Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Katherine Lace

  A long time later we head down to the beach. I’m wearing appropriate beach garb that makes me feel more exposed than it ever has in the past even though it’s a fairly conservative two-piece. I’m calmer, but my face feels tight and sticky from crying. Cain insisted we get something to eat, so he ordered up room service and I managed to choke down part of a salad and a few bites of chicken. My stomach’s still roiling, but I try to keep my emotions under control. For Cain’s sake if nothing else. If I start to cry again, he’ll flip his shit again, and I can’t deal with it. I just want things to settle back down.

  Fat chance of that. I’ve done what I felt I had to do, and it’s split my family apart. Probably endangered my life and that of my new husband.

  But what the hell else was I supposed to do? I press my lips tight together, fighting back more tears. Cain squeezes my hand.

  “No more crying, Jess. What did I say?”

  “You said no more crying.” My voice is dead, in spite of my attempt at humor.

  “That’s right. Because it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of that.”

  I don’t know how he can, but I nod. He leads me by the hand down the trail that winds its way from the hotel grounds to the white sand beach I saw from the balcony only a few hours ago. It seems like a lifetime—I was so calm then, so centered. So peaceful.

  Now? Not so much.

  It’s not just the threats and fury from my father. It’s me questioning what’s between Cain and me. He was quick to swear he’d protect me, but why? Because he has feelings for me, or because he wants to be sure our deal stays intact? Is he wanting to save my skin or his own?

  I blink back more tears, frustrated with the fact they won’t stop gathering along my eyelashes. Why did I think this kind of arrangement between the two of us would be enough for me? Is this really any different from the way my father manipulates people?

  I can’t have these thoughts right now. It’s too much.

  Cain must sense that I’m upset, because he draws me a little closer and presses his face against my hair. If he doesn’t have real feelings for me, he sure knows how to act like it. He’s gone from just wanting to fuck me to actually wanting to touch me, hold me. Comfort me, even.

  “Jess…”

  I nod. “I know. It’s going to be okay.” I try not to sound doubtful or sarcastic as I say it, but it’s hard. I don’t seem to have the same kind of confidence he does about the situation.

  “What are we going to do?” I murmur, and I’m not sure he can even hear me over the soft breeze and the sound of the ocean.

  He does though. “We’re going to hole up here for a while. Our flight back isn’t for a week. By that time, your father will have cooled his jets a little and not be on such a rampage. Then we go back, and we deal.”

  I nod. He sounds so certain. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Pop won’t be able to sustain that level of anger for a whole week. I have my doubts though. Pop is pretty damn good at being mad. It’s like he has an advanced degree in anger.

  Still drawing me gently along by the hand, Cain steers us toward a quiet area behind a rocky outcropping. The sand is soft and just high enough that the waves don’t come in to cover it. We sit down and Cain draws me half into his lap. I stretch my legs out, and the waves come just high enough to spray my feet. The warmth of the water feels a little like tears.

  “Just trust me,” he says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  I wonder if he’s as determined to make sure nothing happens to him, but I know the answer. He’s not. And that’s part of why the tears keep leaking down my face. I want to protect him as much as he says he wants to protect me, but I can’t.

  I lean my head back on his chest, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat, and the slow movement of his body as he breathes. He starts to stroke my hair, runs his fingers along the side of my face. It feels good.

  “You know…” he ventures after what seems like a very long time, “I’ve never had anything quite like this.”

  “What do you mean?” I want to see his face, but there’s not much point trying. It’s too dark, and I’d have to shift positions. I’m way too comfortable to move even if it means I can’t evaluate his expression.

  “It’s kind of…” He seems to be groping for words. “It’s like family.”

  “You never had a family?” It occurs to me I know almost nothing about Cain’s past. Everything I know about him begins when he first entered my father’s orbit.

  “Not so much,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “My mom died when I was a kid—drunk driver. My dad… She said he died, but I think he just walked out on her. Anyway, after she died, I went into the system and I never managed to get back out.”

  The words, delivered in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, bring tears to my eyes. “God, Cain. I’m so sorry.”

  He offers another shrug. “Nothing you could do about it. Nothing anybody could do about it. I was acting out, a mess—nobody wanted to take that home with them. Just a fact of life.”

  I wonder if anyone in his life has ever genuinely loved him. It’s too sad a question even to ask.

  “I wonder if it’s worse,” I say quietly, “to not have a family at all or to have a family like…like mine.”

  He draws me a little closer, kisses the top of my head. “I don’t know, sweetheart. There were foster families who seemed to care, and then there were families who didn’t give a shit as long as they got their check from the government. Some of the other kids… Well, let’s just say that’s where I first learned how to fight.”

  I can’t even imagine. I’m already an emotional mess, and I have to fight back the tears just thinking about what his life must have been like. Still, I manage to ask him the next question in a steady tone. “What made you decide to fight professionally?”

  His voice is very quiet. “Only thing I was any damn good at.”

  Now I really am crying. I try to keep myself still in his arms, but I know he can feel it. He starts lacing his fingers through my hair in slow, soothing strokes.

