Sinner (The Hades Squad #1)

by Jianne Carlo

  Destiny rose on her toes, following his lead, tongue mating and warring with his, her knees buckling, fingers clutching his biceps. Without warning, he swept her high against his chest and stalked out of the room. “Tell me why you picked Deep Throat.”

  “I overheard a former author talking about a Deep Throat game she played at a bridal shower.”

  “Now I'm intrigued.” Hazel eyes raked her features. “Were you at this shower?”

  “Hardly,” she blurted. “It was Juanita Sender’s shower. She’s my ex-best friend and a best-selling author who parties with all the Hollywood hotties.”

  A frown creased Linc's forehead. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. She's been in all the rags for weeks.” Destiny chewed the inside of her mouth. “She's the one who did that sex tape.” When he obviously didn't make the connection, her face flamed. “They call her the Blowjob Queen.”

  “Ah, the blonde with the droopy tits.” He slid her down the length of his body.

  “You think Juanita has droopy ti—I mean, breasts?”

  “Droopy tiny little things.”

  Letting her eyes fall to breasts that couldn't be termed tiny in a million centuries, she murmured, “She's tall, slim, and beautiful.”

  “How do you know this Juanita?”

  “We were at Vassar together.”

  “No love lost?” One eyebrow curved.

  “No.” A crackling, static shrill drowned the soft symphony playing in the background.

  “What's that?”

  “Family radio.”

  “What's that?” She tried to bat his hands away when he tugged at the knot in the towel, and the terry fabric slid to the floor.

  “A form of radio communication.” He scrambled his fingers through his wet hair. “I'm guessing you're going to want to wear clothes.”

  Was he mad? Walk around naked? Let him see her fat?

  “Being naked isn't the end of the world.”

  She crossed her arms. “I need clothes.” Another thought occurred to her, and she added, “You need clothes too.”

  He let out a loud belly laugh and then tweaked her nose. “I'll change your mind. I promise.”

  “I suppose you go to nude beaches.” She snatched the towel from the floor.

  “I have been, but it's not my thing, and I'd never let you go to one, not even if I'm with you. For one, there's no way any other man's getting a glimpse of you naked, and with cell phones and Facebook not to mention Twitter. It's way too dangerous.” He took the bath sheet from her and wrapped the soft terry around her body. “Clothes it is, then. I get to choose what you wear.”

  “Fine, then I can choose what you wear.”

  A one-sided smile quirked his mouth. “Choice of sweats or my fatigues, Destiny. Or the towel?” He waggled both brows.

  She glanced at the ceiling and prayed for patience.

  They argued over his choice.

  “I'll be cold.” She eyed the bra-and-pantie set he'd chosen. One of her wilder Internet lingerie purchases, a hot pink transparent demi bra with a matching crotch-slit thong.

  “Have you ever worn this before?”

  “If you must know, no. It was an impulse buy, and I didn't know about the crotchless pantie.”

  “Tell you what—you can wear this robe I found over it.” He handed her a long, auburn silk robe. “You do get cold quickly.”

  He'd noticed she had a tendency to have cold fingers, toes, and nose? The implied thoughtfulness made her feel oddly pleased. She curled the robe over one hand and started to walk to the bathroom.

  “Uh-uh, Destiny.” Linc shook his head and folded his arms. “I dress you.”

  “What?” The snapped question came out on a squeal.

  She wanted to smack the grin he wore off his face.

  “Lose the towel,” he commanded.

  Cripes, she wanted to obey him so badly. Destiny liked his being in charge, making her do things she'd never do on her own.

  You can do this. You'll never have to face him after this week.

  After a couple of minutes of staring at the paisley cream and wine oval rug in front of the bed, she swallowed and unclenched her fingers from the terry fabric.

  “That's my doll,” he coaxed, taking one step and then hauling her into his arms. “Wasn't so bad, was it? To get naked in front of your man? Feel me, Destiny. I've been aching and hard since I regained consciousness. But I know you're sore, and you need time. I'll never consciously hurt you. Your needs come before mine. Got that?”

