One Taste of Sin (A One Taste Novel Book 4)

by Amanda Siegrist

  Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and legs and flashed a brilliant smile. “I can’t wait to see this.”

  “Leave.”

  “Now, sweetheart, we both know you don’t really want that.” He winked for extra measure.

  He knew he was playing with fire, a hellish fire that was bound to burn him to the ground into nothing but ashes, but he couldn’t help himself. This woman. This beautiful, amazing woman was always on his mind. To have her standing in front of him was torture and pain and heartbreaking. He needed to soak up her beauty a few more minutes before he left, never to see her again. As it should be.

  She tilted her head to the side as her eyes sparkled with a little bit of desire, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a little bit more rage than he anticipated. Both things turned him on, his pants getting tighter and tighter by the second.

  “Oh, Stitch, you think you’re funny. You’re not.”

  “You sure? I had you laughing a lot that night.”

  Her eyes flickered, almost pain touching them, before it disappeared. He couldn’t tell if he imagined it or not. Anger he could handle from her. Pain was a different story.

  “Yeah, you did. Still do.”

  “See.” He graced her with the cockiest grin he owned with a wink to go with it.

  She took a few steps toward him and stopped about a foot away. Close enough for him to reach out and pull her into his arms like he wanted to do since the moment he saw her “It’s sad. You have no idea why I want to laugh at you.”

  “Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

  A wicked grin touched her gorgeous face. “You think I want you again, which is so damn hilarious. That night, while fun, wasn’t, like, the best night of my life or anything. Sorry you thought so.”

  “I know you’re not a liar, so why pretend to be one now.”

  “Poor Stitch, he can’t handle the truth.” She reached out and patted his cheek mockingly. “It was just sex. And honestly, it was only…meh.” Her hand fell away. “So don’t think for one second I’m dying to be in your arms again.” She turned and started walking away to the kitchen.

  Did she just say the sex was meh between them? That he wasn’t even that good.

  What. The. Hell.

  What a crock of shit! There’s no way she could think that. Yet, as he watched her walk away, her stance was steady, her stride purposeful, almost enticing, as if she knew how badly he wanted her. But, apparently, she didn’t want him.

  Meh.

  No way.

  “That was the best sex you’ve ever had, and you know it, shorty!”

  For some reason, those words felt hollow as he hollered down the hallway, losing view of her as she turned the corner.

  Chapter 2

  Susan’s hand shook like a mini earthquake as she picked up the knife. She couldn’t believe what she said to him. It was only…meh. That was so damn hilarious it wasn’t funny. It was heartbreakingly sad.

  But she couldn’t let him get away with acting all cocky, like he was God’s gift to women, as if she should be falling at his feet that he decided to grace her doorstep…finally! And why?

  Because Dee asked him to. Definitely not because he wanted to.

  She should’ve known better than to fall for his charm. Honestly, when they asked her to go to the King and Queen’s ball, she didn’t want to. But Dee, Rina, and Zoe insisted she come with them. Of course, they had a date with their husbands. Who was she supposed to go with?

  Sauer tried to get Newman, his partner and friend, to go with her. As friends, of course. Newman shot that idea down. I don’t want to go to a ball…and I don’t want to go with Susan.

  She wished she had never heard him say that, or the way he said it. Like a dolt, she had a huge crush on him, even when he had a girlfriend, and he ruined that with little effort.

  After that, the ladies decided she needed to go to the ball, and Dee said she had the perfect guy to take her.

  Stitch.

  From the moment she laid eyes on him, she didn’t even understand why she had such a silly crush on Newman. One piercing gaze from him had her melting on the spot. He stared at her with such intensity, with such desire, she had almost been afraid to shake his hand when he offered it.

