Touching Sin (Vegas Sin Book 1)

by J. Saman

  And if nothing else, they serve as a reminder that I’m not safe with anyone. Because I fell for charming once. I fell for bullshit notions of safety and security. I fell for the man who promised me the world only to decimate it time and time again. I fell for it all—hook line and sinker—and this is where it got me.

  Running.

  Alone.

  Terrified out of my very wits.

  Like driving a car without any breaks. It doesn’t stop no matter how much you will it to.

  So yeah, it would be easy to give in to Jake. He might be everything those eyes promise him to be. But then what? I’m still the girl on the run using a fake name and sleeping in a borrowed hotel room.

  Letting out a wistful sigh, I mix up a requested cocktail, ignoring the smirks and winks Brent continues to throw at me as he asks for his refills, patiently waiting for me to cave.

  I won’t. Because like I said, there is something about this guy that doesn’t feel quite right.

  Chapter Eleven

  My eyes open to a sound. A sound I do not recognize, nor want to hear. A grating sound? No, maybe more of a tapping? Whatever it is, it’s inside. My alarm has yet to go off, which means it isn’t even seven yet, but I know something is wrong instantly.

  He’s here.

  I throw myself out of bed, flipping on every light I can, before grabbing the metal rod I keep on the floor in my bedroom. Padding into the living room of the suite, I grip the cold metal so tightly, I can feel the blood draining from my knuckles. My heart thunders, adrenaline courses through me, and that all-consuming fear strangles me.

  He’s here and I’m going to die.

  “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” I spin around at lightning speed to find not Niklas, but Jake. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” he repeats, smiling reassuringly down at me as if from a higher elevation. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice is soft, ethereal.

  “I’m never safe.” My words come out garbled. Like my mouth is filled with marbles. Like the sound did not come from my mouth, but from something next to me. Something on the floor? I look down to see my body, lifeless and bleeding. Niklas’s blue eyes smile malevolently up at me as he hovers over my broken form.

  I scream.

  Springing up, I gasp, clawing at the sheets. Cold sweat soaks my entire body, making me convulse and shudder painfully. It was a dream. It was just a dream. He’s not here. My hands fly up to my face just as the sobs breaks free from the confines of my chest and out my lips. I pull my knees up and lose it. Absolutely fucking lose it. Rocking back and forth, I pick up my pillow and bury my face in it so that my neighbors don’t hear me, and I wallow in the agony and terror that I still can’t seem to shake.

  I dream about Niklas most nights, but nothing this bad in over a week. The sad thing is, I don’t even have a metal rod. I only have that stupid, insubstantial knife and it’s tucked away in my backpack. Useless. I should take Maddox’s words to heart more.

  Pepper spray. Maybe a gun. Probably both.

  Sleep used to be something I always looked forward to. My nannies continuously joked about what an amazing sleeper I was, even as a new baby. Dreams were a world left mostly unexplored. A window into my subconscious and I couldn’t wait for my next adventure. But the quiet peace of those dreams altered drastically after Niklas nearly killed me. They became all about him. An endless stream of beatings I relive night after night. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever feel safe again.

  He doesn’t know where I am. He’s not here for me.

  The truth is, I’ve been abused for most of my life. First from my father, then from Niklas. It’s not even the abuse that has me so afraid. It’s the idea of him killing me. Of the way he’ll kill me when he’s ready. When he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted from me and I’m no longer of use. He took me so close to that edge once, lost control completely, that while it was happening, I was sure I was never going to wake up again. I was positive he had killed me and when I regained consciousness, it was a surprise.

  A wake-up call.

  Niklas was far more brutal than my father. My father was a believer in a good slap to keep his women in line. Maybe more with my mother than with me, because I rarely gave him anything to be displeased about. But Niklas? I still shudder at what that man has done to me. It wasn’t always like that. Didn’t start out that way. But by the end, it was merciless.

