His Sweetest Sin

by Fiona Murphy

  I am not hurt by his annoyance, but I do know he’s nuts. “You are seriously not in your right mind. I’m not using you. You’re the one talking dirty, who keeps coming after me. I told you the first time I met you that us hooking up doesn’t make sense and it’s not what I want. How the hell is this on me?”

  He sighs, and I fight the urge to kick him for it. “You eat me up with your eyes; I can smell your pussy wet for me. Your tits swell and sway, and you thrust them out the minute you catch me looking. Fine, I get it, you don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you are doing it. I’m really supposed to just walk away from you?

  “Sugar, since you are so completely clueless, I’ll tell you right now the way you want me—so bad you ache, so bad you can’t think straight, so bad you’re willing to take a chance you never thought you’d take—that kind of want and need doesn’t happen very often, and you aren’t the only one feeling it.

  “What pisses me off is you’re willing to take all I want to give you without giving it back. You’re trying to figure out how to get the cheese out of the trap without setting it off. I’m the bad boy who fucks at will, used to any chick riding my cock and giving orgasms until a woman can’t move from it. So you figure if he’s giving it out to anyone, why not you? That, that’s what pisses me off.

  His jaw is tight, his eyes are the color of the arctic in winter, freezing me to the empty, hollow of my chest. “You aren’t willing to be bad, to get dirty. You want to stay the good girl, sweet, kind, never causes a fuss. Shit, woodland creatures probably clean your place while you sit on your perfectly plump ass sipping on your coffee, while you read the day away. Books where there’s nothing more than a proper, close-mouthed kiss before it fades to black, where the men are noble, dickless prisses who ask for kisses instead of taking them. I’m going to be the villain in the story who sneaks in and takes you. You’ll give in without ever giving anything up, not your good girl image, not yourself, just your body.”

  I hate him. I fucking hate him. I blink, and tears fall. I hate him even more for sighing at the sight of them. Pushing away from the table, my legs are trembling so badly I feel like I’m fighting to stay standing during an earthquake. I want to make my escape from him, from all of this, but not until it’s clear this is all his damn fault. “So it’s my fault for buying into the image you sold of yourself? I’m to blame because I’m willing to take what you keep telling me you’re willing to give? I told you I’m not on your level, the very first day. You’re major league, and I wouldn’t even make it into the little league.

  “I’ve fucked three men, okay? Three, and each of them miserable experiences that left me questioning if it was over, if it was safe to just crawl away and hide. I don’t know what you want from me to know if I can even give it to you or not. You say a few weeks, then you joke about kids. You fuck with my head until I don’t know—”

  I was so wrapped up in my rant I never saw him move, his hands go down to my hips before bringing me up against him. Oh god, he’s hard, so very hard and pressing into my stomach. Immediately, my knees go weak as I sag against him. His mouth grazes against my ear. “Shh...sugar, take a deep breath. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you even though damn it, Amelia, you started it. Walking in the door spitting fire, cranky as all hell, looking for a fight. Congratulations, you got your wish. I’m never going to be able to deny you what you want—I knew it the minute I laid my eyes on you.

  “Amelia,” This time my name is throbbing with all his frustration. “I need you to be honest with me, and the real hard part here, with yourself. I get that it’s hard for you, for reasons only you know. It doesn’t matter, you need to figure out how. The crappy history with men, that I guessed at, but I never would have thought it was so bad. You make more sense than ever now.

  “I’ll slow down, let you catch up. Normally, I’m more patient. You have a way of setting me off faster than anyone I’ve ever met. Take a breath, there you go, another one.” A large warm hand cups my cheek, his thumb wiping tears away. I find the courage to meet his eyes, and the awe in them stuns me. There is no teasing, no anger, nothing but pure awe. “Even crying you’re beautiful.”

  “Oops, sorry.” The waitress is blushing as she backs out of the room.

