Make Me Sin (16 page)

What am I doing? This is foolish. I’m a fool.

I don’t want to be a fool.

“Is there anything else I need to do?” I ask AINE, my eyes lowered. I can’t look at anyone right now. I’m feeling a little too raw.

She says, “Nothing. It’s a perfect fit. You can have this sample for a discount if you’d like, or I can order a new one that hasn’t been worn.”

“This one is fine,” I whisper. As I’m practically broke, I’m grateful for a discount. I’ll have to put it on my credit card and pay it off over the next several months. Hopefully by the wedding date. I hustle into the dressing room and change.

After a few minutes, there’s a hesitant knock on my door. “Lo? You okay?”

I’m finished changing, so I open the door, avoiding Kat’s eyes. “I’m fine. I just need to get back to work.”

I try to brush past her, but she blocks my way, standing in front of me with crossed arms. “Yeah. I call bullshit. It’s A.J., isn’t it? Spill.”

I close my eyes, drag my hands through my hair, and sigh. “It’s A.J.”

“I didn’t know he was coming, I promise. And I haven’t said anything to Nico, either, so you don’t have to worry about that. He thinks you two still hate each other.” She pauses. “Although if you keep staring at each other the way you do, he’s bound to figure it out.”

“That’s just it. There’s nothing
to
figure out. He might as well hate me for all the good it’s doing me.”

“Meaning?”

“Look . . . it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing going on between us, and he’s made it clear there never will be—”

“Why? What did he say?”

I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt. “Let’s just say he made no bones about the fact that he’d rather lose a limb than sleep with me.”

She snorts. “And you believed him?”

“No, I didn’t! Which is even worse! He’s either the biggest liar in the world or he’s totally screwed up in his head! What am I supposed to do with that?”

She says softly, “I don’t know. What do you want to do with that?”

I put my face into my hands, and groan. “I don’t do complicated. You know this about me, Kat. I hate complicated.”

“So make it simple, then.”

I lift my head and stare at her. “You mind telling me how?”

“Just lay it on the line, straight out. ‘I dig you. Do you dig me, yes or no? If yes, get naked right now. If no, go fuck yourself.’ End of story.”

“Tch. If only life were so easy.”

She grins. “I know I’m oversimplifying.”

“Gee, you think?”

“But the basic premise still stands. If you want to put yourself out of your misery, just talk to him. Tell him what you want.” She cocks her head. “But first you have to
know
what you want. Do you?”

The vivid image of a naked, sweating A.J. pounding into me as I grip his ass and cry out in ecstasy floods my brain.

Kat’s grin returns, even wider. “Oh, yeah. You do.”

I sigh. “We’ve all been spending too much time with Grace.”

“Well, she might be an incurable horndog, but at least she’s clear on her priorities.”

From a few dressing rooms down, Grace says, “You geniuses know I can hear you, right?”

Together, Kat and I say, “Shut up!”

Then Kenji appears in the doorway behind Kat. He’s still wearing nothing but his boots and Spidey underwear. And the one false eyelash. Pointing at me with a look of incredulity, he says, “A.J. and . . .
you
?”

“Oh, no!” I moan. He heard everything!

“You
cannot
repeat a
word
,” Kat snaps, wagging her finger at him.

Kenji throws up his hands. “Of course I can’t, because I can’t believe a word of what I’m hearing! It’s a figment of my imagination! I’m obviously on drugs! We’re talking about a man who eats virgins for lunch and a woman who makes nuns look slutty! There is no universe in existence where these two paths cross!”

“Why does everyone think I’m such a prude?” I shout.

Grace calls out, “Have you ever taken it up the ass?”

“Dude! Gross! No!”

Kenji asks, “Have you ever had sex with another girl?”

“I’m not gay!”

Kat says, “You don’t have to be gay, you could have just experimented when you were younger or something, like the rest of us.”

I gasp. “
You’ve
had
sex
with another
gir
l
?”

Chuckling, Grace says, “Case closed.”

I clench my hands in my hair. I hate everyone!

AINE appears in the dressing room with us, looking all sorts of nervous. “Excuse me, but there’s a gentleman here to see you?”

I frown. “A gentleman? Who?”

“A policeman. He says his name is Officer Cox?”

All the blood drains from my face. Kat and I share a horrified look.

Kenji says, “I watched a movie with an Officer Cox in it just last night.” He smirks. “That boy had a huge
talent
.”

From the far dressing room comes Grace’s delighted laugh.

T
rying to appear calm, I walk through the mirrored dressing area into the main salon. I don’t look at Nico, who’s talking to someone on his cell. I also don’t look at A.J., but I feel his eyes burn into me like two hot pokers as I pass.