  Finally, after the crying subsides and I manage to steady myself, I climb out of bed and make my way into my bathroom. My reflection is pretty spot on—I resemble the flat side of pavement after a truck drives over it. I splash ice cold water on a washcloth, pressing it to my red, swollen eyes. God, that feels good.

  And when my face is somewhat back to normal, I throw my hair up into a high ponytail and don my running gear. The strip is a popular early morning running spot. Lots of stairs and plenty to keep your eyes occupied. Sprinklers are running over manicured shrubbery, men are power-washing last night’s refuse off the pavers and people are heading into work. Yet those lights. Christ, they never turn off.

  I start out, taking a left and heading up toward the center of the strip, but within a block, I feel movement on my right. My head flies in that direction as I jump more to my left to counterbalance the intrusion. But the moment I catch sight of Jake, dressed similarly to me with that arrogant, master-of-the-universe grin, I narrow my eyes and slow my pace. He follows, matching me step for step. My hands prop on my hips, though I haven’t been running long enough to need to catch my breath for longer than a second or two.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Running.”

  “Why are you following me?”

  “For a smart girl, you’re a bit slow on the uptake this morning.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m not following you,” he says defensively, an indignant edge to his voice. “I just happen to be out for a run and saw you. I thought it might be nice to run with someone. That’s all. Christ, you’re a difficult one.”

  “I am,” I agree. “And I like to run by myself.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to run with me? Might get awkward since we’re headed in the same direction. I could fall back and watch you run, but something tells me you won’t appreciate the natural direction my eyes will take.” He gives me that grin again. The one that hits me in the gut, filling it with a million tiny firecrackers, all going off simultaneously.

  Even in his running gear, he looks like a runway model, and the way that shirt clings to the muscular contours of his chest, abs and shoulders is diverting.

  I should tell him no. I should tell him to fuck off and keep his alluring, chauvinistic self away from me. But I don’t. I can’t even explain why. Or at least I don’t want to think too closely about it. That said, it will be fun to see if Mr. Pretty Boy can keep up.

  “What’s your routine like?” he asks as I stretch, grasping the top of my right foot and swinging it back until my heel meets the bottom of my ass. We’re standing in front of a hotdog restaurant. The smell is not doing my stomach any favors.

  “Why don’t we do what you normally do, and I’ll let you know if it’s enough for me?”

  He smiles the type of smile that shows me he’s accepting my challenge with a cocky confidence.

  Jake’s amber eyes blaze. “Awesome, let’s go.” He spins back around and immediately sets out at a good clip, assuming I won’t be able to keep up with him. His arrogant ass doesn’t know what he’s in for. We run up and down stairs and across walkways and through different hotels for at least forty-five minutes at a much faster pace than probably either of us typically does, but I’m not about to beg for mercy, and neither, it seems, is he.

  Finally, we make our way back to the Turner Grand hotel we both work in, slowing down to a walk for the last half mile or so.

  “Wow,” he pants, clasping his hands behind his head to draw more air into his lungs. “I don’t think I’ve run that hard… well, ever actually. I’m soaked
.” He chuckles, taking off his shirt and wiping his forehead and neck with it.

  If I wasn’t having difficulty breathing before, I certainly am now. I trip over my own damn feet, righting myself before he can catch me. He smirks, knowing full-well he’s the reason for my sudden clumsiness. Mercifully, he doesn’t comment.

  But really, it’s not my fault. His chest is sexy as all sin. He’s toned and muscular without being overly built or bulky. He has a delicious six pack and that lovely V at the bottom. Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club. There’s a tattoo on his right flank that at first glance is just a swirl of multicolored ink, but upon closer inspection is really an elaborate compass. The one on his chest, covering his left peck over his heart, is a pattern of numbers and twisting lines that come together to form… something. I don’t know. It’s mesmerizing. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Not that I have any experience with tattoos.

  The ones on his shoulders and upper arms are all different. Most brightly colored and all intricately done. Then I catch the scar. I assume it’s from a bullet, given the pattern, as it sears right through his left shoulder like a starburst.

