To Blind a Sniper (Women of Purgatory Book 2)

by India Kells

  “The beautiful Juliet makes an appearance, and illuminates the night only for me.”

  “Hello Sebastian. I suspect you’re searching for your colleagues?”

  Sebastian smiled seductively. No doubt he was using all his skills on her. He never made it a secret that he was interested.

  “What colleagues? With you like this, I couldn’t care less about any other human being.”

  Mac shook her head. “I’m busy here, I can’t stay on the balcony chatting. You’re welcome to come up if you like, Romeo.”

  As she came back inside, Margot and Lilianne were in a much happier mood. Gone were the tears, for now it seemed.

  Mac put the finishing touch on her final batch of tarts before placing them on a tray, ready for the oven. Sebastian cracked the door open and smiled.

  “Ha! Here are the slackers! Not only will I certainly not do the cleaning all on my own, ladies, but that Cerberus is now looking for you both.”

  Lilianne grimaced and Margot rolled her eyes.

  “I guess that Cerberus is Wesley Sorenson.” Easy guess in Mac’s mind.

  Sebastian winked and took an appreciative sniff. “This place smells like heaven! No wonder you were hiding here!” Sebastian came closer to Mac as she was wiping her workstation and placed one arm on the counter each side of her. “A woman of so many talents and beauty, where were you all my life?”

  The voice was seductive, cultured, and even though it warmed her inside, acting as a flattering balm, it didn’t thrill her. Not as it did with Grumpy Sorenson. And why was that so?

  “Sebastian, I’m busy here.”

  “So am I.” His mouth was closer to her ear now, not touching any part of her.

  Mac let her wet rag fall on the counter and turned to face her seducer. “Sebastian …”

  Closing his eyes, the man took a deep breath. “Say my name again.”

  Mac heard faint giggles behind her. “Sebastian, stop that.”

  When he opened his eyes, she could see blazing heat. “If you would be mine, you would never say that, dulzura.”

  The endearment made her smile. “I’m serious. Stop it.”

  Sebastian lifted his head and really stared at her. “You’re a strange woman. I can smell arousal on you, strong heat, yet you refuse me.”

  He looked so confused, Mac couldn’t help but take his face in her hands. “You’re a living enticement, Sebastian. And me saying no has more to do with external factors than your charm.”

  Straightening, he shook his head. “Mi corazon, the only external factor is another man.”

  Mac thought about the threat of Calvi and admitted that he wasn’t far off from the reality.

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that, I can assure you.”

  A creaking sound came from the back door, and taking advantage of her distracted mind, Sebastian took her in his arms and kissed her. Skills couldn’t start to describe how he successfully made her head spin, his hands gently cupping her cheeks before tracing her arms and setting on her hips. Then his fingers tightened, pulling her flush against him. Only her survival reflexes prevented her from being drowned in lust. She forced herself to watch for the door when she saw Wesley Sorenson coming in. It was as if someone had plunged her into a deep bath of ice. Her reaction stupefied her. How could she react that way, when the king of all kissers was doing a number on her?

  When Sebastian ended the connection, he looked at Sorenson and back at her. Lance’s brother was by the door, impassible, arms crossed. The man was visibly battling for control, his blue eyes on her.

  Sebastian took a step back and nodded, an enigmatic smile on his face. “I see.”

  Mac hoped her poker face was firmly in place, but she was breathing too hard to conceal everything else. Her situation was complicated enough, not to mention dangerous enough, to add lust and hormones into the mix. Let alone two men with unyielding egos.

  When Sorenson spoke, his eyes locked with hers for an instant before blazing at the three other people in her kitchen. As if on cue, they all scattered away. As the final thud of the door resonated, Sorenson turned to her again.

  “I’m in charge of the club until my brother comes back. I would appreciate you not distracting the staff from their work and duties while you’re staying here.”

  Mac angled her head. She was sure his stern, almost hostile glare was his weapon of choice, but the more he used it on her, the less effective it became. The oven beeped and she ignored him for a moment. She took out the tray of tarts. When she turned back to him, he hadn’t moved. He favored his left leg again. Stubborn man.

  “Get rid of your pants.” Her command had the advantage of surprising him. The stern, annoyed look was gone.

  “What?”

  Removing her oven mitts, she crooked her finger at him. “I’m serious. Follow me.”

  She turned and walked to her bedroom. If she kept him guessing, she may force some good sense into him. Mac didn’t offer any flirt, or come-and-get-me wink, which should keep him on his toes, too.

  Once in the bedroom, she shifted to him and pointed the bed. “Remove your pants and lie back on the mattress.”

  Instead of obeying, he crossed his arms. “I don’t know if your technique has worked on certain men, but you will need more sugar to get your way with me on this bed.”

  Mac arched an eyebrow. “I have no intention of getting my way with you on this bed, as you so gentlemanly put it. I don’t like seeing you wrestling a nagging pain, and a massage would help your leg. I only have thirty minutes before I need to take care of what’s in the oven. That’s enough time to make a good start.”