  God, how embarrassing. It gives me the strength to take a step back. I’m still mad at him, confused, hurt; this is too much for me to handle. Shaking my head, “I keep telling you not to touch me, then you do things like this. What if she talks to the press? If I get suspended, I will never forgive you. I’m out of here before you do any more damage to my reputation.”

  His face hardens, his eyes cold. “If you walk away now, I won’t follow you. You’ll get what you say you’re wanting. I’ll find someone else to fuck tonight. I’ll stay deep in her pussy until I forget all about yours. Go to the restroom, clean up, and while you’re in there, grow up. If you come back to the table we continue, if not then have a nice boring life.”

  The threat chills me because it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. I run before I go down on my knees and beg him to forgive me. I’m relieved the restroom is empty. Ugh, the mirror calls Chris a liar, yet I can’t get the awe out of my head. He believed what he was saying; it was his truth. Chris thinks I’m beautiful, me, fat, broken Amelia Bishop. I’m stunned by the thought.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean my head against the cool tile. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Chris was right—I was willing to use him, willing to give in but not give back, to allow him to take me without ever admitting I wasn’t just an active participant, I wanted him. Hearing it out loud, his anger is completely understandable. It’s a shitty way to act, to think. It’s no wonder he’s lost patience with me; he’s been a hell of a lot more patient than I deserve. Only, it doesn’t change the fact I am boring. No matter how hard I try I’m not for him. By the time he rolls off me he’ll have forgotten me, and I’m not strong enough to deal with that.

  Once out of the stall, I don’t bother to clean up my makeup. Instead, I wash my face clean. This is over; I’m done.

  When I open the door to the restroom Chris is waiting for me. Does he see it? He stiffens before I even open my mouth. “I have to go back to work, now.”

  Slowly, he nods. Without a word, only five minutes later we’re out on the sidewalk with Chris hailing a cab. A tall, thin man is taking our picture, damn it, fucking shit. This combined with the waitress catching us in the back is so not what I need. Karen is going to be pissed. “Hey, Chris, taking a break from strippers?”

  Chris doesn’t answer the question before he gets in beside me. “Amelia.” One word; how does he put so much into one word? I shake my head. I can’t do this now, not in the back of a cab.

  My phone rings, and I see it’s Mary. “Yes?”

  “Oliver Morgan is in the office—something big went down. He’s three shades of white. Get in here now.”

  Shit, Morgan is my biggest client. “I’m on my way back, ten minutes.”

  The sidewalk is on my side, and I open the door. “Have a nice, boring life.” There’s no soft drawl, the words are hard as rocks tossed at my soft skin.

  He’s not even looking at me, his face turned to the window on his side. I tell myself it’s what I want even as I blink away tears.

  ***

  Amelia

  Mary lets me know she’s going home for the night. I thank her for staying late while I talked Oliver off his cliff. His daughter was refusing to have her fiancé sign a prenuptial agreement. A few hours buried in trust paperwork has the woman safe if the guy is after her money.

  I nod, then go back to staring blankly at my computer. Only I can’t keep my eyes on the screen, they go back to the gorgeous vase and flowers on the edge of my desk. I know the vase is Lalique my mother collects it, I’m trying to tell myself it can’t be as expensive as I know it is. The vase filled with flowers arrived only an hour after he left; did he arrange for them before lunch or after? Would he really have sent t
hem after he told me to have a nice boring life? There’s no note, not even his name on a card. What did they mean if he did?

  I long to touch the vase, to trace the etching of the flowers, dahlias that match the blood-red dahlias in the vase. The bouquet is beautiful, fitting the vase perfectly. Deep red dahlias in various stages of bloom take center stage, while sweet pea in soft pink softens the edges of the bold, dark dahlias and give off a light perfume that teases my senses the same way Chris does. I’m not sure why the flowers surprise me, considering the way the man hasn’t stopped surprising me since the moment I met him.

  The way he goes between casual jeans and sweaters to elegantly cut-to-fit suits with ease, comfortable in both, isn’t something most men can carry off. He threw me off again when he told me he trusted me to handle the negotiation—he believed in my skill as a lawyer, not because he wanted me. Then the accusations he hurled at me today. Every single one of them true and edged with a bitterness he couldn’t hide.