In the front room, Eric stands rigidly with his hands on his hips, staring out the windows to the street.

“Hey.”

He turns. His face is red. He obviously knows who’s in the back.

I cross my arms over my chest, hoping this isn’t going to be a scene.

Eric shoots a glance in the direction I just came from. “I wanted to surprise you, so I stopped by your shop instead of calling. Trina said you were here.” He pauses, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Surprise.”

I feel an explanation is in order. “I didn’t know they were coming. They just showed up about five minutes ago when I was getting ready to leave. You know how Nico is.”

Eric’s dealt with Nico’s overprotectiveness of Kat before. There was an ugly scene during which Eric and his partner were called to deal with some paparazzi who showed up at her house when she and Nico were first dating. And the night Nico’s brother abducted Kat, Eric was part of the squad who found her.

“Yeah, I know how Nico is. What I don’t know is why A.J.’s here.” He gazes long and hard at my face. His voice drops. “Or maybe I do.”

My face flushes. “He’s the best man, Eric.”

“Since when does the best man go dress shopping with the bridesmaids?”

There’s an awful pleading tone in my voice that I hate, but I’m desperate to keep this civil. There’s nothing more embarrassing than couples arguing in public, and I’m still trying to spare Eric’s feelings. “Kat and Nico hired some froufrou wedding planner who insisted on having the guys involved in the whole process. I know it’s crazy, but it’s not my fault—”

Eric steps closer. “You want me to believe this was the
wedding planner’s
idea? Like that Neanderthal would take orders from a woman? Do you even know anything about him, Chloe?” His voice rises, and I know it’s on purpose. He wants what he’s saying to carry into the other room. “Did you know he’s been arrested
eight times
?”

He nods at the look of shock on my face. “That’s right! For everything from misdemeanor battery to felony assault with a firearm! He’s
dangerous
, Chloe. He’s—”

“You pulled his record?”

“Yeah, so?”

His defiant, defensive tone makes heat blaze up my neck. My desire to keep things civil goes up in smoke.

“
So
my father is one of this town’s best criminal defense attorneys. And he’s talked a lot about his cases over the years, so I happen to know that police officers don’t have access to a citizen’s criminal record at the touch of a button. You have to formally request it through the Criminal Offender Record Information unit of the Department of Justice, and it’s on a need-to-know basis.” I pause, trying to get my breathing under control. “What exactly was your legal need to know, Officer Cox?”

He looks at me with steam coming out of his ears. “You’re defending that loser?” he hisses.

“Actually what I’m doing is trying to find out if I’ve completely misjudged a person I thought was trustworthy.”

This is the wrong thing to say. Eric goes from merely indignant to thermonuclear in two seconds flat. He grabs my arm and shouts, “You’re talking about
me
being trustworthy?
Me?
This from the girl who called her boyfriend by some whoring, violent criminal’s name while he was trying to make love to her?”

To my left comes A.J.’s voice, deadly soft. “Take your hand off her, or I’ll break it.”

Eric turns his head. I follow his gaze. There stands A.J., all six foot six of him, legs spread, shoulders back, bristling. What I see in his eyes could make Freddy Krueger run screaming in terror.

Eric drops his hand from my arm, and turns to face A.J. He rests his right hand on his gun. “That’s the second time you’ve threatened me.”

“It’s the second time you’ve deserved it.”

“Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business?”

“She is my business.”

It hangs there between them, a lit stick of dynamite with a very short fuse.

Nico walks up, eyeing A.J. and Eric. His glance flicks to me. “What’s goin’ on, kids?”

No one answers. The tension is so thick I could cut it with a knife.

Nico casually says, “Officer Cox, good to see you. Actually this is great timin’, because I’ve been meanin’ to call you about this charity concert I wanna put together. I was hopin’ I could get the support of the LAPD . . . you got a minute?”

I’ve never seen Eric so angry. Cords stand out on his neck. A pulse throbs in his temple. His left hand is curled to a fist, and it’s shaking. Nico eases between him and A.J., and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, Eric. Let’s take a walk.”

I know Eric likes Nico, and respects him, too. But I can see the struggle Eric goes through as he decides whether or not to allow Nico to steer him away from the cliff he’s about to sail over.

Finally, he relents. He curses, turns away, and lets Nico lead him out the front door. When they’re gone, I exhale and press my hands over my pounding heart.

“I’m sorry,” I say to A.J. without looking at him.

“Not your fault. Love makes people do crazy things.”

