Make Me Shine (Six Silent Sins #1)

by Colt, Elodie

  She takes a sip of her champagne and chuckles. “Only one, to be honest. I love horses and ride since I’m a kid. But I also go for a run every day after work. Helps me clear my head.”

  Okay, that’s not so bad, is it? In fact, we seem to have a few things in common, save for the horses.

  “You?” she presses.

  Now, I could say I like to go for daily runs, too, or…

  “I like Segway Polo,” I probe.

  “Oh, that’s cool,” she says, her voice brightening. “I’ve done Segway Polo in the past. It was real fun.”

  I’m glad for the darkness concealing my grimace. I contemplate telling her that it was just a joke, but to be honest, I have no idea if she was truthful with her answer, either. She could have just said it to appear likable, for all I know.

  “What do you think about our match?” she asks. “Eighty-eight percent is a good ranking, right?”

  Not nearly as good as it could be…

  “Yeah, it’s great.”

  I don’t think she missed my slight undertone of indifference. She takes my cup and sets it aside along with hers. My palms get sweaty the moment she takes one step closer, and I don’t know if my stomach is fluttering because I’m eager for her to kiss me, or because I’m fighting the urge to push her away.

  In the end, I decide it doesn’t hurt to see how this is going to play out, so I keep still as she runs a hand down my tie.

  “You seem reluctant,” she says in a low voice, her fingers changing direction and trailing up to my neck.

  “I just don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want,” is my lame deflection, but it’s not exactly a lie, either.

  I remember how careful I was when I touched Devon the first time, easing her into the feeling of my hands on her body. It’s no different with Sydney.

  Right.

  Sydney utters a melodic laugh. “This is Silent Sins. This is what we do.”

  Her tone suggests that she finds my hesitation endearing but also slightly annoying, so I give myself a mental nudge and place my hands on her waist.

  She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t gasp. And she doesn’t wear cookie pants either. No—she wears a dress tight as a second skin with a plunging neckline that nearly bursts under the pressure of her full breasts, which she presses into my chest on purpose. And before I know it, she pulls me down to seal her lips over mine.

  Her taste of roses and jasmine explodes in my nose as I breathe her in. She smells like a meadow in full-blown spring—fresh and crisp and sweet. A hundred percent pure without the tang of gasoline or fried food. I like her smell.

  But it doesn’t send my heart into overdrive either.

  With an angry growl at myself that Sydney seems to misconstrue as a sexually induced noise, I rake a hand through her hair—hair that is straight and soft and not the wild mane that I’ve grown so used to fisting in my hand.

  She groans into my mouth as I yank her closer, her hands everywhere on my body at once. My fingers trace a path down her sides to grab her ass, one that is a tad bigger than Devon’s but also a lot flatter.

  The millionth thought of Devon plundering my mind only fuels my rage, and I snatch the faceless girl in my arms to box her in against the wall, pushing her up and anchoring her ankles at the base of my spine. A long side slit in her dress allows me to explore her thighs, and I try my damnedest not to think about how Devon’s legs are miles longer, how her small breasts are made for my hands, or how her insanely long lashes tickle my jaw whenever I chafe my cheek against hers.

  So, I deepen the kiss, hoping to eradicate the whirlwind of contradicting emotions battling a war in my head. Sydney responds with eagerness, feebly yanking at my tie to undo the knot and get to my skin, drowning in lust while I try to do the same, but the more I force the issue, the louder the voice in my head becomes until it’s practically screaming at me.

  You’re not better than your ex-wife. Cheater!

  The echo of those words snap something inside me, and with a painful grunt, I detach my lips from Sydney who whimpers in protest. She’s panting like me, but whereas her heavy breaths stem from hot arousal, mine stem from bitter frustration.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, easing my hold to let her slide down, but she anchors herself to me, squeezing me tighter.

  “Sorry? What for? I liked it. I—”

  I shake my head. “But I didn’t.”