  “Hey, now,” he whispers. “None of that.”

  “I can’t help it.” I can barely get the words out. “It’s just all been too much.”

  He shifts behind me, turning so I have to move off his lap and down to the sand next to him. As his eyes meet mine, I can tell he’s genuinely concerned. “I know it’s been a long couple of days. But it’s all going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  I shake my head. He keeps saying that, but it’s hard for me to believe him. This whole plan seemed so sensible when I thought of it; now it seems like a pointless act of rebellion that’s going to get us nowhere. “Pop’s going to kill me.”

  His hand closes hard on my wrist. “No. I won’t let him.” Before I can protest, he’s kissing me hard, then he draws back, grasping my other wrist. “You don’t belong to him anymore. You’re mine. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “You can’t make any guarantees.”

  “Oh, yes I can. You’re my wife. I’m responsible for you now. And nobody is going to lay a goddamn hand on you. Not even your father.”

  I nod, but I don’t answer. I know we’re still in danger—the texts and messages from my father made that all too clear. But right now, right here, I just want to believe him. And when he kisses me I lean into it, losing myself in the taste and the feel of him.

  The kiss is different from any we’ve ever shared before. Gentle. He strokes my face with one hand while he slowly, meticulously explores my mouth with his tongue. His hand cups my breast, his thumb circling my nipple, and I start to melt.

  I’ve never been with anyone who knows how to hit my sexual buttons the way Cain does. Granted, I’ve never been with anyone enough times for them to learn me the way Cain has, but it’s more than that. He just seems to know, without being told. And yes, he’s pushy and domineering, but with him I feel protected, not threatened. I don’t know what makes the diff
erence. All I know is that the idea of spending the rest of my life with him doesn’t scare me.

  It probably should.

  You can’t choose who you love. And that thought should scare me, too. Because who had ever said anything about love?

  He slips his hands down my bare belly, fingers moving under the edge of my bikini bottom. They’re questing but not too urgent—just making their way slowly toward where we both want them to be. Moving a little in the sand, he shifts so he’s under me and I’m straddling him. I can feel his erection through the cloth of his swim trunks, and he starts to thrust his hips under me. I wonder if either of us thought to bring a condom with us, then decide it probably won’t matter much either way, not after what we did at the county clerk’s office.

  He answers the question, though, drawing one out of his pocket and holding it up. I give him a twisted sort of smile and take it from his hand.

  “I know,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No. Probably not.” I don’t bother to point out that I made no effort to protest at the time. To be honest, it had been a surprise, but in the long run I don’t mind. I kind of like the idea of having his baby.

  But what does he think about that? He’d been the one who’d decided to bareback it, so I have to assume he’s okay with the idea, too.

  That’s a thought for later. Or never, since most likely nothing will come of it. I lean over him and kiss him—his mouth, his face, his neck—moving my hips so his cock rubs up and down between my legs. It feels good—not just the sensation but the lack of urgency. It’s languid and easy, and he goes with the flow.

  I can hear the waves lapping against the sand, and I match their slow rhythm. It’s a little too slow, to be honest, but I stay at that pace for a long time, just reveling in the way his body feels against mine. In the moonlight I can barely see the outlines of his tattoos against his skin. Stroking his chest, his arms, I can barely feel them here and there, vague lines just under the skin.

  Finally I can’t stand it anymore. He seems to have reached the end of his endurance as well, his hands closing tighter on my arms, the movement of his hips more urgent, low, anxious sounds coming from him.

  I reach down between us and find him, then push down his trunks. My bikini bottom is so scant it’s no effort at all to move it out of the way. I ease the condom over him, letting my fingers trace the heavy veins in his cock as I roll it into place. He gasps and says my name in a harsh whisper.

  “Cain,” I answer, and kiss him as I slide him inside me.

  I can feel the water on my toes now, as the tide comes farther in. It caresses my feet as I move on him, bringing him deeper and deeper, until finally we both break apart with a low, shared cry that echoes the sound of the waves.

  We lie there for a while, just quiet in each other’s arms. It’s so different from anything else we’ve ever shared, and in those moments I feel as quiet and at peace as I ever have in my life.

  I can’t help but hope it’s a sign of a new beginning. For both of us.

  In the morning we dress quietly, moving around each other like it’s some kind of choreographed dance we’ve done every morning for years. Cain catches me at one point and kisses me, caresses my breasts, but he doesn’t push it. I wonder why, since he always seems to want sex, but then he says, “We’re going out for breakfast.”

  We do that, eating crepes and fruit on a patio where we can watch the ocean. The strawberries are sweet and unbelievably juicy, the crepes so light they’re like eating air. After, Cain talks to the concierge, and within an hour there’s a car outside.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him. Sightseeing is fine with me, but I can tell he’s got something specific on his mind. He just smirks at me, though, and doesn’t tell me a thing. Typical. I’ll let him get away with it for now.

  Eventually we’re in the main part of town, and the car pulls up in front of a jewelry store. I catch my breath, realizing what he’s up to. Hearing it, he gives me a grin.

  “Didn’t think I was going to forget, did you?”

