Sinning in Vegas: (Vegas Morellis, #2)

by Sam Mariano

  Of course now that he’s here, she quiets right down.

  I blink, pushing up off the floor and standing. Her big blue eyes are focused on Sin’s face now. She seems to like his attention as much as I do, and now that she has it, she blinks up at him like a little angel. Then she reaches her tiny hand up, trying to touch his face, but she can’t reach.

  “Oh, God, she’s cute again,” I murmur quietly.

  Sin cracks a smile and looks up at me. “See? I told you I could settle her down.”

  “You’re magical,” I tell him.

  Sin shakes his head, looking down into Skylar’s face. “No magic, you just have to show ‘em who’s boss. Babies look all sweet and innocent, but they’re like dogs; they can smell fear. Gotta let ‘em know you’re in charge and you’re not going to tolerate their bullshit, then they’ll know they’re in capable hands. Then they can relax and be cute.”

  “I’m not sure that would work for me,” I mutter, looking at Skylar.

  “Then maybe you need to step up your game. Just pretend she’s on a date with me and you should be able to muster some dominance.”

  Flushing, I smack him on the arm. “Not funny.”

  His lips tug up in a little smirk. “Maybe not for you.”

  I look down, shaking my head. “You’re such a jerk.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, he says, “Want me to leave you here with this baby?”

  I hold my hands up in surrender and slowly back away. “No. I’m going to clean the baby vomit off myself. You stay right here and be magical.”

  Now that Sin is here to help, I escape upstairs to Rafe’s room so I can shower and change into something clean and comfy. The little devil on my shoulder and the little angel are in cahoots tonight. I know I’m supposed to be open to Rafe, but Rafe is sitting in the VIP section at a club right now and the man I’m crazy about is the one who rushed over to help me clean up baby vomit. So, maybe fuck Rafe, and not in the literal sense.

  Rather than putting on actual clothes, I listen to the devil. I slip on a matching white bra and panty set. Instead of slipping a sleep shirt on over them, I pull on my pink satin robe. This will be much easier to shuck if Skylar throws up all over me again anyway, so in addition to being sexy, it’s practical.

  I apply a quick layer of make-up—nothing major, just some eyeliner, mascara, and subtle lip gloss. I make quick work of blowing out my hair and tousling it, since I don’t want to look like I’ve done this much work. Lastly, I slide an elastic band on my wrist, just in case things get messy again and I need to put my hair up in a bun to deal.

  As I head downstairs, I’m feeling much lighter than I have. Icky thoughts keep trying to bring me down, flashes of memory from last night, Sin sitting across the table from that damn bimbo. I want to set her on fire. If he went home with her last night, I’m going to. My pregnancy hormones are harder to control, and I’m a territorial person to begin with. If she wants Rafe, she can have him, but Sin is mine, goddammit.

  Well, I guess he isn’t, but if he’s going to move on, he needs to wait until I’m back in Chicago so I don’t have to witness it.

  All thoughts of Chicago fly right out of my mind like birds from an open cage at the sight of Sin relaxing on the couch with a sleeping baby snuggled up on his muscular chest. My heart nearly gives out, then goes into overdrive. Sin senses me in the room and glances my way, but his face shifts from congenial to something much less platonic at the sight of me. I linger where I am for a moment, letting him look me over while the tempting image of him with a baby emblazons itself on my brain.

  The way he looks at me, he finds the picture I present just as enticing as I find him right now. My legs go on forever in this robe, and the way I tied it, a swatch of my bra underneath is visible. Sin’s eyes take their time perusing me, then his hot gaze meets mine.

  His tone is faintly accusing. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

  “Easy to take off,” I say, pushing off the wall and heading toward him.

  His dark eyebrow rises, and I realize how that sounded.

  “I meant, in case Skylar makes another mess,” I add, hastily.

  Smirking faintly as I drop onto the couch next to him, he says, “Yeah, I bet you did.”

  “I totally did. I’m so sweet and innocent, you don’t even know,” I add, sinking into the couch and leaning against his side.