  I’m ashamed as I think about the way I acted, the way I tried to excuse my actions. I would have laid there, eyes closed, telling myself the whole time I was giving up to his wants while never admitting it was my desire. With all my protesting on the record, I could give plausible deniability—I was saying no when I meant yes.

  I was begging for him while I was pushing him away. All because I’m afraid to own up to wanting Chris Baldwin, the baddest boy in baseball. I’m afraid I’ll fail miserably at what he wants from me. I’m afraid once he has me, he’ll realize he doesn’t want me. Why would he want me when he could have so many others?

  Tears come, then fall. I can’t. I’m not equipped to handle this, to handle him. Being with Chris will swallow me whole and I’ll be lost. I spot the paperwork Chris already signed and sent back. Closing my eyes tight, I’m ready to admit the plan was never to settle at three five. Walking into the room, I was going to ask for three million and would have been happy to settle anywhere above two million. Yet the moment they tossed the insulting offer I knew was coming, the growing feelings I have for Chris took over. I got emotional; it was personal, not business. Which is exactly why attorneys should never get involved with their clients.

  I haven’t filed a response to the lawsuit against Chris yet—he has a month to do so. It will take time for the suit filed against him to work its way before a judge; in all likelihood it won’t happen before Ethan gets back. For all intents and purposes I’m no longer his attorney. Too bad it wasn’t before the pictures of us went out.

  When I looked for the one from today, I found another from yesterday. I went red at the way we were looking at each other in the first picture; no way would anyone believe there wasn’t something going on between us. The captions weren’t rude.

  I’d only ever been in the paper for awards, usually for work I did on a pro-bono basis, twice for major wins. Between my reputation and Ethan’s willingness to draw blood if he felt slighted and any slight on his family was a slight on him I’m not surprised the papers were kind. Still, it doesn’t matter if they were nice about wondering what a fat ass like me was doing with the gorgeous Christopher Baldwin; it matters our pictures were in the paper.

  It doesn’t matter that it isn’t sexual, yet—looks count, and from the picture there was definite eye fucking going on. Karen hasn’t called me on it. I don’t know if it’s because she hasn’t seen it, or she isn’t interested in hearing me lie again. I’m leaving this firm, but I don’t know yet if I want to leave law entirely. I do know getting my ass reamed before the ABA is not a good way to find another job as a lawyer. I pick up the phone for the courier company we use. They promise they’ll be here within a half hour.

  8

  Chris

  The banging on my front door yanks me out of the book I’m reading. I lost my bookmark, so I put it facedown. I open the door to find a guy with a box, his annoyance clear until he sees me.

  “Hey, Baldwin. I got a package for you. How you doing?”

  “Good, who is this from?”

  “Amelia Bishop, can you sign here?”

  Fuck. I sigh as I lean against the doorframe, not taking the electronic pad he offers me. I know the box holds the vase, maybe even the flowers. “Come on in for a minute. I’m going to need you to deliver this to her again. I just need to see something.”

  The guy is startled, then nods fast. “Sure, yeah, anything you want.”

  Taking the box into my office library, I don’t bother closing the pocket doors. I cut the box open. The flowers are gone, and it means more than she wants it to. She wrapped the vase carefully in bubble wrap so many times it would take dropping it off a building before it broke.

  It doesn’t surprise me, so why the fuck does it send a blow to my chest with all the force of a ball hitting me at ninety miles an hour? Sonofabitch. Leaning against my desk, it’s a minute before I can even catch my breath.

  Carefully, I unwrap the vase. The vase is a beautiful representation of Lalique. It’s the kind of thing people would pass down, an heirloom. I set it back in the box upside down, then I spot the hammer I used the other day to hang up a print Catherine sent me. I’m on autopilot as I send the hammer into the bottom of the crystal. The sound of it breaking is loud, it feels good to see it shatter; another blow and it’s in a thousand pieces. Still the tension doesn’t go away, it’s there high and tight inside me. Taping the box back up, my movements are jerky, and it takes a minute.

