The Affair (The Evolution Of Sin #1)

by Giana Darling

  I didn’t know anything about this man I was considering sleeping with. And I was, considering it. The idea of a holiday affair was not new to me, I’d read books and watched movies. But the idea of having a holiday affair myself went against every conservative bone in my body. Not to mention the addition of a girlfriend, a woman from his real life who probably expected his love and fidelity. I snuck a glance at Sinclair and frowned. He didn’t seem like the type of man to love easily and I wondered at the nature of his relationship. Were they close and if so how long had they dated? I bit my lip. It would drive me crazy to render a picture of the unknown girlfriend and I resolved not to consider her any longer. It was cold of me, and I felt a pang as the idea rebounded off my morals, but I would do it.

  I settled back in my seat while the wine was poured. When our waitress began to take dinner orders, Sinclair made eye contact with me as he ordered and raised one reddish brow. I understood his question and though I raised both of my own eyebrows, I also nodded slightly, giving him reign to order my meal. His eyes sparkled as he did so and it gave me time to think over his proposal.

  There was no doubt I was intensely attracted to him. Honestly, a woman would have had to be dead to remain unmoved by his fierce looks. But I had never dated an overtly attractive man. In fact, I had only dated one man and by no stretch of the imagination had he been a hunk. Mark had been sweet faced, with thick-rimmed glasses and distinctly Canadian manners. We had dated a month before he could work up the courage to kiss me.

  I watched Sinclair speak easily with one of his associates. After a moment, his posture changed infinitesimally and I knew he was aware of my gaze. Immediately, heat pooled at the base of my stomach. I knew that saying yes to this man would rock my world and honestly, I wasn’t sure that I was sophisticated enough to deal with it. Catching my eye, he stared at me, desire blazing so brightly I was sure everyone at the table was aware of the fiery air between us.

  “So, Elle.” Cage leaned over to me with a boyish grin on his exotic features. If I hadn’t been so inextricably caught up in Sinclair, I’m sure I would have been bowled over by both his good looks and star power. “Tell me about yourself. What brings you to Mexico?”

  My stomach fluttered and I realized that my anxiety had been laid to bed by Sinclair’s charm. I hadn’t thought about the betrayal I had left behind in Paris or my family reunion in over an hour.

  “I’m here to paint.”

  His eyebrows shot into his hairline and a flicker of suspicion flashed across his face. “You’re an artist. Would I know any of your work?”

  I shrugged when I felt Sinclair’s gaze on us. “Maybe.”

  “Well, where did you study? A friend of mine is one of the proprietors at MoMA.” The woman beside him snorted derisively but he ignored her. “I know quite a bit about art.”

  “European.” Robert Corbett, the only man over sixty in the group, slapped his thick hand to the table and then pointed at me triumphantly. “Irish?”

  “I thought French like Sinclair,” Duncan Wright countered, his glasses iridescent in the candlelight.

  “Not quite French are you, sucre?” Cage frowned at me thoughtfully.

  Before he could press me further, Sinclair chuckled darkly. “Elle is difficult to know. Leave her be.”

  It was said with good humor but I knew it was a warning. No one was to press me for details and I wasn’t to offer any.

  I should have been angry, at the very least indignant over his privacy clause in our holiday affair, but I only felt a secret thrill of excitement. I wanted to know how his caramelized skin tasted and trace my fingers over the line of the muscles in his torso as it arrowed into the groin. If I could have that, I assured the more conservative part of my conscious, the personal details wouldn’t matter.

  “And you, Cage?” I spoke quietly, as if I had a secret to share, so that Sinclair could only wonder at our topic of conversation. Let him worry, I thought with an inner smile.

  Cage threw his head back and laughed heartily, his glossy hair catching the candlelight and highlighting his heathen good looks. “Unless you’ve been living under a rock, I think you’ll be playing dumb, Elle.”

  I smiled at him over the rim of my wine glass, pleased and surprised by my ease with the singer.

