Sweeter Than Sin

by Shiloh Walker

  In case you needed me.

  Words rose in him, trapping in his throat as he turned to face her.

  They were still close to two miles from the little house where Max had lived all these years. Brilliant streams of sunlight shone down around them and cars passed by but all he saw was her. Reaching up, he threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped her face.

  He opened his mouth, trying to figure out the way to say everything pent up inside. He wasn’t a man who cared about words—they meant little, in his mind. Except what she’d just done proved him wrong. A few gentle words could somehow slash into him and yet flood him with something … indescribable.

  Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to her forehead while an internal war waged inside him. He thought back to the first time he’d seen her, the fury that had lit inside him when he realized what he’d come across. The defiance and fear and anger he’d seen reflected in her eyes. The way she’d smiled at him the next time they met. Then, the third time, when he’d thought he was being casual about it and she gave him that slow, I see what you did there look.

  It started then, he realized.

  When he started to feel again—he’d thought it was just lust and he’d welcomed it. Lust was a normal thing. He hadn’t felt it, not really, until she’d given him that slow, sure smile of hers and he’d thought about covering that red-slicked mouth with his own, fantasies that he hadn’t entertained in … never. He’d never had them.

  He’d fed that hot, hungry feeling then, let it consume him, but he’d never really noticed everything that grew along with it. The obsession. The need.

  “You’re in my blood, in my soul. I can’t remember a time anymore when I didn’t needed you,” he whispered, the words slipping from him without him even realizing it.

  Sybil tensed, a startled sound slipping from her.

  He lifted his head and watched her from under his lashes. “I made Samuel put in that bid that bid on your studio,” he said.

  * * *

  Well, well, well. Sybil walked into the studio and all but dropped her jaw. Okay, yes, she’d known the group the contractor had gotten for most of the construction was one of the Amish families out of Switzerland counties, but Caine was on it?

  What were the odds?

  He hadn’t so much as looked at her, but she recognized him—would recognize him, no matter what, whether it was a dimly lit street and he was striding down the street with more confidence than any man should have, or if he was here, among the rest of the quiet, soft-spoken men, like a wolf among sheep.

  In that very moment, he looked up and like he was surprised to see her, he blinked and cocked his head, then just nodded.

  But she saw it, in just that moment, that he wasn’t surprised.

  He’d known this was her place. Once they were done, it would be her studio and she planned on making something of it.

  She smiled back and lifted a brow.

  He kept his face blank, a shutter falling across his features, but she didn’t let it get to her.

  He was here.

  What to do about that?

  * * *

  That memory, more than a dozen years old, slammed into her and she reached up, curling one hand into the thick, woven material of the black sweater he wore. It was scratchy-soft under her hand, the heat of his skin like a furnace.

  “Samuel?”

  He shrugged restlessly, a gesture that was out of place on him. “He was Tom’s father. Used to head up the crew before I took over. Tom is going to be taking over now, I guess. I asked Sam to take the job. Actually, I convinced Abraham to talk him into it.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  He pressed his face into her hair and she shivered at the feel of his breath teasing her skin. He mistook it for cold and wrapped him arms around her, pulling her close. “Because I wanted to be around you. It was a weird thing for me. I never cared if I was around anybody or not—no. That’s not right. I preferred not to be around people, but on that job, I tried to get the inside work as much as I could. Abraham heard about it, thought maybe I was…”

  Sybil turned her head slightly toward him, rubbing her cheek against his when she felt the rasping brush of his stubble. “Getting better,” she murmured. “But there’s no getting better. It’s not like you had a cold, is it?”

  “More like cancer.”

  “They’re the cancer.” She stiffened and lifted her hands to his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Them. Not you.”

  * * *

  Volatile emotion sparked in her gaze but for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he had a hard time meeting her eyes. Them …

  Sometimes he deliberately fooled himself, especially lately. Always with her. She’d known—always known. Now, aware of her vivid stare, as the ugly realization slammed into it, he let some of the bitterness he felt spill out.

  “Yeah. They were a cancer. And they spread it around.” He caught one of her wrists, dragged it down as he continued to watch her, stroking a finger across the inside. “You see so much, Syb. You always did. When did you figure everything out? How long have you known?”

  She blinked, looking confused.

  He advanced on her, moving his hands to her waist and urging her back, back, back until she bumped up against the brick wall of the building behind her. “Did you just look at me that first time, the second time, or was it the third time when you realized how completely fucked up I was inside?”

  “Exactly where are you going with this?” she asked, her voice level.

  “When did you know?” Bracing a forearm on the wall by her head, he dipped his head until their eyes were on level. He’d never been able to figure it out, why she could stand to be around him, put up with him. He’d never figured it out.

  Her gaze met it. Then she angled her chin up and narrowed her eyes. “I figured something pretty shitty had happened to you the first time we had sex. Those scars all over your back didn’t exactly happen because boys will be boys, right?”

  Something twisted inside him and he swallowed his throat. “You didn’t know…”

  Sybil heaved out a breath, the motion causing her breasts to rise and fall. “Hell, David. What did you think was going on here? Some sort of marathon session of pity fucks?” She curled her lip as she said the words and they fell distastefully from her lips.

  One hand clenched into a fist. “It’s occurred to me.”