  Destiny had never felt so safe, so cozy, so protected. She nodded, then rubbed her cheek on his chest, relishing the way the soft hairs decorating his pecs tickled her skin, greedy to smell him, taste him. A little living dangerously couldn't hurt. She licked his breastbone, smiling at the slight brine tingling her taste buds.

  He groaned and hugged her closer. Emboldened, Destiny suckled his dark nipple, running her tongue over the tight point, taking it between her teeth.

  “Jesus, Destiny.” Linc pushed her away, his fingers circling her arms. “Stand still now.” He dropped to one knee, caught the edge of the pink thong with his mouth and grinned up at her, his eyes dancing and glowing brown, the emerald vanishing when his pupils dilated. He tapped her ankle, and she lifted her foot, steadying herself by resting a hand on his shoulder. A light graze on the other shin. She obeyed the implied directive, and he slipped the underwear over her foot.

  When his hands left her legs to cup her bottom and he buried his face in her pussy, she dug her fingers into his shoulder. “Linc.”

  “My Destiny.”

  He spoke against her clit, and the reverberations of his deep voice together with his slurping tongue made her knees go soft. She fell onto the mattress, legs splayed in invitation. He pressed a kiss on her belly, levered the thong up her calves and thighs, all the while locked on her gaze, a devil's smile curving his lips. He adjusted the pantie into place, turned Destiny on her side, and smacked her bottom.

  “How'd you do that?” She asked, her clitoris still throbbing from his voice.

  “Wait till I show you what a song can do.” He winked at her. “Stand up. Time for your bra. Jesus, I love your breasts.” Deft hands slipped the bra over her shoulders. While he worked on the clasps, Linc sucked first one, then the other nipple, and then leaned back to survey the wet circles he'd made.

  “Okay, now you can wear the bathrobe.” She slid one hand into the buttery material, turned, and fitted the other arm in.

  “Where's the belt?”

  “Couldn't find one.”

  The too-innocent expression on his face didn't fool her for one minute. “No belt, huh?”

  She jammed her hands onto her hips, and the fabric separated; his gaze dropped to her chest. Feeling quite daring, Destiny took a deep breath, sucked in her stomach, and stuck her boobs out.

  Rewarded by the way his penis slapped and danced, the way the crown purpled and darkened, she grinned.

  “Vixen,” Linc growled, framing her face with both hands. “You're learning way too fast, Destiny Driven.” He outlined her mouth with his tongue. “It's nearly four in the morning. I need to check the radio, and we both need some sleep. Sound like a plan?”

  “Yes.” Destiny hated the way she vacillated from extreme, excruciating shyness to brazen vamp.

  He scooped her off the floor, shifted her in his arms, and strolled into the main cabin.

  “You can put me down, you know.”

  “Don't want to.” His gaze swept the room. “Family Radio Service is a personal walkie-talkie radio system. In remote places like Healy where cell bands aren't great and blizzards are a fact of life, it's a way to communicate when other methods won't work.”

  Destiny blinked.

  Whaaat?

  Then she remembered their earlier conversation. “Oh. Someone's trying to talk to us?”

  “Lorcan McGuillycuddy, a buddy of mine.”

  Blood drained from her extremities; her fin
gers and toes grew icy. “There can't be two people with that name in Healy. Lorcan McGuillycuddy is a friend of yours?”

  His lips flattened. “You know Lorcan?”

  “He piloted the plane I came in on. I think you should put me down.”

  Heat scalded her throat.

  Linc’s eyebrows slashed together. “What did Lorcan do?”

  “It doesn't matter. Nothing happened.”

  “What did he do?”

  Destiny felt his voice all the way to her stomach.

  “Destiny, I'm waiting.”

  “What all men do when they learn my real name. Assume I'm a slut. Your buddy propositioned me. When Angel got wind of that, I thought she was going to punch me. Seems she regards Lorcan as her own private property.”

  His swarthy complexion took on an ashen hue, and he grunted. “Angel writes under a pseudonym, doesn't she?”

  The temperature in the cabin dropped like a plane in a catastrophic nosedive. “Her real name's Nadine Roland.”

