

  “Right thigh, today,” she said, wishing her voice had a more soothing effect on her nerves. She brushed the pad over her thigh, then poised the syringe over the same area.

  “The needle is my friend.” Her overriding instinct was to close her
eyes, but she’d learned it hurt worse when she missed her targeted area. “This is not my leg.” Denial worked for the millisecond she needed, and Senada plunged the syringe into her thigh.

  She swore at the sharp sting. “That was most definitely my leg.” Her hands trembling, she tossed the used syringe away and stood. It should be easier now, she thought, glancing at her watch. But it wasn’t. She kept waiting for the day when she didn’t mind living by the clock, making sure she ate every four hours, testing her blood and giving her own injections of insulin. But Senada had always lived by her own clock and her own rules, so she was furious that her body had betrayed her.

  There should be a rule somewhere that people who were afraid of needles didn’t develop insulin-dependent diabetes. There should be another rule that chocoholics didn’t develop diabetes. There should be, but there wasn’t.

  As much as she would like to ignore the intrusion of her recent diagnosis, Senada couldn’t. She knew her mother had died of complications from diabetes. Either from ignorance or neglect, her mother hadn’t been conscientious about her health. Senada had inherited her mother’s height, her expressive brown eyes and thick, black hair. Unfortunately, she’d also inherited the diabetes.

  The doctors assured her, however, that she could live a long, healthy life if she took care of herself. She’d been careless about that area in the past. Her idea of taking care of herself had been luxuriating in a bubble bath and sleeping until noon on her day off every now and then.

  A healthy diet was a necessity now. A regular schedule was a given. She stretched her shoulders against the sudden sensation of being tied down. The needles and the lack of chocolate were tough to endure, but the most difficult for her so far was the loss of freedom.

  She sighed and made a face at the mirror. After extensive negotiations with her dietician, they had found a way for her to have a chocolate dessert once a week. And tonight was the night for her devil’s food cupcake filled with chocolate cream.

  Senada brushed her hair from her face and smiled wryly. Meat, vegetables and a small portion of grains first, but then the cupcake. “Better than sex,” she murmured in sweet anticipation.

  Forty-five minutes later, she’d lit a candle, put soft music on to play in the background and had eaten her vegetables. She removed her empty plate from the table.

  The moment had arrived. Her heart beat faster. Her mouth began to water. Taking a deep breath, she stripped off the cellophane wrapper. It had been over a month.

  The doorbell rang.

  Senada sighed, giving a backward glance toward the door. She contemplated quickly biting the top off of the cupcake, but was determined not to rush this rare, small pleasure. She left the table and pulled open the door to Troy Pendleton.

  She tried to close it, but his big foot prevented her.

  “C’mon, Sin, give me a break. I’m here to apologize.”

  That gave her pause.

  “Sort of,” he added.

  She gave the door another push.

  “I brought chocolates.”

  She opened the door and stared. “Chocolates?”

  He gave a slow grin as if he’d just shot two through a basketball hoop. It was a grin designed to get past a woman’s defenses. Other women, she thought, would find that grin appealing. “You mentioned an apology?” she prompted, noting the box of candy.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” He looked past her.

  No. “I’m a little busy right now. I—” She broke off when she spotted her neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, running toward them at a breakneck pace. Senada had met a few of her neighbors, but Mrs. Rodriguez had been the most welcoming. The effusive, nurturing woman had even brought her homemade bread.

  “My husband! My husband! He is dead!” Then she tore into a flurry of Spanish.

  Senada shared a look of alarm with Troy, and all three rushed to the Rodriguez’s house. At first glance, Mr. Rodriguez did look dead, sitting limply in his chair with his head propped back and his mouth open. But Troy quickly determined the man was breathing. In the back of her mind, she noticed and appreciated Troy’s quick, calm manner. While Senada comforted her neighbor and called for an ambulance, Troy located a bottle behind the chair.

  Apparently, the man had mixed alcohol with his medication. He would need medical attention but would be okay. By the time the ambulance arrived, Mr. Rodriguez was awake but groggy. Senada and Troy left while Mrs. Rodriguez read her husband the riot act in Spanish.

  “I appreciate your help,” she told him as he followed her inside her house. Her antipathy toward Troy had faded. How could she hate him when he’d allowed Mrs. Rodriguez to blubber all over him?