  As soon as I hear her shudder in a breath, I realize my mistake and frame her face, willing her to understand.

  “Not like that. I mean, I can’t do this. Not with you. You’re sweet and nice and surely pretty, but…”

  But you’re not her.

  The words lodge in my throat, heavy and painful. As if on cue, Sydney’s fingers trace the outline of the rings on my fingers, and I know exactly what assumption she’s going to make.

  “I get it,” she finally says, her voice thick with disappointment as she detaches herself from me, and I want to hit myself for acting like a jerk.

  “It’s not like that…” I force the standard bullshit line over my tongue in a feeble attempt to set things straight.

  Dragging a hand over my face, I give her time to compose herself, clueless as to how to end this session without making it any more awkward. Seconds tick by, each one loaded with deafening silence.

  “Ross?” Sydney asks at last, and my heart breaks for her when I hear the slight waver in her voice.

  “Yes?”

  Her next words hit me square on, and again, I’m glad for the darkness concealing my face.

  “If you love her so much... why did you sign up for Silent Sins?”

  44…

  I watch my triceps strain in the mirror as I push myself up, sweat dripping down my arms and onto the mat. My face is beet-red, but I keep going.

  45…

  I don’t believe in love at first sight. And the sheer thought of falling in love after three blind dates is preposterous. I can count the things I know about Devon on one hand, and they don’t include her name or even the color of her fucking skin.

  46…

  A blasting exhale rattles through my gritted teeth as I push myself up once more.

  Why is it so hard to get Sydney’s words out of my head, though? They shouldn’t mean shit. After all, she assumed I was a married man cheating on his wife, not a wretched bachelor obsessed with a faceless fantasy.

  47…

  My buttocks start to burn with each repetition, and more sweat pours down my contorted face.

  After Sydney dropped that bomb about love, it took me a full minute to realize that I was still in an enclosed room with an intact ceiling, because I swear right then heaven opened up and thunder struck me, the high voltage paralyzing me to the point I couldn’t even twitch a finger.

  48…

  When my brain finally managed to reboot, I practically stumbled backward into the door and dashed out with a pathetic, “I’m sorry.”

  Yeah, Sydney, we were a great match, indeed.

  49…

  The veins in my neck look close to bursting, and I grunt, eager to finish my set.

  I wonder what Carl would say if he knew what an epic cluster-fuck this date was. He’d probably kick me out of Silent Sins right away.

  50!

  I collapse onto the mat with a groan, letting the rubber cool my overheated skin. Wheezing, I roll onto my back and slap my forearm over my eyes.

  The million-dollar question still remains: Why Devon and not Sydney?

  What is it about the little Russian devil that spikes my pulse as soon as she utters one of those husky words? Just because Sydney didn’t get the joke about Segway Polo?

  Sydney and I probably have a ton more in common than I have with Devon. And still... Sydney is only a zircon—a colorful, valuable gem, yet nothing more than a cheap diamond copy. But Devon? She’s a glowing amethyst, reflecting all shades of brilliant purple—the color of royalty. Incidentally, it’s also the favorite gem of… Catherine th
e Great of Russia.

  With a grunt, I heave myself up and fetch a towel to dab my neck. I would love to go for a run, but it’s still raining buckets to the point they’ve issued a severe weather warning, so I’m tormenting myself in our gym tonight in the hopes that, after I’m done, I’m any wiser about how to deal with all this.

  I sling my towel over the weight rag and grab a jump rope.

  Maybe I should back out of Silent Sins and leave Devon in the rear. I mean, it’s clear that I’m the wrong candidate for this fucking program. Better to put an end to it before I make a fool of myself.

  My lungs protest with each calculated breath, but I swing the rope faster, eager to push my limits.

  I wanted to send Devon an invitation for our third date right after the second, but then Carl threw Sydney into my face, and I decided to prolong it a few more days. A few more days now being almost a week, although I’d promised Devon not to keep her waiting that long.