  One glance at Lincoln's half-hooded eyes and pursed lips, and mortification boiled the blood in her veins from scalp to sole. “You've slept with Angel Robinson.”

  He hooded his eyes, took a deep breath, and considered the roof for brief moments—all the confirmation she needed.

  “Put me down now,” Destiny snapped, smacking his bare chest, flailing her legs.

  He set her down immediately, and she stumbled, arms wind milling for balance. She stubbed her toe on the baseboard, gripped the tiled counter for support, and propped one foot on the other.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it.

  She dropped her face into open palms. “If that just isn't my luck. I have the best sex ever, and it turns out I'm only getting Nadine’s leftovers.”

  Chapter Four

  “I am no one's leftovers.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Linc suppressed a groan.

  Destiny would really freak when she found out Lorcan, Nadine, and he had spent a couple of days snowed in at Nadine's lodge and that he and Nadine had had monkey sex. Nadine had been insatiable, and her sex-toy collection featured a few devices he'd encountered for the first time.

  “Sure.” She snorted and stamped a bare foot. “Right.”

  “Be reasonable, Destiny. You can't hold my sexual history against me. Nadine is in the past.”

  “Reasonable. Fine.” Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, her posture and body language belligerent to the max. “Your girlfriend Nadine demanded me as her editor and has been nothing but downright nasty to me since I was assigned to her.”

  She threw her arms up in the air and spat, “Oh forget it. I can't believe you'd sleep with that bitch. She hasn't got a nice bone in her body. I'll never understand men. Doesn't it matter that she'd just as soon screw you as stick a knife in your back?”

  Destiny paced a furious oval in front of the couch. “First Juanita steals my boyfriend and makes a sex tape so hot, she makes millions before the book's even out. It doesn't matter that he didn't bother to spend two seconds kissing me before screwing me. No, he sets a record for…for… Oooh, I am so mad I could scream.”

  “Go ahead. Get it off your chest.” He should've realized she'd have a temper. Anyone as passionate and as responsive in bed as his Destiny would explode when prodded beyond control.

  “You are never to touch me again.” She stabbed her fingernail into his pecs, then landed a hard open-palm smack on his bicep. “I am such a fool. I had begun to think maybe I was special. Ha!”

  She rounded the corner, spied the wineglasses by the sink, picked up the first one, and hurled it.

  Linc traced the crystal’s aerial path, ducked two seconds before it would’ve impacted on his temple, and glanced over his shoulder to watch it splinter and splatter on the far wall and floor.

  “Aim for the fireplace, Destiny. Less clean up.” He squatted as the other glass smashed into the stone mantel on the opposite wall.

  Both bowls followed. Linc couldn't identify her target, since almost every wall or surface had been hit. When she gripped a knife handle, he vaulted to his feet, grabbed both her wrists, and used his pelvis to immobilize her against the cabinet.

  “Don't move your feet. There's glass and shards everywhere.” She struck his shoulder, pinched his forearm, and tweaked his nipple while he maneuvered her sweet ass onto the counter. When she bared her teeth, he sucked in his belly and leaned back.

  “No. Stop. You will not bite me to hurt me.” Giving her a serious shake, Linc growled, “You are fucking special, Destiny Driven, and you will get over this, because I fully intend to make love to you for as long as it takes.”

  A hot tear plopped onto his chest, followed by another, then another, and the drips grew into a steady stream.

  “I will not cry.”

  Her voice came out on a croak, and the slight hiccup in her fierce statement made his heart roll over in his chest.

  “Cry, sweet Destiny, cry. Let it all out.”

  She took his advice. Face covered with her hands, she cried, muttering incoherent little phrases including traitor, chauvinistic pig, Judas, and thunder thighs, in between bouts of sobbing. After her little fists beat his shoulders, her thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the spots she'd hit.

  Destiny bawled adorably. His lips kept twitching, and he couldn't repress a few broad grins, which thankfully she never saw since her nose was buried in his chest. All the while he stroked her back, sliding his hand along the curve of her spine, sniffing her hair, occasionally massaging the base of her neck, kneading bunched muscles. Destiny had a host of insecurities, and from her mumbles and grumbles, he discerned a truckload of blame rested clearly on her parents' shoulders.