  Jake glances over, catching me in the act of checking him out. He smirks, throws me a wink and says, “If you’re going to stare at me that hard, you can touch. I don’t mind. Or at least allow me to return the favor without slapping me.”

  I blush, my already red cheeks growing warmer. I’m too intimidated to ask about his ink. Or that scar. Sweet baby Jesus, that scar. “I wasn’t checking you out,” I snap with an exaggerated huff, flipping away as quickly as possible, which only serves to make me appear guiltier. He chuckles and I feel his warm body draw closer for a beat before that heat disappears just as quickly. I don’t have it in me to look at him, but I feel him all the same. I’m already too wound up, too…excited? just being this close to him.

  I hesitate for a minute as we stroll in the relative silence of the early morning. The city is just starting to come alive and I can already feel the heat of the summer sun baking the streets. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you want to run with me this morning?”

  His head bobs away for the quickest of seconds before turning his focus back to me, an impish grin curling up the corner of his lips. “Truth?” I nod, because I have zero room in my life for anything less. At least where others are concerned. “It felt like a good excuse to see you again.”

  “Jake—”

  “Yeah, I know,” is his only reply and I leave it at that because I don’t even know what I’d say to him. Especially after the bathroom incident a few days ago. Especially after enjoying his company this morning. That thought is almost capable of pulling an ironic smile from my lips. I’ll deny that to my dying day.

  We pause outside the hotel and, without prompting, turn to face each other. I have no idea where he lives or where he’s going, but I do not want him to see me walk into this hotel.

  “I was also worried about you,” he adds, taking a step into me, crowding my personal space and bleeding sincerity into my neglected crevices with his magnetized stare. “You bolted on me the night I picked you up on the side of the road, and even though I’ve worked with you, fixed your fucking hand, I was still worried.”

  I swallow. Hard. He watches the roll of my throat as I do and I wish I didn’t care. I wish it didn’t matter to me that he’s worried. That I didn’t get hung up on the pathetic, destined-for-failure dream. That my whole body didn’t come alive at the thought of this man.

  “I told you, I’m fine.”

  He nods, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I know. I can see that. Doesn’t mean I don’t care or worry. Do you want to run with me tomorrow?”

  And this is the part where I should say no. Where I should say I can’t run with him. In my three weeks of living here, I’ve never once seen him out running in the mornings. But I wonder if all that will change now. How can I avoid this? Avoid him? Do I even want to? “I can’t tomorrow.”

  “What are you doing today? Wanna grab some breakfast?” he asks, moving in even closer to me to avoid a guy running past us. I take a step back, but I have nowhere to go. I’m against the stone fence separating me from the huge water feature. The lapping sound of water, spraying and splashing against rocks, fills the new silence I’m putting between us.

  “Why are you so persistent with me?”

  His knowing smile lights up his whole face, but he doesn’t answer me.

  I sigh, ducking my head and rolling it side to side, the muscles in my neck enjoying the stretch, before raising it again and looking straight ahead. Anywhere but at him. Looking at him makes it impossible to think clearly. Hell, it makes it impossible to breathe. I try to step around him, needing to get the hell out of here. Away from the musky, masculine, sweet scent of his skin and sweat. The heat of his body and the too-close stance he gets off on imposing on me. He reaches out, grabbing my arm and bringing me to a stop. I yank my arm away from his grasp, but before I do, he turns me to face him. His eyes are everywhere. Devouring me in a way I cannot ignore. In a way that has me craving his hands on my body and not just his eyes. And when those brown depths finally find mine again, the intensity in them makes it impossible to look anywhere else.

  “I’m not playing a game with you, Sunshine. Yes, I’m attracted to you. I’d have to be dead not to be. And I know I can be an asshole sometimes and that I tend to send mixed signals. But the truth is, I want to get to know you. I want to see where this crazy connection will lead us.” He pauses, and then cripples me with a devastatingly adorable lopsided grin. It makes his boyish dimples sink in, and for a moment, I forget the danger he poses. “Give me one day. One breakfast. Maybe a ride to somewhere. Followed by lots and lots of kissing. Dinner. A sunset possibly. And more kissing.”