  “And how do you know Sinclair?” I took a careful sip of my wine, savoring the robust flavors of the cabernet he had ordered for me. It was delicious, and another current of arousal sparked through my system. The Italian woman in me loved a man who knew his wine.

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say we met through a mutual friend, a very long time ago.” His tone implied that friend and he had shared some very intimate time together and once again, the woman beside him with the buck teeth rolled her eyes.

  He laughed and winked at someone over my shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Sin?”

  I looked over my shoulder and up, to find him standing behind me frowning. Goose bumps rippled along my skin and I rubbed my exposed arms even though the breeze off the ocean was tacky with warmth.

  “If I remember correctly, I introduced you to our ‘mutual friend’ and you took off with her,” he said as he put a warm hand on my shoulder. The heat from his contact seared through the thin material of my dress and made me shudder.

  Cage gasped in dramatic objection. “Me? Never. Elle, who do you believe? This French gypsy or the hunky rock star?”

  I laughed, at ease with Cage’s mock arrogance. It reminded me of my brother Sebastian’s public persona and unexpectedly, I felt a pang for home. “I am not the right person to ask.”

  I tilted my head so that my eyes could meet Sinclair’s over my shoulder. His were dark and troubled, his other hand clenched by his side as he fought to control the emotion in his features. I could sense his pain, his discomfort over Cage’s carelessly worded humor.

  “Oh?” he asked quietly.

  “Because she clearly favors me,” Cage declared smugly, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne.

  “No,” I spoke softly and ran the fingers of my right hand gently down the outside of his leg nearest to me. “Because I have a soft spot for gypsies.”

  His nostrils flared and without looking at Cage, he said, “Trade places with me. Duncan has something he wants to discuss with you.”

  Cage looked at the man in question, who only shrugged but Cage did as he was told with a roguish grin.

  “Can’t blame him for wanting you all to himself.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and chuckled when Sinclair took him by the shoulder to pull him firmly away.

  “I liked him,” I protested mildly as Sinclair settled in beside me.

  “You’ll like me more.” His hand landed heavy and hot on my bare knee, branding me. “Now are you done trying to distract me? I really do have business to discuss and I want you to think, long and hard, about my proposal. Can you do that for me?”

  His voice was so seductive. No one else I knew had such a powerfully sexy speech. It may have been the undercurrent of French in his pronunciation or the depth of his baritone, the fact that he never spoke loudly and yet every word vibrated throughout my body. Whatever it was, I was almost certain I would do anything that voice commanded.

  So, I nodded mutely and watched a slow, slight smile tip his firm lips.

  “Good,” he said and turned immediately to Richard Denman.

  The sluggish ocean breeze carried his leather and smoke scent to my nose and I sucked a lungful deep into my lungs. His hand on my bare thigh seemed to throb against my overheated skin and when I squirmed slightly, he squeezed me into stillness.

  “What brings you to Mexico, Elle?” The woman beside Sinclair leaned forward and smiled at me with closed lips. I wondered if she was self-conscious of her buckteeth.

  “My best friend booked the room but was unable to make it.” Brenna would have loved the luxurious resort and I worried that she was working too hard under the direction of her new manager.

  “Lucky girl.�
� She extended her hand. “Candy Kay.”

  My eyebrows rose by their own volition but she was kind enough to laugh at my rudeness. “I know. It’s misleading. I gave up introducing myself as Candace years ago, people refuse to call me anything but Candy.”

  “It’s a lovely name,” I offered politely, trying to recover from my earlier faux pas.

  She laughed loudly, her teeth flashing in the candlelight. I found her rather beautiful actually, when her features relaxed with good humor and she forgot to pull her lips closed.

  Her insecurities reminded me all too vividly of my own as I grew up. It was only recently that I had come to terms with myself, with the red hair and olive skin, the freckles and the lack of Italian spicing my speech. I was the only one in our family without a discernable accent and though Elena shared my red hair, it was dark, almost black, and she had the long, lithe body of the twins while I remained stunted, shorter and too curved. For years, I had hid behind baggy clothes and died my hair an unnatural black. I fingered a waving lock of auburn hair nervously.