  A bad boy all wrapped up in a nice fancy suit. Black hair, on the longish side, that he swept back with a simple style. Every so often, he would run a hand through it, making her wish she could do the same. Golden brown eyes that gazed at her all night with need, from the moment they made eye contact. A hint of a five o’clock shadow. Just enough, that every time his cheek grazed hers as they danced, it sent little bolts of lightning straight to her core. The sensation had driven her mad with lust. And his tattoos… Each time she saw a small patch of ink on his wrist when his shirt and jacket moved a certain way, or a small peek from his neck, considering he didn’t bother to wear a bow tie and left the top button loose, she had ached to see more. Each and every tattoo that covered his body.

  And she did.

  He had been hers all night. They laughed. They danced. They drank. At the end of the night, he drove her home and they had sex. Mind-blowing sex.

  He whispered such sweet and dirty things in her ear. No man had ever talked dirty and wanton with her. More like boring and unoriginal. Every word ignited her body on fire. She had wanted more and more and more until she couldn’t walk. He gave her multiple orgasms that she never knew she could even produce.

  He said he’d call her right before they drifted off to sleep, because he already missed her. One of the sweetest things ever said to her. She fell into a peaceful sleep after that.

  And nothing.

  For the last six months, she heard absolutely nothing from him. Until today.

  Yeah, the sex had been spectacular. Nothing at all what she said. But she wouldn’t let him see how much it affected her. She refused to let him see how much he truly hurt her. It wasn’t the first time a guy let her down. Honestly, she didn’t think it’d be the last.

  Swiping a lone tear away, she started to chop the carrots. She didn’t hear the front door close, but she figured he left.

  She laughed.

  Oh, yeah, he left. Thinking he was lame in bed. He wouldn’t be sticking around now.

  Well, serves him right for acting all cocky and like he didn’t rip her heart out when he ditched her before the morning and then never called.

  Her motions started to get faster, harder and rigid, as the anger started to consume her once more. How dare he act as if nothing happened between them. Like they didn’t share an amazing night of sex together.

  “Susan, I’m—”

  She screamed, jumped, and slammed her hand down, the one holding the knife, all in one smooth motion. Instant tears started to form as the pain radiated from her finger and down to the very tips of her toes.

  “Oh, shit.” She clutched her hand to her chest. The blood trailed across the floor as she rushed to the sink behind her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Before she could answer his question, he was by her side and wrapping her hand with her good towels her grandma embroidered. His grip turned hard as he tried to stop the bleeding. She could feel his hot breath hit the top of her head. His warmth cocooned her, soothing her. Yet, he made her cut herself. He scared the living daylights out of her.

  “I’m sorry, Susan.” His voice lowered an octave. “For everything. I never meant to hurt you. Not in the past…not right now.”

  She lifted her gaze, her eyes still swimming with tears. Her finger hurt like the dickens. The knife felt like it sliced right through.

  He glanced away, his eyes lowering to the floor. She followed his gaze, eyeing the thick blood drops that made a pathway to where she stood. She knew blood inside and out. She had seen it splattered against walls in horrifying ways. It spread out across a bed like a pristine sheet covering it. Sprinkled around a room as if someone had tossed it for good measure. Pooled in a puddle on the cold hard cement. Blood didn’t faze he
r. It couldn’t. Not in her line of work.

  But seeing the trail from the island counter to the sink, her blood trail, made her almost gag at the sight.

  A warm hand cupped her chin, pulling until her eyes connected with his. “I should look at it quickly. We have to see if you need stitches.”

  Stitches. She felt like laughing. But she didn’t. Not when the man who held her hand, who went by the nickname Stitch, held her hand tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.

  She nodded, too afraid to say anything.

  With a swiftness that surprised her, he unwrapped the towel, looked at her wounded finger, then wrapped it back up.

  “Doesn’t look too deep. But it does look nasty. A band-aid isn’t going to cover it. I should take you to the hospital.”

  Her wits finally came back. She grabbed the towel right above his hand and pushed his hand away. Or at least tried to. He wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m fine. You’re right. It didn’t look deep, so there’s no need to go to the hospital.”