  “Yes, I remember how sweet and innocent you are,” he says, dryly.

  “I didn’t hear any complaints.” Grabbing the remote control, I ask, “Wanna watch Smallville with me?”

  “I think Carly will be peeved,” he replies.

  I frown, cocking an eyebrow at him. Before I have a chance to ask what he means by that, he picks up my phone from the other side of the couch and hands it back.

  I sigh, taking it from him. “Did you really go through my phone again? I’m not even your captive anymore, you really shouldn’t do that.”

  “Rafe texted you, wanted to know if everything was going okay. I didn’t want to take the chance he’d rush home when you didn’t respond, so I told him all was well.”

  “Kind of him to inquire,” I mutter, opening up my text messages to review the ones he already checked.

  “You and your sister don’t talk about him,” he remarks.

  I raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What purpose did going through my messages to my sister serve?”

  “I was curious.”

  I love how he says that like it’s the only justification he needs. He knows by now it doesn’t bother me, but our circumstances are not what they were last time I was an open book for him, so he really shouldn’t be taking the same liberties. “I don’t think your date would approve of you being curious about what’s in my phone.”

  “You are an aggressively jealous person, you know that?” he asks.

  “You think I’m aggressive now, wait until next time we’re at the restaurant and I accidentally stab her with my steak knife. Get up to help her, accidentally stab her in the eye socket with the heel of my shoe. You haven’t seen me aggressive yet.”

  “If you’re going to kill the waitress, can you not do it at the restaurant? That’s going to be a hell of a mess to clean up.”

  “I haven’t decided if I’m going to kill her yet. I might leave her alive and chain her up so I can torture her. I’m gonna need those tricks you use to deal with blood, because I have grisly plans for this bitch.”

  As if my unexaggerated homicidal intentions toward Slutty McBitchFace greatly amuse him, Sin smirks. “You’re crazy.”

  “Wait until I wind a corkscrew into her abdomen and pull out her intestine while she screams. Then you’ll see crazy.”

  “What has this girl done to you to deserve this kind of loathing?”

  Cocking my head innocently, I ask, “Did you sleep with her?”

  His amusement wanes slightly and his dark eyes meet mine. Maybe I don’t have a right to ask, maybe I don’t have a right to care, but I do. My insides feel as wobbly as gelatin in this eternal moment, the question out there in the universe so it’s real, but I don’t yet know the answer. The idea of him naked on top of another woman makes me feel things I don’t even know adequately awful words to express.

  Finally, ending this horrible stretch of torture, he answers me. “I did not.”

  Despite the joking demeanor, I feel like an entire building just lifted off my shoulders. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, I nod. “Good. I’ll probably let her live, then. Pick out a nice eye patch for her—something stylish, to say I’m sorry. I won’t be, but, you know.”

  Sin grins, shaking his head at me. “You’re a little psycho.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have kissed her,” I state, smoothing down the satin of my robe.

  “I didn’t kiss her.”

  Flashing him a victorious grin, I say, “Ha! I got more information out of you. Better be careful, I’m getting good at this; I might steal your job.”

  Sin rolls his eyes at me.
“Yeah, because I was being so secretive.”

  I’m so happy, I can’t hide it. Hugging his arm and resting my head against his muscular bicep, I tell him, “You were mean to me last night.”

  “I’m mean sometimes,” he states.

  “I know,” I murmur, absently running my fingers over the black ink peeking out from beneath his black T-shirt. He’s dressed casually tonight, a tee and dark jeans, not his usual work gear. “What were you doing when I called you?”

  “Not cleaning up baby vomit,” he says, dryly.

  Smiling faintly, I tell him, “You look really good with a baby. Like… really good.”

  His gaze drifts down to the little swatch of bra peeking out from beneath my satin robe, but he doesn’t say anything.

  In the interest of playing fair, I turn my attention back to his tattoo. Given he slept naked in his bed and I slept on this side of him, I have seen it before, but I’ve never asked about it. I can only see the bent legs right now, but the whole tattoo appears to be an angel kneeling on the ground.