I meet his gaze. “I’ve never seen him this way. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

A.J. says softly, “He loves you, Chloe. He’s actually showing remarkable restraint. If you were mine, I would’ve burned down the entire city by now to get you back.”

That takes my breath away. I look away, swallowing. “How do you know he loves me?”

“Princess. How could he not?”

His voice is so tender it makes tears well in my eyes. I can’t look at him. Instead I watch Nico and Eric through the windows, standing outside on the sidewalk together, talking. Nico looks over Eric’s shoulder, and catches my eye.

I see understanding on his face. Eric’s telling him everything. His gaze moves to A.J., and I have to close my eyes to block out the new emotion that crosses Nico’s face: fear.

Nico knows A.J. better than anyone does. And if he’s afraid for me, then I should be afraid for myself.

I feel my heart break, just a little.

“So if you were me, what would you do, A.J.?”

Silence.

“Because I’m having a really hard time deciphering this new puzzle that’s my life. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m pretty much at a loss.”

“Is he a good man?”

I open my eyes, and look at A.J. “I thought so. Before all this—”

“No. You know. Is he a good man? Overall. No one’s perfect, but you know him. Deep down, do you think he’s good?”

I whisper, “Yes.”

He slowly nods. “Then my answer is, you should marry him, and live your life.”

A knife twists in my heart. I hate it that my voice breaks when I speak. “Really? You think it’s okay to marry someone when you have feelings for someone else?”

A.J.’s eyes flash. His nostrils flare. He shakes his head, silently, and I don’t know if he’s saying yes or no, or just telling me not to be such an idiot.

Because I am. I so am. I’m standing here with a man who’s told me I make him want to die, and that I should go and marry Eric, and all I can think of is how badly I want him to put his arms around me, pull me against his chest, and kiss me.

A lone tear crests my lower lid and snakes down my cheek. With anguished eyes, A.J. watches it fall.

I whisper, “I’m not waiting up for you tonight. I won’t be watching from the window.”

A.J. nods, resigned.

“But the door will be unlocked.”

His brows pull together. He says hoarsely, “Chloe—”

“If you don’t come, that’s the end of it. I can’t do this anymore. If you don’t come I’m moving on with my life, and we’ll never speak of any of this again.”

Before he can reply, I turn and run to the other room, grab my purse, say good-bye to Kenji and the girls, and flee.

I
t’s midnight. I’m lying in bed, wide awake, staring at the same crack in the ceiling I’ve been staring at for the past three hours.

I’m a writhing ball of pent-up, white-hot, whirlwind emotions. Every nerve is stretched taut. Every time a car passes by on the street outside, I tense, holding my breath. Every little sound is amplified, until a fly buzzing against the windowpane sounds like a jackhammer. I don’t know how much longer I can lie here like this before I suffer a serious mental break, start screaming, and never stop.

Then I hear the front door open, and freeze.

The door softly closes. After a moment’s pause, heavy footsteps start down the hall. My frozen blood thaws, and begins to boil. I’m roasting from the inside out.

When A.J. reaches my open bedroom door, he stands just outside, peering in. There are no lights on in the apartment, but my eyes have adjusted to the dark, so I see how his eyes glitter. I see how brightly they burn.

Heart thundering, I sit up. The sheets puddle around my waist. I’m wearing no makeup and my usual bedtime outfit, boy shorts and a T-shirt, because the thought of waiting all dolled up in a nightie and being stood up was too much to bear.

But now he’s here. I have no idea what lies on the other side of this moment.

And I. Don’t. Care.

Without saying a word, I pull back the sheets on the other side of the bed. A.J. doesn’t hesitate a fraction of a second. He crosses the threshold, pulls the hoodie off over his head, drops it to the floor, shucks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to me.

As his arms come around me and his knees draw up behind mine, I release a breath so relieved it’s almost painful.

We lie together for a while in total silence. His breath is warm on the back of my neck. Against my shoulder blades, his heart beats fast and hard.

Into the soft darkness, I say, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

“I am. Because I know this isn’t easy for you.”

He presses his feverish forehead to my neck. “How do you see me so clearly, when no one else can?”

I think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking closer than they are.”

I hear him swallow. His thumb moves back and forth over my wrist. With a fingertip, I trace the flower tattoo on his knuckle. There are several more on his other knuckles, but this is the one I find most fascinating. “What does this tattoo mean? The flower one with the initials inside the petals.”

The question is a risk, because I know how he hates questions. I’m not sure he’ll answer. But finally he does, his voice thick. “It’s a reminder.”

“Of?”

“Everyone I’ve lost.”

My finger stills. I count the petals.

Twelve.