  “I didn’t think it was important. I mean, we signed the papers.”

  “No way is my wife walking around without a wedding ring.”

  Well, okay, then. I follow him inside.

  We squabble over the rings for a bit. He wants me to wear a big diamond; I want no such thing. A plain gold band is more than enough for me. Finally he tells me to wait in the car.

  “Fine,” I tell him. I normally don’t like being ordered around, but when Cain does it I don’t mind nearly as much. “You come out with a big diamond, though, and you’re sleeping in the bathtub tonight.”

  He kisses me soundly. “I’d like to see you try to make me.”

  It’s a while before he finally comes back out of the store. I sit in the car, enjoying the warmth and the breeze and listening to the radio. When he emerges from the shop’s door, he’s whistling like he’s proud of himself.

  “Get out of the car,” he says, and I do.

  Then, to my surprise, he goes to one knee right there on the sidewalk and holds up the small velvet box. He opens it.

  It’s not a plain gold band, but it’s not a big diamond either. It’s a band embedded with tiny seed pearls, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

  “Cain, it’s beautiful.”

  “Good. I was hoping you’d like it.” He comes to his feet and takes my hand, slipping it over my finger. Then he takes another box from his pocket and hands it to me.

  I open this one. There’s a matching band inside, wide to complement a man’s finger. It has a single pearl—not too big, but it flashes pink and blue and white in the bright sun. I take it out and slide it on to his finger.

  He smiles at me, and it’s the gentlest smile I’ve ever seen on him. Then he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the ring on my finger.

  7

  Cain

  We’re in Cancún for a week. It’s my first trip there, and I have to say it’s a good place. But I don’t think it would have been as good if I’d come by myself. Being there with Jess makes it…special isn’t a strong enough word. Perfect is the only word that comes close.

  We spend time on the beach, in town, shopping, and of course having sex. We actually manage to fuck on a bed our third night there. I have to admit it’s a nice change. She feels good between me and the mattress. The next night I feel good between her and the mattress.

  And every day, during meals or when we’re just walking, hand in hand, I see my pearl-encrusted ring on her finger and know she’s mine. I see her looking at my own ring, too, with a look in her eyes that reminds me of the way I feel. We’re in this together.

  Finally, though, the honeymoon is over. Literally. It’s time to head for home.

  Home doesn’t seem like the right word for it anymore. I wonder what Jess is going to do. Does she want to get her stuff from her dad’s place? Does she even want to risk seeing him? We talk about it a little on the plane, but like me, she doesn’t want to think about it too much.

  Finally, as we’re collecting our luggage at LAX, she says, “Just take me to your place. We’ll figure it out from there.”

  It was a late-morning flight back, so it’s still daylight when we stop at my place. Big problem, though—we’re both hungry, and there’s nothing in the fridge. My bachelor life never lent itself well to having a well-stocked refrigerator, and I don’t think Jess wants to cobble anything together from a jar of mayonnaise, three beers, and a bag of coffee beans.

  “I’ll go pick up some things,” I tell her, giving her a kiss as I set my suitcase down. If I sit or, worse, fall into bed with her, we’ll never get out of here, and we’ll both starve. Somebody will find us eventually, tangled in each other in the bed, like mummies or something.

  It’s a terrible image, but I find it hilarious, and I grin down at her. She’s in my home. She’s my wife. I can’t quite get my head around it.

  “I can go with you
,” she says, and yawns so wide I can see her tonsils.

  “No, you take a nap.” I kiss her again. “Anything in particular you want?”

  “Bacon,” she says. “And…maybe a big thing of frozen lasagna.”

  It’s not what I expected, but… “I could murder a big thing of frozen lasagna.” One more kiss, and I force myself back out the door and to my car.

  Even after a week in Cancún, everything seems so bright. It shouldn’t; the perpetual smog over Los Angeles should see to that. But I’m in such a good mood all I can see is the sun and the cloudless sky as I head down the freeway.

  I’m not thinking about much of anything as I get out of the car and head into the supermarket.

  Then a hand grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around, and I’m looking right into the face of Carmine Romano.

  “Welcome home, asshole,” he says, and punches me in the face.

  I stagger, mostly because he caught me by surprise. He takes advantage and follows up with a kick to my ribs. Before I can get my balance back, he’s grabbing me by the arm and dragging me across the parking lot.

  There’s a dark car sitting out at the edge of the lot, away from the other cars, in the shadow of a batch of bushes and palm trees. I know without being told who’s there. And I’m right. As we approach, the driver’s side window rolls down, and I’m looking at Phil Spada’s face as he watches me be “escorted” into his presence.

  He gets slowly out of the car as we get closer, shooting his shirt cuffs under his dark pinstripe suit jacket. His face is almost completely neutral, but his eyes are on fire. I know I’m in for a beating. Or maybe just a bullet between the eyes.

  My first thought is that I wish I could see Jess one last time.

  “Hard to believe you decided to show your fucking face around here again,” Spada says when Romano shoves me toward the car. This time I’m a bit more prepared and manage to keep my balance.