  “Are you religious?” I ask him.

  “If I am, I must be really excited about my inevitable descent to Hell.”

  “Well, if you’re going to Hell, at least you know all your friends will be there,” I tell him.

  “Are you religious?”

  I shake my head. “Not really. I know you can’t tell by the whole ‘I’m falling in love with you after four days’ situation, but I tend to run more logical. I like things that can be studied and proven, not things made up entirely of myth and belief. But agnosticism aside, I’ve let a mob kingpin impregnate me and given many blow jobs to a man I know to be a killer, so I think I’m a little too scandalous for the pearly gates crowd. If you die first and Hell does exist, make sure to pick out a nice torture pit and I’ll come keep you company once I get there.”

  “No peace and quiet, even in death,” he says lightly, shaking his head.

  “I mean, we might just be worm food. Who knows?” Glancing back at the tattoo, I ask, “So, if you’re not confessing your sins on Sundays… how come you have an angel on your arm?”

  It doesn’t seem like a difficult question, but as his gaze shifts to the ink on his arm, he says nothing. His gaze drifts away, across the room. He looks off at nothing, and the solemnity of his features gives birth to dread. I can’t help wondering where he mind is, who it might be with. I look at the tattoo stretched across his muscular bicep again and think about the closet full of clothes Sin has in his bedroom.

  I almost wish I hadn’t asked, because his reluctance to tell me makes me want to know even more. Softly, I ask, “Did you lose someone you loved?”

  Still, he says nothing.

  My curiosity deepens, grows roots and wraps itself around me. If he got a tattoo over some woman, where is she now? It’s an angel, so did she die, or is it more figurative? Was she his angel? The thought makes my stomach sink. I’m jealous of a woman who might be dead, who might not even exist. Maybe it’s not about a woman. Maybe he had religion once, before this life. Perhaps the weight of all his sins grew too heavy, so he stopped believing in order to cope. Or maybe the tattoo doesn’t mean anything significant at all. Maybe he just liked the design.

  Of course, if he just liked the design, that would be easy enough to say, wouldn’t it? The religion thing seems like a simple enough explanation, too. It only gets hard if there is some personal significance, something he doesn’t want to share with me.

  I would share anything with him, so I don’t want there to be something he won’t tell me.

  Instead of sating my curiosity, he lifts his hand to rub the baby’s back, knocking my hand off his arm in the process. The tenderness of this lethal man lovingly stroking this sleeping baby’s back is an incredible distraction. He is so damn good at distracting me.

  I sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder and watching him love on Skylar. It gives birth to new torturous mental images, like him holding my baby the same way. It also calls back memories of his hands on my breasts, his breath on my skin, his beautiful, lying words on his lips, convincing me this could be our life together if I kept Rafe’s baby.

  The doorbell rings, swiftly pulling me out of my Sin stupor. I shoot upright, alarmed. “Did Rafe say anything about coming home early?”

  Shaking his head, Sin shifts, keeping one hand on Skylar’s back as he lifts his ass off the couch. “Grab my wallet. I figured you’d be hungry, so I ordered us dinner. Charged the food to Rafe’s account, but you need tip money.”

  I’m not going to turn down a chance to touch Sin’s ass, even if it is only to fish a wallet out of his pocket. My face flushes as I reach into the back pocket of his black jeans and I can’t help meeting his gaze.

  This is so much more appealing than I want it to be. An evening in, cuddling babies and talking, ordering take-out. I want this. I want all of this, and I want it with him. I guess he can keep his secrets if he needs to. I like to believe someday he’ll trust me enough to share his past with me, but it’s his future I want.

  23

  Sin

  This skimpy fucking robe is a nightmare. Cash in hand, Laurel climbs off the couch and heads for the foyer to greet the delivery guy. As much as I know I shouldn’t look, I can’t keep my eyes from following her, from trying to steal a peek as the fabric moves against her long legs. Is she wearing panties? If she is, I want to drag them off her and get another peek at her ass, her pussy. I want to spread her thighs and have her for dinner.