  Sybil reached up, slid her fingers inside the neckline of his shirt, the tips splaying out until she could trail them over the topmost edges of the scars. She never once moved away. “I don’t pity you. Something in me breaks knowing what was done to the boy you were. You’re not him anymore. Either they killed him or you did. But you’re not him. You’re you and I wake up every day wanting you, needing you. Don’t think otherwise, not for one minute.”

  Some of the tension he felt drained out of him and he dipped his head, buried his face in her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Sybil hooked an arm around his neck as she turned into him. “We’ve established the fact that you’re fucked up. I figured that out a while ago, but I don’t think you’re fucked up so much as … pulled in. You only let pieces of yourself out in small doses.”

  Eyes closed, he listened to the rhythm and cadence of her voice as he let the words sink in slowly. Not fucked up. Oh, hell. Yes he was.

  If he was smart, he’d pull free of her and stay away.

  But that was one thing he couldn’t seem to do.

  After a moment, Sybil nudged him with her hands and he eased back, staring down at her. A car went blasting down the street, stopping at the stopsign with just a squeal of the brakes before speeding off down the street like a bullet. Neither of them even looked away from each other.

  “I don’t pity you,” she said again. “That doesn’t mean I can’t hurt for what was done. To you, to God only knows how many others.”

  He let his hands fall away as a torr
ent of bitter anger rose inside him. He fought to keep it trapped. Letting it explode out of him wouldn’t hurt anybody but Sybil.

  “God.” He spat it out as some of the rage leaked free. Spinning away, he stared down the street. He laughed and even that felt like acid boiling up his throat.

  * * *

  The sound of that laughter, ugly and broken, was like jagged glass on her skin. Sybil stared at his averted back, every line of his body rigid. “God knows how many?” he echoed. Then he turned and looked at her. “There is no God, Sybil. God wouldn’t allow the things that happened here to happen. So not even He knows.”

  A wave of sadness rolled through her.

  Sighing, she moved up and stroked a hand down his back. She might not have the kind of faith that somebody like Noah did—his could probably move mountains. That was the saying, right? But she did believe in something higher than herself. It seemed kind of sad to think this was it, that there was nothing else.

  “David,” she said, sliding her arm around his body. “This isn’t about the things God allows. He gave us life, free will. That means the sons of bitches who choose to act in evil ways are going to do it. At the end of it all, they’ll answer for it.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with derision, the word all but lost in a derisive snort. “You know how many times I cried? Prayed? Begged for help? It never came. I was alone. I’ve always been alone.”

  Sybil moved around him, then, cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not. I’m here. I’ve been here a long time. I won’t go away unless you make me and even then, you’ll have a fight on your hands.”

  His lids flickered. “That’s not…”

  She rose up on her toes. “Shhhh. I know. This isn’t anything I’m trying to change your mind about. You have to decide for yourself anyway. I just don’t care to believe that it all ends here. And regardless of any of that, you’re not alone. You’ve got me.”

  “Do I?” His arms came around her, banded tight, sliding yet against under the heavy, long material of her coat. One fist tangled in the material of her dress while he buried his face against her neck.

  “Always.” The words she really wanted to say remained trapped.

  Somehow, she knew this wasn’t the time. The place.

  But one day soon, she’d tell him. Whether he wanted to hear it not.

  She stood there, holding him close while he practically clutched her to him. Every line of his body was tense, so tense, she could almost imagine him vibrating. After a moment, his lips rubbed against her neck, the slight movement sending an electric thrill racing through her. How many years had she been with him? Not enough. She could spend a century, taking as many of these stolen moments as she could, and it wouldn’t be enough.

  His lips found her ear and she shivered as his breath ghosted over her skin. “Where’s Drew?”

  “Staying with his friend, Darnell.” She forced a smile and shrugged. “I called Taneisha—you met her at the hospital, I think. She took care of Max. Anyway, I wanted to be here…”

  He lifted his head, pinning her with an intent stare as her words trailed off.

  “I wanted to be there if you needed me. Going to…” She trailed off, uncertain what to say. Your place? Max’s place?

  “It’s too far.” He dipped his head and rubbed his lips across her neck. “Your studio.”

  She caught her breath as he slid his hand around and up her torso, cupping her breast in one palm. Her coat shielded the action from view, but it still felt so very …

  Wicked.

  Wonderful.

  And not enough.

  “Let’s get there, then.”

  ALSO BY SHILOH WALKER

  SECRETS & SHADOWS E-NOVELLAS

  Burn for Me

  Break for Me

  Long for Me

  SECRETS & SHADOWS SERIES

  Deeper Than Need

  Available from St. Martin’s Press

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Shiloh Walker has been writing since she was a kid. She loves reading and writing anything paranormal, anything fantasy, and nearly every kind of romance. Once upon a time she worked as a nurse, but now she writes full time and lives with her family in the Midwest. She has authored dozens of works of romantic suspense, contemporary and paranormal romance, and urban fantasy under the name J.C. Daniels. Visit her on the web at www.shilohwalker.com to learn more.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SWEETER THAN SIN

  Copyright © 2014 by Shiloh Walker.

  Excerpt from Darker Than Desire copyright © 2014 by Shiloh Walker.

  Credits © Patricia Schmitt (Picky Me)

  All rights reserved.

  For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

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  eISBN: 978-1-4668-2589-5

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / October 2014

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.