  The guy is waiting, his eyes wide, wary. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Will a hundred cover it?” I ask as I peel off a bill.

  He nods.

  “Thanks for waiting. Have a good night.” The words are stilted as I close the door behind him.

  Once the door is closed I don’t move. From somewhere close I can hear a siren wailing. My stomach grumbles, only the idea sours in my mouth. The chime of my phone startles me. I look down; it’s Trent asking me to hit the club again. Despite what I told Amelia, I don’t even hesitate to lie that I’m busy. Then go upstairs to change. Nothing appeals except losing myself in a workout hard and sweaty.

  9

  Amelia

  The buzzer goes off, scaring the hell out of me in the quiet of my condo. I haven’t changed from my work clothes, deep down I expected this. I grab the gorgeous bouquet of flowers from the counter and run to hide it in my bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I work to even out my breathing. “Who is it?”

  “Frank, ma’am, package from Mr. Baldwin.”

  Okay, this isn’t what I expected. “I don’t want the stupid vase. I’m refusing to accept it. Please take it back to him.”

  “Umm...ma’am, it’s not a vase.”

  What? Fine. I buzz him into the building. While I wait I wonder what it could be. When the knock comes, I open the door. It’s the same box, how is it not the vase? “I thought you said it wasn’t the vase?”

  Frank puts it down, then hands me the electronic pad to sign. With a huff, I sign. “It was what you sent him, but it’s not a vase anymore.”

  Closing the door behind him, I pick up the box. It shifts; the sound of broken crystal moving is loud. Oh no, it broke? I take it to the island separating the kitchen from the living room and set it down carefully. When I open the box, I find out how useless my being careful was. The once beautiful vase is in a thousand pieces. Tears blur my vision but I still see the sparkling crystal at the bottom of the box. How could he do this? It was so beautiful. How could he willfully destroy it like he did?

  Eyes closed tight against the sight, I fight the tears threatening to fall. I would have kept it, I would never have let it go if I’d known what he was going to do. My phone ringing startles me so badly I almost drop the box. Setting it down on the island, I grab my phone. I knew it was Holly from her ringtone, and I take a deep breath before I answer. I’m shooting for light, curious, and fail miserably. “Hello?”

  “Amelia, are you okay?” Holly lowers her voice, which means Ethan is close by.

  I can’t ke
ep from flicking my eyes to the box on the island. Another breath doesn’t work. “I’m fine.” I again fail miserably at selling the words. “I’ll be fine. What time is it there?”

  “Don’t ask, we haven’t quite gotten used to the time change. I’m calling to see how you are. Did you know you popped up in a picture with Christopher Baldwin? What’s going on with you two? You both looked smitten.”

  “Nothing is going on. Okay, it was going to be, but not anymore. I came to my senses. It would have been a disaster.”

  Holly sighs loud. “Go, it’s fine. Get me more of those chocolate croissants. I mean it, go or you sleep on the couch tonight.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Okay, he’s gone. You know I love you, right? Yes, we had a bump in the beginning, but it’s all done and over. I get it, with the whole lawyer thing you guys shift from what you need to be to get what you want to whatever situation is going on. At the time you wanted your way, so you were manipulative, bitchy, and a brat about me and Ethan. It’s done, I haven’t thought of it in years. It has nothing to do with what I’m about to say.

  “Amelia, get your fucking head out of your ass. I get your parents bullied you into submission, into thinking you had to be this perfect little good girl to win at life, but where has it gotten you? What is your prize exactly? You try to put a on good show, only you can’t hide how miserable you are. Life is to be lived outside of books, not through them.

  “Knock it off, right now. Stop your crying.” Her harsh command stuns me into stopping. “Tell me what the hell is so bad about getting involved with Chris? Why would it be a disaster?”

  Wiping my tears, I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s me. I’m the disaster. I’ve never liked sex. I’ve never had an orgasm. The one thing he wants, I can’t give him.”