  “Did I hear you say that you are an artist?” she asked. “I’m hopeless with any form of creativity but I so admire artists. You must have an awfully romantic life.”

  I laughed as I pictured the cramped apartment in old servants quarters that I had lived in the past five years. “Not exactly. But I do love what I do. I’m lucky to have had the opportunity to pursue it.”

  “I think it’s wonderful when people follow their passions,” Candy spoke in a low mumble, the better to hide her teeth, I thought, but Sinclair looked over abruptly as if she had yelled.

  “Not everyone is so lucky,” I agreed, thinking of my siblings toiling away in New York City for years, two young people alone in a foreign country trying to scrounge together enough money to support a family of five.

  “That’s why I respect Sinclair so much, of course,” she said. “His passion is boundless.”

  He chose that moment to look over at me as Duncan Wright spoke animatedly to him about stock options. His eyes were dark and the shadows cast his features in stark relief. The sharp jut of the bones in his face was almost cruel and the intensity of his expression was near to savage with desire. A shiver trembled across my shoulders. Boundless passion. The look he gave me promised just that.

  “I haven’t known him for very long,” I exaggerated smoothly; prying my eyes from his in order to smile at Candy. “Tell me about the work you do with him.”

  I watched her come alive, her lips pulled over her teeth, his eyes sparkling and I knew she too shared passion for her work. “I’m the vice-president of the company and while I love the thrill of closing a land deal, I won’t lie to you, my favorite part is working with Romani International, Sinclair’s charity. That’s one of the reasons we are here.”

  “Oh?” I scoured my mind for any information on the Romani people but found myself sorely lacking in knowledge. I knew it was the politically correct term for gypsies, and that they were nomadic peoples with somewhat vagabond lifestyles.

  “He doesn’t like to talk about it much.” She cast a quick glance at the man between us, but Sinclair was busy debating something animatedly with the other men. “But every year he rewards his closest colleagues with a week of all-inclusive vacation. Of course, it’s not really a vacation. We are here to close a deal on a resort while simultaneously milking our fellow travelers for donations to the Romani Foundation. Business never sleeps, even when Cage crashes the party,” she said with a sigh and a quick glance at Cage, who was leaning across the table shouting at an unfazed Sinclair.

  So, Sinclair was in real estate? I was quiet as the food arrived and a beautifully presented glass of fresh shrimp ceviche was placed before me. I looked over at Sinclair as I raised a spoonful to my mouth and hummed in delight as I took the first delicious bite.

  His hand tightened around my thigh and his lips parted on a small gasp at my expression. I was dazzled by his desire and emboldened by it, I deliberately swept my tongue across my bottom lip.

  His blue eyes flashed. “I need you to say yes, Elle.”

  His smoky voice made me dizzy but I shook my head slightly to clear it and smiled demurely at him as if I was used to this degree of male attention. “I’m still thinking.”

  “Well stop talking and eat up then, I’m an impatient man.”

  I giggled quietly so as not to draw the attention of the other diners. “I would never have guessed.”

  His resulting smirk was self-mocking. “You are too observant for your own good.”

  “I’m an artist.” I shrugged, because to me, that explained everything.

  He stared at me intently for a moment, his food still untouched. “You look like a piece of art.”

  My eyebrows shot into my hair at the romantic thought but Sinclair abruptly pulled his hand from my thigh and turned to Candy as he tucked into his chicken mole dish. I was almost glad for his dismissal. His words continued to ring in my head. No one had ever said something like that to me and coupled with our electrifying chemistry I was worried that despite my conservative upbringing and the fact that he obviously had a girlfriend back home, I was undoubtedly going to agree to the conditions of his holiday affair.

  Chapter Three.

  “Did you enjoy your meal, Elle?” Sinclair’s voice wrapped around me and tugged my focus from my conversation with Richard Denman, a very interesting man with his own architecture firm in New York, to the handsome Frenchmen sitting on my other side.

  For some reason, I blushed. “ Yes, very much. Thank you.”