  Basically, the perfect moment to throw in the towel and tell Devon that I decided to quit. Or tell her that I’ve chosen another match. Or tell her nothing at all and just cut ties.

  My scattered thoughts make me trip over the rope, and I stumble right into the weight rack, bashing my knee against the unyielding metal.

  “Fuck!” I hiss as pain shoots up my leg. Seething, I march over to the punching bag. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Each curse follows a powerful punch until my knuckles scream in protest, and my lungs are close to bursting, every harsh breath a painful stab in my chest.

  My phone rings, and I huff in annoyance until it dawns on me that the ring tone actually came from my Silent Sins app. Pacing in front of the long mirror panel, I try to cool down and wipe my palms on my sweatpants before I retrieve my phone from my training bag.

  Devonport: How about sharing another secret?

  I shake my head but can’t help my lips curling at the corners.

  Rosswell: Okay. You first

  Devonport: I love hot food.

  I grab my towel to dab my face once more, biting down a smile before I compose my text.

  Rosswell: How hot on a scale of 1 to 10?

  Devonport: 9

  Rosswell: Noted. Next time, you’ll get a wasabi massage from me

  Devonport: Is there a next time?

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I collapse onto the bench.

  I’d be a liar if I said that Devon secretly waiting for my invitation all this time didn’t make me happy. And I can’t deny that the hot-as-hell scream she granted me last time wouldn’t have brought me to my knees if I hadn’t been already on my knees.

  “Idiot…” I mutter to myself.

  I’m a fool if I thought I could kick Devon out of my life just like that. Why make this so damn complicated? Why not enjoy our time together as long as we can?

  With my mind made up, I send her an invitation for our third date. The green dot above her avatar signals she’s online, but the status is still ‘Pending.’

  Devonport: Your turn.

  Rubbing a hand over my neck, I think of something personal to share.

  Rosswell: I like jewelry.

  I wait for her reply, but the dots don’t move, so I add,

  Rosswell: In fact, I work in the industry.

  Devonport: Ha, I knew you were rich!

  I huff a laugh.

  Rosswell: Why would you think that? Maybe I create necklaces from Nespresso pods.

  Devonport: Yeah? Send me a pic.

  Chuckling, I navigate to my browser and google ‘Nespresso pod jewelry’ before I choose a pic to send Devon, one of an owl with huge eyes and a fat, round body forming a silly charm with feathers attached.

  Devonport: Sorry, my mistake. Definitely not rich.

  Rosswell: Are you making fun of my incredible skills as a jewelry designer?

  Devonport:

  Devonport: Gotta go now.

  Rosswell: Wait…

  My fingers hover over the keyboard. Devon is still online, waiting for my message, and I start typing before I can second-guess it.

  Rosswell: Say yes, Devon.

  I wait with bated breath, my eyes locked on her avatar until the green dot turns to gray.

  Okay, that’s the way the cookie crumbles. She’s going to leave me in the lurch once more, and knowing her, she won’t answer until the very last second.

  “Since when are you training at night?”

  I whirl around to see Nick waltzing in, clad in his training gear and with a towel slung over his shoulder.

  I set my phone aside. “Had to let off some steam.”

  “Huh.” He purses his lips, his eyes raking down my sweat-soaked body and, no doubt, distraught expression. He tosses his towel over the treadmill. “You’re out of sorts lately.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I say with a shrug, but he laughs.

  “Spare me the bullshit, Nathan. Who is she?” He jerks his head to my phone.

  I pull a water bottle from my training bag and unscrew the cap, stalling. “I don’t know her name.”

  Nick sends me a quizzical look. “Did you start online dating again?”

  “Something like that…” I take a few gulps from the bottle.

  “Come on, bro. Spill it.” He plops down on the bench next to me.

  Frustrated, I crumple the bottle and slam-dunk it into the trash in the corner. “Carl persuaded me to sign up for eNtimacy’s new elite program.”

  “Silent Sins?”

  “You’ve heard about it?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m dating someone there.”

  “And?”