  “For a minute there, I didn’t know who was going to need medical treatment more, Mrs. Rodriguez or her husband.”

  Senada grinned. “She’s very emotional.” She glanced at the table. The candle was gutted and the music had stopped. The lone cupcake, however, remained.

  She shook her head. “Well, this has been an exciting evening.”

  Troy nodded. “Yeah, I’m starvin’.” He picked up her cupcake. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Senada watched in horror as he took a bite. “Wait!”

  He paused, glancing at her, then the cupcake. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “A little stale, but nothing’s wrong with it.”

  Senada bit back a whimper. She’d only bought one cupcake because she couldn’t stand the temptation of having several around the house.

  Troy swallowed another bite. “I apologize about the conversation with Juan, but I had to get him off my back.” He didn’t like explaining himself but had concluded it was necessary if he didn’t want any more beer dumped on his head. “And this way, I figured I could get him to leave you alone too. Sort of kill two birds with one stone.” He took another bite and polished off the cupcake.

  He glanced at Senada. She was wearing a strange expression. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she was going to cry. “Something wrong?”

  She stared at the empty paper cupcake liner.

  “Sin?”

  Her gaze met his. “I want my cupcake back.”

  Troy blinked. “Your cupcake?”

  She nodded. “I want it back. I’ve waited over four weeks to eat that cupcake, and I want it back.”

  “Four weeks,” he echoed. “It wasn’t that stale.”

  “I want my cupcake.”

  Troy shot her a wary glance. The woman was loony. She must be on some strange kind of diet that was affecting her brain, he thought, then assessed her curves with masculine appreciation. “You don’t need to be on a diet. Why don’t you eat some of the chocolate candy I brought you?”

  She hesitated, then sighed. “Let me see them.”

  Troy lifted the lid off the box and presented them to her.

  Senada closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She looked as if she were having an erotic experience. “They smell wonderful,” she whispered.

  The sensual expression on her face tugged at something inside him. Her whisper heated his skin. He pulled at his collar.

  She carefully selected three pieces of candy and set them on a napkin in front of her. He expected her to put one whole piece in her mouth at a time. Instead, she took a small bite of the first chocolate and rolled it around in her mouth. He could practically imagine her tongue working over the morsel.

  He watched her throat ripple when she swallowed.

  “I know this makes no sense to you, but it’s been over a month since I’ve had chocolate, so I’m not reasonable about it.”

  He watched her lick a chocolate buttercream center, and his gut tightened. He cleared his throat. “Lisa mentioned you have a, uh, weakness for chocolate.”

  “She wasn’t lying.” Sin took another tiny bite and closed her eyes. “I can give up a lot of things, but this one’s tough.”

  “Then why deprive yourself?” He was feeling a little deprived just watching her.

  She shrugged. “Necessity.” She
picked up the second piece. “And this has got to last a week.”

  Troy watched, mesmerized, as she sucked the cherry from the center. His body grew warm at the sight of her pink tongue skimming over her lips. If her mouth did that to a little piece of chocolate, then what would she do to a man? He stifled a groan at the intimate image.

  “You mind if I get some water?” he asked. When she absently shook her head, he headed for the refrigerator. Her attention was fixed on the chocolate with such intensity that he wondered if the rumors about her past lovers being carted off to the hospital were true. Troy pressed the cold glass to his forehead, then took a quick gulp.

  Senada glanced up at him. “Could I have just a sip of that?”

  “Sure.” He set the glass in front of her and watched her drink. He swallowed when she swallowed.

  She gave him a wry smile. “Last one.”

  Troy nodded. “You want me to light the candle for you?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  Her eyelids fluttered downward, and an insane idea struck him. He went with it even though he questioned the wisdom of it. “Well, you should do something special since it’s your last one for a week.”

  She glanced up. “Think so?”

  “Yeah.” He picked up the last chocolate. “You should let me feed it to you.”

  Senada shook her head and shot him a skeptical glance. “Oh no.”

  “Yeah, you should. It’ll be memorable.”

  “No.” She reached for the chocolate, but he moved his hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “No,” she said more forcefully, reaching again.

  Troy zigged. She zagged. And the truffle was smushed.

  She looked at him in disgust. “You smashed my truffle.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You ate my cupcake.”

  He nodded. “You want another one?”

  “No, I want that one. That truffle.”