  We had made our way through four courses, ending in a rich Mexican chocolate mousse that had made me weak in the knees. I took the last rich spoonful of sugar in my mouth and closed my eyes briefly as I savored it. When I opened my eyes, Sinclair’s were blazing.

  “Tell me,” he gritted out between his teeth. “What will it be, Elle?”

  It took me a moment to find my breath. He was so achingly handsome that I couldn’t believe he was real, let alone that someone like him would be interested in me. His eyes narrowed at my hesitation and I laughed breathlessly at his impatience.

  I straightened my spine and looked him in the eye, trying to convey the weight of my answer. “Yes.”

  He blinked, as if he had misheard. “Say it again.”

  “Yes.”

  The grin that split his face was the first unreserved expression I had seen on his hard features since meeting him and it attracted the attention of Cage who stopped his animated storytelling, which included an air guitar, to frown at his friend.

  “What’s cause for such a smile, Sin?”

  “I’ve been smiling like that all night and I’d wager it’s for the same reason as Sinclair.” Richard Denman slapped a powerful hand on my back. “This is one intriguing lady.”

  I tipped my head down in embarrassment but Sinclair’s hand found mine under the table and squeezed.

  “Margot won’t like her, that’s for sure.” Cage guffawed at the idea even as the rest of the table shot him disapproving looks.

  “His personal assistant,” Candy explained. “She’s a bit… protective.”

  “Nothing will do it for that woman unless it’s Sin. Not even me,” Cage divulged with a wicked wink that made my heart sink further.

  And he had a girlfriend back home. I wondered what these people thought of the arrangement; if they knew that Sinclair had decided to take me as a lover or if, perhaps, this was routine for him when abroad.

  He must have caught the apprehension on my face because suddenly, he was standing, pulling me with him. “Goodnight, everyone.”

  No one batted an eye at his rude farewell and we were already walking away when they began to call their own goodbyes. I tried to wave at them and smile but Sinclair’s long legs ate up the ground and I finally just gave up.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” I pointed out as we emerged from the restaurant onto the torch-lined path to the rooms.

  “I don’t have the tim
e to be nice,” he said as we made our way swiftly through the lobby.

  “Oh.” I was struggling to keep up with his brisk pace and my quip was slightly breathless as a result. “But you have time to cheat on your girlfriend?”

  There was barely a hitch in his stride but a muscle in his jaw ticked menacingly. He maintained an arctic silence as we took the elevator up to the top floor. I bit my lip, nervous that I had overstepped my bounds but angry with myself for succumbing to his charms. Whatever conflicting feelings I may have had fled when he opened the door to his room.

  Glass doors dominated the entire far wall of the cream colored living room, exposing the obsidian waves of the Pacific lacquered by the moonlight as they rolled gracefully into the shore. I moved immediately to the sight, inexorably drawn to the power of the scene. Even as the beauty overwhelmed me, I was aware of Sinclair a step behind me. It felt almost like he was indulging me, allowing me to enjoy the view for a moment before the icy cold of the elevator ride descended once more.

  “Are you ready to have a mature conversation about this now, Elle?” His voice was disarmingly soft and the hand that skimmed down the bare skin of my arm was gentle but when I turned slightly to face him, his deep blue eyes were frosted with censure.

  “Mature?” I repeated, shocked by his rudeness.

  He remained calm and grabbed my hands as they came up to push him away. “How are old are you? Twenty-two?”

  I glared at him but he only raised one cool brow in the face of my defiance.

  “Twenty-four,” I muttered.

  He kissed the center of one of my trapped palms. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Clearly, you have never had an affair before, of any kind and I admit that is part of your considerable appeal.” The way he stressed the word considerable, tilting his hips slightly so that they were pressed against mine, unraveled me. “And obviously, you have a problem with the idea of my infidelity. What would make you feel better about it? If I said that I had never cheated on her before? I haven’t. That out relationship is rocky, that she is bitter and we haven’t slept together in months or years? Lies.” His turbulent eyes locked onto mine with utter sincerity. “The truth is, she is steady and whip-smart, beautiful. I’ve been with her for a very long time.”