  His jaw set and the stubborn gleam in his eyes may have sent weaker women running the other way, but not her. “I’m not letting you touch my thigh. On the other hand, there are plenty of places on my body I would allow you to put your hands on.”

  “You’re hard-headed. You’re in pain. I’m offering you a way to ease it. No sex bonus.”

  “You don’t know what pain is.”

  Mac smiled. “You would be surprised.”

  “So you admit to being more than a baker?”

  Mac sighed deeply, praying for calm and enough patience to get to him. “I admit that in any line of work, you can get badly hurt. That’s life. What’s not good is to stay in that state … I won’t use the word often, but please, let me help you. Only once, only thirty minutes. If it doesn’t help, I won’t push ever again. If it does, I’m offering sessions, free of charge, until you can run with me. Deal?”

  Wesley debated for a long moment, his eyes never leaving hers, assessing. When he spoke, Mac was sure it was to turn her offer down.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes. Less than that, it won’t do anything.”

  “Deal.”

  As he started to strip, she went to the bathroom to get some lotion. And maybe to clear her mind from any arousal fumes she was getting from the man. Sebastian may be the perfect man incarnated, but Wesley Sorenson had another sort of pull on her—the kind of vibe she had felt from many of the men she had worked with. But it was the first time that she wanted to step over her principles, break through his armor, to see beyond the pain and the sour mood. She shook her head, clearing her wayward thoughts, took the bottle, and returned to her bedroom.

  It took all her self-control not to react to the sight. The man had removed his pants and T-shirt, only keeping his black boxer briefs on. Mac balled her hands to refrain from touching every single inch of golden male skin spread on her bed. Instead, she chose sarcasm to help her through.

  “Unless your thigh is on your upper body, there was no need to remove your T-shirt.”

  The man gave her a devilish smile. “I thought it would be more helpful if we decide to switch gears and do something else.”

  “And all your chances of rolling around in bed naked with me have died at this instant. You have the Sorenson sarcasm gene after all.”

  As soon as the words left her
mouth, she mentally slapped herself behind the head. He wasn’t supposed to know she knew Lance. She had never met Owen, but from what Lance had told her, he was the less carefree or funny of all three Sorenson brothers. Wesley had the same sense of humor as Lance, until he came back from detention. Now, he was the moody one, the dark and solitary genre of soul. Well, she supposed it wasn’t a surprise after he returned from hell. She always liked Lance since he started working more and more with Purgatory. He had that unique sense of humor that lightened every situation, and her mood.

  “My family isn’t sarcastic. And what about my family? Are you referring to Owen?” His gaze drilled at her, searching to confirm something. Instead, she diverted the discussion and crawled on the bed.

  “I don’t know a thing about your family, except that it’s impossible that other members of your family are as sarcastic and grumpy as you. Now stay still.”

  She didn’t wait for his answer. She knelt on each side of his calf, ignoring all but the nasty scars on his thigh. Everything was properly healed, but the wound must have been awful. The ragged edges reminded her of shrapnel injuries she had seen. Wesley was observing her every move and by the way his hands fisted on the sheets, he was far from convinced of her ability. He expected deception and more pain, no doubt. She couldn’t guarantee a pain-free experience, but she was damned if she would disappoint him.

  Mac warmed the lotion in her hand and touched both sides of his knees. At the contact, he jumped.

  “Is your knee hurting?” Mac hesitated at the possible extent of his injuries.

  “No, carry on.” Stoic, he obviously expected the worst, his eyes on her, unwavering.

  Mac started massaging each side of the knee with soft, circular motions. As she expected, he anticipated her to jump directly to the core of the matter. But she preferred a slow build up. If he tensed too much, it would be counterproductive.

  Patiently, inch by inch, she felt her way up, analyzing every tendon and muscle, their flexibility. As she closed in on the wound, she minded the pressure at first. Sorenson seemed to remain receptive, but she didn’t risk a glance. Her movements were rhythmic and light. At a snail’s pace, she increased pressure, guided only by the trembling and clenching of his body and the sound of his breath. When she felt it was too much for him, she retreated for a minute, before going back. The muscles were so hard; it was difficult to get any yielding. But she persisted. When she finally had some sort of movement, she decided to give him a break and retreat. She concentrated her efforts on the sides of his thigh, going back down to his knee and calf.

  With her hands now still on each side of his knee, at the same place she had started, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. After releasing it slowly, she finally looked at him. She was glad to see his eyes were closed and his face relaxed. It would be a mistake to think he was asleep. When she moved to get off the bed, his eyes opened instantly.

  “Go slow for your first movements. Drink a lot of water for the next four hours, it will help flush out the toxins. Wouldn’t hurt if you took something for the inflammation.”