  The midnight darkness behind the wall of windows in the main room of the cabin lifted a shade, the slight alleviation the harbinger of Alaskan predawn. Big, fat snowflakes drifted in lazy swirls to the white carpet mounded fifteen inches high in some areas. The fierce gusts of the day before had ebbed, and the forest rimming the mountain's ridge slowly came into view. The fruit on the pear tree, the one he surmised he'd landed in, bobbed small curtsies.

  Beneath his questing palms, Destiny's body grew limp, and she jerked and melted against his torso. As gently as he could, Linc picked her up and cradled her head close to his heart. Never in a million years would he ever have picked eyelashes as a memorable body part. They were eyelashes, for Christ's sake. Yet the way hers fluttered half closed, then dipped a bit more, proved fascinating.

  You're getting under my skin, Destiny Driven, and it scares the shit right out of me.

  The feel of her in his arms, all warm and soft and perfect, held some measure of comfort, though he ached to rail and shout at something, anything. From the minute he'd set eyes on her, she'd discombobulated him. Lincoln studied her features, his gaze touring her arched black eyebrows, the damned lashes that made his insides mush, her aquiline nose, lips that belonged on a porn magazine's cover, and that stubborn chin that tilted up even in slumber.

  I'm a goner. I think her chin's cute. I love the way she cries, and I can't let her out of my arms.

  She didn't stir when he walked them into the bedroom. Her skin smelled of the lavender bath salts he'd emptied into the tub earlier, but another aroma rode the fragrance, something fresh and clean and all Destiny.

  She didn't budge when he undressed her; not so much as a whimper graced her luscious lips. He studied her form after laying her on the mattress.

  Why the pseudonym? What secrets are you hiding? Why'd you clam up when I asked about your parents?

  Linc remembered the broken glasses, returned to the kitchen, and cleaned up the mess. He made the rounds of the cabin, checking all the exits and windows, and when convinced all was secure, headed back to the bedroom.

  He joined her on the bed, settling them under the covers, and snugging her head under his jaw. One arm tucked behind his neck, he stared at the pine-paneled ceiling. He knew it was useless trying to contact Satan aka Lorcan now. Too
much time had elapsed. The squad had a predetermined schedule for family radio communication; Satan would try again in a couple of hours.

  A breathy little sigh drew his gaze to her fluttering eyelids. Maybe she was his Destiny. He’d served his country for sixteen years, and this was his last mission.

  Linc enlisted in the Navy a couple of years after graduating high school. He’d had no planned career in mind until serving with a buddy who was determined to be a SEAL. TEAM training had turned him into a disciplined and competitive warrior, but becoming a paratrooper, and serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, had straightened him out. He'd always been the black sheep of the family, the one who rebelled and cut off his nose to spite his face.

  Afghanistan taught him to live for the moment. To reach for the joy, daily, not to count on a future, because you could die with each dawn, each sunset. He'd lived fast and hard, cramming everything into each waking moment, letting all hell loose every R&R.

  A deep hunger drove him to volunteer for the most dangerous missions. The daredevil he'd always battled but never conquered took him to sex clubs and baby-oil orgies when he was on leave. A couple of years ago the desire for group sex had dissipated. He'd restricted his fucking to one woman at a time for the past twelve months. Okay, there'd been several women.

  How the hell would she handle his sexual past?

  Christ, when she found out the details about him and Nadine, the shit would hit the roof. And he hadn't even begun to initiate her into his bedroom habits. He wanted everything from her—sex in the dirtiest way, her lips swallowing his dick, his mouth making her cream and climax. An image of Destiny blindfolded and spread-eagled had his dick jumping and leaking precum on his belly.

  No way would he let her out of his sight.

  No way was she returning to New York City without him.

  Two weeks ago he'd spent Labor Day with his family. The hotdog and burger holiday had left an ache in his chest. Watching his siblings, their spouses, and their children had made him realize how much he'd given up with constant deployments. He missed the good old U.S. of A. Missed apple pie, ice cream, and fireworks on the Fourth of July. He'd envied his siblings and their Campbell's-soup-commercial family units.