  I shake my head, rolling my eyes because if I don’t, I’ll smile and he’ll see just how much I want that. “Here’s the thing about that, Jake,” I start before I just as quickly stop. Why am I indulging him? There is no yes to Jake. Despite the way just one glance from him has my panties wet. “That’s never going to happen. Ever.”

  He scrunches his eyebrows like he’s hearing every word out of my mouth for the first time. “So, it’s not just me?” Arrogant asshole. He shrugs. Smirks. Winks. Charming Bastard. “Never say never.” I shake my head at him, trying for absolute. He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. “Can I ask you something, Sunshine?”

  “Probably not, but you can try anyway.” Why am I still standing here? Why am I still entertaining him? Like you don’t know, the cynic inside me teases.

  He snickers. “Okay then. I just want to know why you’re not dating.”

  “Nope. Sorry, that’s out of bounds.”

  “We have out-of-bounds questions?”

  “Yup.”

  “But—”

  “Basically, everything about me is out of bounds. I don’t like to talk about myself and I definitely don’t like people asking questions. Thanks for the run. It was amusing watching you try and keep up.”

  And with that, I leave Jake behind. I shouldn’t look back. I shouldn’t care if he’s watching me go. I shouldn’t feel this…pull. But I do. I feel it and turn around and he is watching. He smiles when he catches me. Big. Bright. Beautiful.

  “You like me, Sunshine,” he calls out, not even caring about the people staring at him as they jog past. “I flip your world upside down the way you do mine. You’re as crazy about me as I am about you.”

  I laugh, before I can stop it, because he’s practically yelling this, garnering more stares. But that smile. Jesus, it lights everything up. The strip has nothing on him.

  “I’m going to kiss you. Really fucking soon. And my hands will more than likely cop a feel.”

  I shake my head, biting into my lip to hide everything his words do to me. His grin only grows.

  “You’ll love it, I promise. I’ll have you begging for more.”

  I stare him down, c
rossing my arms over my chest, trying for defiant, miserable to keep my blush contained. “Never gonna happen, Jake.”

  “It will,” he promises, his brown eyes so light. So perfect. So…everything I never knew was possible. “Since the first moment I laid eyes on you, I had a feeling I was gonna have to move heaven and earth to make you mine. And I will. Because there is something about you I can’t shut off. It’s just a matter of time for us, Sunshine. But time is exactly what I’ve got and I’m not about to give up now. I’ll win you over eventually.”

  Butterflies. Bright, sparkling butterflies. That’s what I’ve got going. They’re fluttering everywhere inside me. Around me. I stare at him for another second, enjoying that adorable, I’m-safe-and-would-never-hurt-you boyishness. Before I remember Jake is all man, capable of unspeakable things. Before I slap myself with a hard reality check.

  Then I turn around and walk away. I don’t look back this time. Because I believe him. He’ll win me over. And then what will I do?

  Chapter Twelve

  If pussy-whipped had a definition in the dictionary, my goddamn face would be next to it. I’m a bartender. Again. Typically, I only work in this restaurant once a week. And only as a waiter, I might add. This makes the third goddamn time bartending in ten days. And it’s all because of her. Mia I-am-homeless-running-from-something-miserably-fucked-up-with-a-fake-ass-last-name Jones. Yeah. Her. Because I have no idea if she’s sleeping in the suite I got her. The crafty little minx managed to evade me the last time I worked with her. I wasn’t able to follow her. And stalking in daylight has its disadvantages.

  Then Cal told me I was not allowed back for few days. Prick actually restricted my access to her. I was going to tell him I own this whole place and can do what I want, but that would make me sound like the pretentious dick I strive not to be. He also reminded me the girl told me—and not so kindly, I might add—to fuck off. She did tell me that, even if her sweet mouth would never utter such crude vocabulary. I might not have accepted it, but he was right. I needed distance. I needed to wash my brain clean of the girl who seems to have stained it.