  His eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to argue with her. She assumed most people would cower from that look. Not her. Working in the forensics department didn’t put her in the path of too many criminals, considering she always arrived at the scene after everything occurred, but she dealt with a few scary people in her life. Stitch wasn’t one of them.

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  His eyes flared with intense heat as his grip tightened even more. Shockingly, it didn’t hurt. The passion in his golden brown depths did, however. A thin lock of black hair fell to his forehead. Suddenly, she ached to brush it back, as he always did.

  No. What she needed to do was get away.

  “Please, let me go to the bathroom. I have everything I need here.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  She shook her head no. Her gaze hit the cutting board and her bloodied carrots. She couldn’t control the shiver that consumed her.

  His warm hand covered hers as he leaned closer. “Fine. Go fix your hand and I’ll clean up the mess.”

  The moment he released her from his death grip, she fled the kitchen. She wasn’t about to argue with him. Thinking about cleaning up the mess made her stomach curl, and she couldn’t even decipher why. Damn Stitch for realizing it immediately, offering to do it for her.

  Pulling her first-aid kit from underneath the bathroom sink, she started to bandage her pointer finger. The knife sliced it near the edge of her finger. She was lucky she didn’t chop it right off.

  The bleeding had slowed down, probably from Stitch’s tight grip. She wrapped it with gauze, making her finger look like a tiny mummy, then taped it together.

  She cleaned up the mess and took her time putting everything away. Rotating her hand around, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she should get stitches. The way she had it wrapped, it looked like she should. But then Stitch would insist on going with her, and the last thing she wanted was for him to stay. He needed to leave. Seeing his handsome, yet annoying face was too much. Especially after she was finally starting to forget all about him.

  She nearly tripped when she walked back into the kitchen and found Stitch at the island counter cutting the broccoli apart. The sight was…right. As strange as he looked, his forearms flexing from cutting, his tattoos sticking out in her girly kitchen decked out in shades of light green with flower decorations everywhere from the doorknobs on the cabinets to the curtains hanging above the sink, he looked like he fit right in. The bad boy looked oddly domestic, and she liked the image a little too much.

  A question she asked herself many times the past six months crossed her mind once again. Was he a bad boy?

  His image said he was. His cockiness today suggested it. Even a few words spoken by Dee said he was. But was he?

  He had been sweet, kind, and so attentive the night of the ball. Not the picture of a bad boy, besides his tattoos, if she wanted to be judgmental, which she didn’t.

  She pushed all her trembling emotions away to be sorted out later, by herself, and cleared her throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Nope, I don’t.” His eyes caught hers. “But I’m going to. Go find something else to do. I’ll finish the cutting around here. You can’t be trusted with a knife.” His lips curled into a devilish grin, one she found too enticing for her battered heart.

  “Fine. I’ll go finish hanging the sign.” With a haughty tilt to her head, she started to walk away.

  “Good luck with that…shorty.”

  His laughter followed her down the hallway.

  Shorty.

  Yeah, she was much shorter than him. It didn’t mean he had to point it out and make fun of her.

  As she picked up the banner from the floor, she chastised herself. She meant to make him leave, and here she was allowing him to stay.

  A slow smile grew into one she shouldn’t have. He wanted to help her. That damn sweet side of him again.

  Oh, no.

  Was he playing a game with her? Reel her in with sweetness once more and take her body to extreme pleasures. He had something to prove, especially since she essentially issued a challenge by claiming he was horrible in bed.

  She wanted to hate herself for doing such a thing. She also wanted him to walk out of the kitchen and take her against the wall. A little hard and rough. Because she needed to release her pent up emotions. Because she wanted it fast and dirty. Because she wanted…him.

  As long as Stitch was in her house, she was screwed either way.

  ♡

  Newman ran a tired hand through his hair as he took his time walking up the porch steps to the front door. He nodded once at Officer Spencer and entered the house, preparing himself as best as he could for the scene about to hit his eyes.

