I Spy a Wicked Sin

“Oh, just wait. I promise you’ll be blown away. After the gallery, we’re invited to their place for a nightcap.”

“Sounds like a lovely evening. I can’t wait.”

“It will be. And the Sinclairs are… interesting people.”

“Tell me about them.”

Ah, he had her curiosity piqued. He suppressed a grin. “I think I’ll let you find out for yourself. Dev and Geneva must be experienced to be fully appreciated.”

“Not fair-”

“Lunch, guys?” Liam called, rolling in his squeaky cart. He quickly set out their salads, silverware, and glasses. “Jude, your salad bowl is in front of you, fork on the right, napkin underneath. Iced tea at one o’clock, rolls in the middle of the table.”

“Got it.”

“Liam, this looks delicious,” Lily said. “But where’s yours?”

“I’m eating in the kitchen, giving you two a chance to get acquainted. Plus, I’ve got a ton to do. Chow down, and let me know if you need anything else.” Wheels squeaked again. “I’m leaving this cart parked against the wall over here for when I come back to clean up, but it shouldn’t be in your way.”

Jude nodded. “Thanks,” he said, throat tight. In his lap, his hands knotted into fists.

After Liam’s steps receded, Lily spoke with concern. “I assume dining is part of the fear you mentioned regarding going out in public.”

“How did you guess?” His attempt at humor was heavy with bitterness.

“Do you want me to-”

“No. I’ll manage.” Damn, he hadn’t meant to snap.

“Fine,” she fired back. “Then wipe that lost-puppy expression off your face and do it.”

Lost puppy? Okay, that fucking pissed him off. She had no clue what this goddamned hell was like, day in and day out. Suddenly her take-no-shit attitude wasn’t quite so charming. Being pitied was bad enough, but to be accused of trying to elicit sympathy?

His hand shot out to snatch a roll, nearly knocking over his iced tea in the process. Acting on pure reflex, he saved the liquid from spilling too much, then placed the roll to the left side of his salad bowl. Hands shaking, he lifted his fork, laid his napkin in his lap, and found the edge of the bowl with his left hand as a guide. Finally, he speared some salad and popped the leafy greens and savory chicken into his mouth.

“You’re doing well,” Lily observed. “I don’t know why you’re so afraid.”

He swallowed his bite. “I’m dealing.”

“Bullshit, you’re hiding.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only if you’re lucky.”

“I don’t need luck, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart any more than I’m your honey.”

“You think? We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Silence descended. One heartbeat, two, three.

Lily burst out laughing. Real, honest laughter. So infectious that Jude’s mouth started to quirk. Dammit, he couldn’t hold on to his foul temper if he wanted. He gave up and joined in, shaking his head.

“I must have looked like a jerk, huh?”

“Nah, you’re cute when you’re in a snit,” she said.

“Good God, I haven’t been called cute since I was ten.”

“Really? Because you’re pretty good at acting ten.”

“Lily dear, the only thing about me that comes close to ten is in inches.”

She choked on something, recovering quickly. “You wish!”

“Dirty-minded woman, I was talking about my bicep.”

“Uh-huh.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Jude realized something. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Manage to put me at ease, make me forget about how much I’d been dreading sharing a meal with someone other than Liam?”

“No trick. There’s really only two ways to distract a man that a girl needs to know-tick him off or make him horny.”

“Or feed him. That’s three.”

“True. But under the circumstances, that one didn’t count.” Laughing softly, he resumed his meal. “Tell me about yourself,” he said between bites. “Are you close to your family?”

“I have none,” she said shortly. And didn’t volunteer more.

If anyone could understand the reticence to discuss the folks, he could. Since he’d opened the subject, he offered a bit of himself. “Me, either. At least none who care to claim me. I’m the son of a whore and her john, and the red-light district was my playground. The one bright spot was my pop, Mother’s dad. He lived with us because he had nowhere else to go and wouldn’t have left me anyway, and I was glad. As I grew older and Pop died, my mother’s hovel-no, the entire city-became a prison I couldn’t wait to escape.”

Gentle fingers stroked his arm. “And you succeeded.”

“One would think so.” A sudden surge of emotion almost blocked his windpipe. “But you know what I’ve learned? All prisons look the same in the dark.”

“Jude,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

God, what had made him admit the one depressing truth he hadn’t even been able to share with Liam in his blackest moments?

Her hand traveled down his arm to his denim- clad thigh and rested there. Her sweet scent, her nearness, drove the wayward spurt of self-pity back into its lonely corner. Her palm burned him right through his jeans as she slid it to the inside of his thigh, very near the telling bulge.

Was she being bold? Or coy? Secretly smirking at his predicament? Lily was a blank page, and his hands itched to find out.

“May I look at you?” Putting his fork aside, he skimmed the back of her hand resting on his leg, up her arm, gratified to feel her tremble slightly at his touch.

“Yes, by all means.”

Encouraged, he moved his chair to face her direction. Reaching for her legs, he was surprised to encounter dainty bare knees. “Spread your legs and scoot closer.” As she complied, the insides of her thighs resting on the outsides of his, he was tantalized with the unmistakable musk of her arousal. It chipped at his control as he began his exploration.

He ran his palms up her thighs slowly, pleased by the feel of toned skin over solid muscle. This woman, however petite, was no weakling. She pushed her body and he found that sort of discipline damned attractive.

Above midthigh, his fingers reached the edge of a skirt and he was tempted to stray underneath. But not yet. He continued his journey to her middle instead, finding a lightweight blouse untucked and riding high, and he couldn’t resist spanning her tiny waist with his hands. Moving upward to her ribs.

“Your skin,” he prompted softly, so as not to dispel the sensuality developing between them. “Are you pale, or tan?”

“A healthy golden tone. I tan easily, though I prefer not to. When I lay out, I wear sunscreen.”

“I’m glad. You will be as well, years from now.”

Her breathing quickened as he brushed his thumbs just underneath the curve of her breasts. He longed to touch them, but held back again. He wanted her straining for his hands, her body begging even if she wouldn’t.

Next, he found her slim shoulders and explored the column of her neck, the curve of her jaw. Carefully, he probed her cheekbones and forehead, discovering the sharp structure of her small face. Stronger and bolder than he’d expected.

Her brows were thin and smooth, her lashes long and feathery. “What color are your eyes?”

“Brown and large. My father always said I had doe eyes.” Affection and a smidge of sadness bled into her voice.