  Instead, we’ll have to sit here and try to pretend we don’t want to fuck each other while we eat Chinese food.

  Goddamn Rafe.

  I really shouldn’t have come here tonight. I didn’t even want to answer the phone when she called, but I couldn’t ignore it. A text message could have been ignored, but if she was calling, something might be wrong. I still haven’t found any evidence that anyone did try to drug her, but it’s been on my mind ever since. I’m probably worrying my life away over a dirty fucking glass.

  Laurel comes back in with two paper bags stuffed full of food. She’s grinning like she has Christmas presents instead of nourishment.

  “I love you for ordering this much food,” she informs me, putting the bags down on the coffee table and ripping into them.

  “I know you like food,” I remark.

  “I do. Lydia actually brought me some ziti or lasagna or something like that, some kind of leftovers as a thank you for watching Skylar. I was going to warm that up and eat by myself, but then Skylar became possessed and you know the rest of the story.”

  Frowning, I watch her open up a white container of rice. “She brought you food?”

  Flicking a glance my way, she nods. “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t eat any of it, did you?”

  “No, not yet. Good thing, now we can eat together.” She offers me a smile, but it drops when she sees me scowling. “What’s wrong?”

  “When we’re done eating, I want you to throw out whatever she brought. Tell her you ate it, but don’t. Don’t eat anything she gives you, her or Gio. Don’t drink anything the southern waitress from the club brings you either, and don’t eat or drink anything Marlena has had access to.”

  Laurel’s eyes widen. “What?”

  I don’t want to alarm her needlessly, which is why I haven’t said anything before now, but if Lydia is bringing her food now, I have to say something. Until I am reasonably sure it was just a dirty glass at the club that night and not an attempt to hurt her, everyone at that table is a suspect. “Don’t worry about it, just do as I say. I’m being overly cautious, but just… do it and don’t ask questions.”

  “I already ate something the slutty waitress had access to,” she tells me. “Rafe and I went to his restaurant to eat last night before your…” She halts, her voice a little tighter with dislike as she continues. “Your date. She was training with Virginia.” Now scowling at me, she demands, “Why are you going out with someone you don’t even trust to be around
my food? Is this Rafe’s doing? He’s fucking around with her and he wanted to throw me off his scent, didn’t he? You didn’t really want to go out with the waitress.”

  “That’s wishful thinking,” I murmur.

  “Is it?” she asks, sharply. “Don’t do the bro code bullshit and keep this from me, Sin. This is my life. I deserve to know who he is. And if he is into the waitress, maybe he would be cool with it if you and I got together. Then he’s free to have her without lying and sneaking around. We all win—I mean, except the waitress, two weeks from now when he gets bored with her, but then I’m pretty sure it’s on to the next for him. The point is, if he thinks the sun sets between her legs right now, let’s use that to get me out of this house and back to yours.”

  “Let’s not do this, okay?” I ask, nodding at the food. “I want some of that teriyaki steak on a stick. Bring me a skewer.”

  “I’ll bring you a skewer, all right,” she mutters.

  I can’t help grinning. She’s such a fucking trip, with her little bullshit murderous tendencies. “You gonna stab me with it?”

  “I should,” she informs me, as she grabs a skewer of meat and comes over to deliver it to me.

  As Laurel contemplates murdering me, my mind wanders back to the fact that she ate at Rafe’s restaurant last night and Marlena had access to her food. If Virginia was there too, she probably would have noticed anything off, but with Laurel’s well-being at stake, I can’t be too cautious. “Did you feel okay after you left the restaurant? You weren’t sick or anything?”

  Laurel shakes her head. “No, I felt fine. Why would she mess with my food? It’s Rafe’s fault, isn’t it? She doesn’t know I’ll give him up without a fight. She’s probably trying to get me out of the way so she can have him.”

  “I don’t think that’s what’s going on. I’m the one who went out with her, not him. Why would she want Rafe when she can have me?” I half-joke.

  Only that joke doesn’t land at all. Laurel looks like I just shot her dog. “Did you really order all this food just to make me lose my appetite?”