I sit with it, resisting the urge to ask a rapid-fire succession of follow-up questions. He’s lost twelve people. I assume by “lost” he means died, although without asking I have no way to prove that. I know the mysterious Aleksandra, resident of the Preobrazhenskoe Cemetery in Saint Petersburg, is one of the lost. His parents are, too. I remember from Wikipedia that they died years past. But who are the other nine? He didn’t have siblings. Could they be other relatives? Friends?

In the end I decide it doesn’t matter. A.J. has a dozen dead people in his past. I’ve never known anyone who’s died. Not one. Even my two dead grandparents died before I was born.

I try to imagine my parents being dead, and can’t. We don’t always get along, but I love them. And I know they love me. Their absence would leave such a void I can’t imagine it ever being filled. And if Kat or Grace died, I’d be devastated.

An unexpected feeling of tenderness wells up inside me. It’s a warm, achy softness in the center of my chest, and it’s all for the man in whose arms I lie.

I lower my head and gently press my lips against the flower tattoo.

Behind me, A.J.’s chest heaves as he gulps several deep breaths. His arms tighten around my body. He lifts the arm that’s under my head and wraps it around my chest, so I’m cocooned in a pair of big, strong arms. I press the soles of my bare feet against the tops of his, and close my eyes.

Like an onion, layer by layer, my heart peels slowly open.

“When I was growing up, I was always the tallest one in class. Taller than all the boys. Tall and skinny, so I used to get teased. They’d call me giraffe or beanpole or skeletor. My brother always stuck up for me, even though sometimes he’d get his ass kicked because he was pretty skinny, too. My mother would call the kids’ parents and scream. And my father would call the principal and threaten to sue the entire school district. It wasn’t really that big of a deal to me. I mean, it hurt, but I knew I’d eventually grow into my legs. That’s what Granny Harris would always tell me when she saw me.”

I mimic a posh British accent.
“
‘When you grow into those legs, luv, you’ll be the most gorgeous creature that ever walked the earth. You’re just going through the same awkward stage everyone goes through. But I know a thoroughbred when I see one!’ She was always saying nice things to me like that. My entire family always had my back. My whole life, I’ve always felt protected.”

A.J. is quiet, listening. I feel the energy thrumming through him, the electricity sparking from his skin.

I gather my courage and whisper, “But I’ve never felt safer than I do right now.”

He turns his face to my shoulder. His cheek burns against my skin. His voice comes low and hoarse. “I can’t be what you need. I’m not the man for you. We both know that.”

That’s not what I want to hear. It’s so far from what I want to hear, I childishly put my hands over my ears and shake my head.

He pries my hands off my ears. “Yes, Chloe.”

“Then what are we doing, A.J.? What is this? Why are you here?”

His answer bursts out of him. “Because I’m fucking weak! I can’t stay away from you! No matter what I do, you’re there, in my head, smiling that heartbreaker smile! I can’t stay away.” His voice cracks, and it sounds as if he might cry. “And I’m so tired of trying.”

He’s trembling. His entire body is wracked with tremors, little earthquakes that shake me in his arms. He makes a desperate noise, like he’s tearing apart, and I act on pure instinct.

I turn over and wrap my arms around his neck. He buries his face into my shoulder, shuddering, holding on to me as if for dear life.

I whisper, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. It won’t end well. I’ll hurt you.”

“Only if you want to.”

His laugh is ugly, choked. “That’s the thing, Princess. I
don’t
want to. But I will.”

I smooth the hair off his face, force him to meet my eyes. His are filled with water.

“Okay.”

He stops breathing. His eyes get wide. “What?”

“I said okay. So be it. If all I get is this, right now, tonight, and tomorrow you change your mind and never want to see me again, then okay. I’ll take it. I’ll take the one night.”

He just stares at me. I’ve never seen an expression like his. It’s one of horror and elation and disbelief, all at once.

“Um . . . that was your cue to ravish me, A.J. Let the ravishment begin.”

He rears up on his elbows and pushes me to my back. He gives me his weight, pressing the full length of his hard—and very aroused—body against mine. He hovers above me, his hair falling down on either side of our heads so we’re in a private little world, just our two curtained faces, our breath and beating hearts.

“You don’t mean it.”

“I do.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’ll change your mind in the morning. You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t regret anything.”

“What happened to ‘I only have sex in a context of caring and love’?”

Very softly, I answer, “Nothing.”

He understands without me having to provide more. His eyes devour my face. He whispers, “
Goddamn
you.”

“Just kiss me, A.J. You can hate me all you want tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you why not.”