  Sometimes he hated getting up so early for a crime scene. He didn’t even have enough time to make a cup of coffee. He could use a hot steaming cup of Joe right now to wake him up, to calm his nerves some.

  That probably wouldn’t even calm his nerves right now. Nothing could. Not a damn thing could make his life better.

  He swallowed hard, then took a step into the bedroom. His eyes made a quick sweep of the room, barely glancing at the dead woman on the floor, who had red glaring marks on her neck. The scene smelled like death, looked like a horror scene with a broken lamp, clothes scattered around the room, the bed sheets tangled in a mess, and all he wanted to do was flee. Run fast, and run hard. He didn’t want to stop until he felt his world center back into equilibrium. Would he ever feel balanced and carefree again?

  The room might look horrifying, yet he couldn’t see any blood. He blew out a tiny sigh of relief, grateful for that small thing. He didn’t think he could handle any blood right now.

  “Dude, you okay?”

  Newman averted his attention from the hallway, trying not to plan his escape like he wanted, and gave Sauer a weak smile. “Just tired. What do we have so far?”

  “This is Tonya Moretta. Her sister found her. I guess she’s been staying with her recently and got home late from a party. She saw her sister’s bedroom light was on, which was unusual, and found her like this.” Sauer stepped closer to him, walking carefully around the body, and Susan, who was collecting evidence near the body. “She’s recently divorced. Her sister, Jeanine, said she’s been having problems with her ex-husband lately. He’ll be a good place to start.” He lowered his voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Newman nodded, even though he was far from okay. He wanted to spill his guts. He wanted to tell Sauer every sordid detail of his messed up life, but he couldn’t. His life would turn even worse if he did.

  “Yep.” Newman glanced around the room again, his eyes hitting the dead body a little longer than last time. “Looks like she might’ve been…raped.”

  “Yeah. Susan’s waiting for Dr. Everly to get here so she can process the body for evidence, but she did find some fingerprints on the nightstand. Let’s hop
e it’s not the victim’s. I say we start by interviewing the ex-husband.”

  His heart started to beat erratically. What he wanted to do was disappear. He wanted to slink away into the dead of night, erase every aspect of his life, and re-emerge as a whole new person. A different one. A respectful one.

  “Why don’t you interview the ex-husband and I’ll start canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone saw anything. We’ll get more done if we split up.”

  Sauer cocked a brow, surprised by his suggestion. They never split up. They always interviewed, canvassed, and worked a case side-by-side. Why did he suggest that?

  If Sauer would ask, he’d be tempted to say he needed to be alone right now. He wouldn’t be fit for company. Of course, Sauer would never ask, and he’d never actually say that.

  “Sure. We can do that.”

  Like Sauer could be, he let it go. He didn’t question him. He didn’t mess with the status quo. One of these times, Newman wished Sauer would. He wished he’d get into his face and demand some answers.

  Today wasn’t the day he’d do it, obviously.

  “Let’s get to work.” He smiled for Sauer’s benefit. Without another word, he walked out of the room without glancing at the dead body, or even a simple hello or goodbye to Susan, who looked overtired and oddly quiet herself. He knew that feeling well.

  ♡

  The filing cabinet drawer slammed so hard it shut and opened back up a little. The ringing in her ears that started at a dull tingle when she walked into work this morning flared to a full-blown roar as her mind tried to recall where she put the Moretta file.

  Meticulous. Orderly. Put together. Organization kept her sane in a job that would put quite a few people in the bathroom puking their guts out.

  But today…

  Today went from one bad scenario to the next. It all started with waking up before the birds sang to a crime scene that still made her stomach roil with disgust. She hated rape cases. She hated thinking how much the victim must’ve suffered before she died. Of course, she wasn’t positive the victim was raped, since Dr. Everly hadn’t completed the autopsy yet, but there had been enough indication at the crime scene to suggest that’s what happened.