  Sorenson sat on the bed, touching his thigh gingerly. “I thought you working on my leg would reduce the inflammation, not increase it.”

  Mac was unimpressed at his tone. “Don’t get snippy with me. The massage will increase the inflammation, forcing the muscle to heal. And if you have nothing better to say than stupid comments, get out.”

  The beep of the oven gave her the perfect exit to ignore the infuriating man. Quickly rinsing her hands, she then grabbed a rag and removed the last of the tarts, placing them on a cooling rack. As she put the tray away, she started placing her transport boxes on the table and carefully placed the cooled pastries in each box with decorative paper. The night was fading away fast and she needed to make her delivery soon.

  She felt more than saw Sorenson make his way out of her room, now fully dressed. Mac ignored him until she realized that he was standing, silent, behind her.

  “Couldn’t find the door?” And she turned; gone was his sarcasm, replaced by a more peaceful expression.

  “Thank you for your support. It’s inexcusable, but when you’ve been in pain for so long, you tend to bite off the head of anybody who wants to help you, especially when you know it’s gonna hurt some more before getting better.”

  Mac took a deep, calming breath, lowering her guard, too. “No need for excuses. I pretty much bullied you into accepting my treatment. You took it rather well. Of course, you wouldn’t want more pain. I’m sorry I didn’t think about that. I’m the one who’s sorry. I hope it wasn’t too painful, Mr. Sorenson.”

  Sorenson shook his head and his lips twitched into a half smile. “To be honest, it wasn’t pleasant, but when I stood up, the pain had … calmed somehow. So I think now, I’m the one who’s sorry for having doubted one of your many talents, dear baker.”

  Mac couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious the man didn’t apologize that often. “I’m glad one treatment could help a little.”

  “Me too. And I want to ask you if we could plan another treatment.”

  Mac crossed her arms. “It would depend on how you feel tomorrow. If the muscle is too sore, we better skip it.”

  He nodded. “I assure you, it can’t be worse than it was before. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Mac was about to answer back when he stepped closer and leaned to kiss her. Mac closed her eyes when their lips touched and his hand cupped her cheek before tangling in her bound hair. She took another step in his direction, pressing her body against his. The mood was so innocent and light, it made her giddy.

  To her frustration, even if she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, he didn’t follow her lead. He kept it easy, but insisting. When her hands decided to satisfy her need to touch him and started to roam his firmly muscled abdomen, she heard him groan just before he pulled away.

  They looked at each other for a long time, and without a word, he broke the connection before heading to the back door. Just as he opened it, he turned to her.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. And as you’re now officially my therapist, please call me Wes.”

  Mac was still glued on the same spot as he left, his step a little more fluid. Damn, the man pushed all the right buttons, all the buttons that shouldn’t be pushed at the moment. The worst timing ever, she thought, as she prepared for her delivery, her mind definitely in the gutter.

  Chapter 8

  Actually, Mac didn’t know what was worse—being forced to hide because of a dangerous criminal on her tail, or the sexual tension with the grumpiest man alive living next door.

  Weeks passed, and when her hands weren’t full of flour and sugar, preparing her orders for the café, they were rubbing oil into the scarred and muscled thigh of a man who could easily haunt her thoughts, if not already done. And because it was her day off, with no appointment with Wesley planned, she had gone for her jog early. A long run, making sure that each time her mind wandered to the golden skin and the heat under her fingers, she accelerated and pushed herself even harder, making her burning muscles scream to silence her mind. If lust could pour out of her skin with the sweat, she may finally have a decent night of sleep.

  She even thought about going to meet the three musketeers of dominance, but it was Monday, the day of a rest for all whip yielders as far as she knew.

  Frustration ebbed and flowed with each stride until she felt the familiar quivering of her muscles begging for mercy. Lungs burning, she returned to the club, and rounded the building to the back stairs.

  As she walked, letting her breathing return to normal and stretching her muscles, footsteps came from the alley, getting closer. At first, Mac thought they were only on a nearby street, but they were coming her way. High heels, and closing fast.

  “Mac!” Lilianne squealed as she entered the small courtyard. The young woman was clad in a rather demure cropped top and red skirt, but was perched on impossibly high heels matching her outfit. “
I knew you would be back; didn’t I tell you?” She turned to Margot and Sebastian, who were following at a definitely slower pace behind her.

  “Lili, how you can run that fast in those heels?” Margot huffed. Her friend had an asymmetrical green dress, split at the thigh.

  “Don’t be angry, Margot, our Lili only lives her life at full speed!” Sebastian smiled, shaking his head at his friend. The man was dressed in his suit, dark gray this time, with a black shirt open at the collar. As his usual self, he came close, full of flirt and swagger and kissed her cheek.

  “Don’t listen to them. Tonight, it’s the night I wanna go out for a drink. As a single lady, I mean.”

  Surrounded by three glamorous people, dressed to the nines, Mac felt like a soaked cat.