My face is getting hotter by the second. “That eight-inch steel pipe in your pants would like you to kiss me.”

His lips twitch. “Eleven-inch.”

I bite my lower lip, hard, because my ovaries have just fainted. Then something terrible occurs to me, and I draw a breath. “Do you . . . is there . . .”

“What?”

I swallow, hugely embarrassed by what I’m about to ask. In a small voice I say, “Is there a, um . . . problem with it?”

He tilts his head, staring down at me. “What kind of a problem?”

“Um. Maybe the kind of problem that you’d only want a . . . prostitute . . . to see?”

He’s frowning at me in total confusion. Then his face clears as he begins to understand. “Are you asking if my dick is deformed?”

I squeak, “Or do you have some terrible disease you don’t want me to catch?”

Slowly, he lowers his mouth to my ear. His nose skims the outer rim, and I break out in goose bumps. He breathes, “I’m clean as a whistle, Princess. You?”

I nod, trying not to rock my pelvis against his.

Lightly, he takes my earlobe between his teeth. Then I get his lips, gently sucking. He murmurs, “And my cock is in perfect working order.”

“Prove it.”

He goes still. He’s thinking so hard I hear the gears turning inside his brain. But I’m in no mood for delay, as my ovaries have recovered and have started flinging themselves lustfully all over my lower body.

I reach down between us, and curl my fingers around his erection.

He hisses out a breath, but doesn’t move. We’re eye to eye, staring at each other, and I’m challenging him with a look to stop me.

He doesn’t stop me. My ovaries cheer.

Slowly, I stroke my hand down the length of him. I can tell he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, because I feel every ridge, every throbbing vein, from crown to base. And he’s
huge
. Thick, long, solid. I stroke my hand back up, to the tip, and rub my thumb back and forth over the rigid head. A little bead of wetness dampens his jeans.

My entire body explodes with want. The kind of want I’ve never felt. It’s like some wild animal has just woken up inside me, ravenous, greedy, insatiable with lust.

Looking into his eyes, I say, “I want to see it. I want to suck on it. I want it inside me.”

My throaty voice sounds like it belongs to another woman. I
feel
like another woman, someone wanton and confident. Someone far more uninhibited than me.

I squeeze his cock, and he groans. The sound thrills me, gives me even more confidence. I lean close to his ear. “I want to ride this big, beautiful cock until I come, screaming your name.”

He pants, “Jesus, fuck, Princess, who
are
you right now?”

He’s losing control. I feel it. I see it. His face is strained with the effort to hold back. His arms shake, his breath is ragged. He wants this just as badly as I do, but, for whatever reason, he won’t let himself go.

So I do the only thing I can think of that might push him over the edge. I roll out from beneath him, rise to my knees, pull my T-shirt over my head, and toss it aside. My hair falls all around my shoulders, brushing my bare breasts.

He’s frozen in shock. His eyes are big, drinking me in. He whispers my name.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boy shorts, and begin to slide them down over my hips.

A.J. sits up abruptly and grabs my wrists, hard. He snaps, “Stop!”

So this is what rejection feels like. Man does it suck.
I go limp and sink to my knees, hiding my face behind my hair. He doesn’t release my wrists.

“Look at me.”

I shake my head. I’ve never felt such crushing shame.

He pulls me up by my wrists, winds my arms around his neck. He hugs me, burying his face in my hair. My breasts are flattened against his chest. Beneath my cheek, his heart pounds wildly.

“I told you I’d never fuck you.”

I don’t say anything. What is there to say? He did tell me that, and, like a class A moron, I tried to change his mind.

He breathes me in, inhaling deeply into my hair, nuzzling his face into my neck. His fingers grip hard into my sides, and they’re twitching.

I don’t speak. Something is happening with him, and, selfish slut I’ve suddenly become, I don’t want to interfere if it’s going to wind up with me on my back, pinned beneath his hard, gorgeous body. Hoping against hope, I clamp my mouth shut, determined not to say a word.

I feel his mouth on my neck. His lips open over the pulse in my throat, he sucks, and I can’t stop the low, breathy moan that escapes me. My head falls back, into his open hand. His other hand slides up my waist and stops just beneath my breast, gently squeezing. I arch against him, mewing like a cat.

“God, Chloe. The sounds you make . . .”

His voice throbs with desire. Heat sizzles through my limbs. My fingers sink into his hair, and I pull, lost in sensation.

When his thumb brushes over the hard, peaked nub of my nipple, I gasp and jerk. I’m about to unravel, all with the slightest touch of his fingers and lips.

“You need to come, don’t you, baby?” His voice is low and harsh at my ear.