  “And things are starting to get out of hand,” I grumble.

  “How so?”

  I pull my pendant up to my mouth and tap it against my lips. “Because I’m getting too attached. Again…” I hate how wistful I sound.

  Nick scratches his non-existent beard, looking thoughtful. “I thought Silent Sins came without the strings and shit.”

  Snorting, I shake my head. “I thought so, too.”

  He braces his elbows against his knees, staring at the floor. “You’ve always been a big thinker, Nathan. You’re playing for keeps at all times, and that’s what led you to huge success in the end. But”—he pauses to give me an intense look —“you tend to overthink and spin doubts until the net is so thick, you can’t find your way out anymore.”

  I heave a deep sigh, letting his words sink in and trying not to ‘overthink’ why my damn phone didn’t ping with Devon’s answer yet.

  “It’s not that hard, Nathan,” he goes on. “You’ve always known how to handle women, so that’s certainly not the problem. If you want that girl, just take her.”

  “I don’t want her. Not like that. Fuck, I don’t know…” I trail off, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I will never know who she is. That’s the whole point of this damn program.”

  “Then get her to tell you. Get her to open up to you.”

  “It’s not that easy, Nick. I—”

  Ping!

  I straighten in alert and fetch my phone, ignoring how my pulse skyrockets to the point stars blotch my vision.

  Good news, Ross! Devon accepted your invitation for your third date.

  Nick leans closer to peek at my screen and smirks. “Huh. Maybe it’s easier than you think, bro.”

  Maybe.

  Or maybe things just got a thousand times more complicated.

  “What do you mean, you lost the costume?” Holly’s voice coming over the phone is puzzled and amused at the same time.

  “I, uhm, discarded it in The Room and, yeah, you know… it’s pitch-black in there, and well, then I couldn’t find it anymore,” I mumble as I cross the street.

  Not exactly the truth considering Ross took the Halloween costume, which happened to actually belong to Holly, to keep it for himself. To keep a memory of me. The thought
plasters a silly smile on my face.

  “You mean, Ross ripped it from your banging body in a haste to get you naked,” Holly clarifies in an exaggerated, seductive slur.

  Oh, he was definitely in a haste to strip me bare, just as he was to go down on me and push me headfirst into an atom-splitting orgasm.

  “I’ve still got your stockings, though,” I say to steer the conversation away from Ross and his nifty hands, throwing an obligatory glance over my shoulder before I adjust the bag on my arm and slip into my apartment complex.

  I’m so scatterbrained today, I actually forgot to pack my pepper spray, and suddenly, every guy on the street is a potential stalker.

  A musical laugh resounds from the other end of the line as I start up the stairs.

  “Keep the stockings, Ella. They look way better on your gorgeous legs.”

  “Alright, thanks. Gotta go now,” I mumble when my phone is close enough to unlock my apartment door remotely. “And sorry again for losing your costume. I’ll get you a new one.”

  Holly chuckles. “Ella, I’ve got more costumes than space for them. Glad I could help you out, darling. Kiss-kiss!”

  With a huff, I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter and set down the groceries before I jump into my day-off clothes and check on my dragonflies.

  “Hi, guys. Mommy’s home,” I greet my babies, pleased to see that Hopper—a scarlet dwarf with a blood-red body—is already growing four pretty, yellow wings.

  After cleaning the aquarium, I unpack my groceries and arrange them on the counter for a last check before I push up my sleeves and set about cooking dinner. I’m going to meet Ross tonight and surprise him with my homemade Spicy Turkey Tacos.

  We chatted a lot throughout the week, sharing more snippets of our lives, and I have to admit it’s getting harder every day to keep the boundaries in place. Despite my sealed-off ways, I found myself revealing more than I ever told anyone, giving Ross a glimpse of the crazy person behind the mask named Devonport.

  Then again, it’s easy to open up knowing that I’ll forever be an unknown identity to him. Knowing that he’ll never get more information than I’m willing to give. Knowing that he can never hunt me down.