Make Me Shine (Six Silent Sins #1)

by Colt, Elodie

  “No way! Where?”

  He rolls over onto his stomach and guides my hand down to his left ass cheek where I can feel an indent of about half an inch.

  “That one is super deep!”

  “It also felt super deep,” he grinds out.

  My hands stay on his butt, and I can’t help but lean down to bite into his firm cheek. He hisses, his glutes clenching, and I continue my journey up his strong, muscular back, my tongue tracing a path along his spine. When I reach his neck, he turns around so he can capture my lips with his, and I settle back down onto his thighs. His hands wander up my sides and skim over my cleavage.

  “You’re wearing a necklace,” he points out.

  “Uhm, actually, this one is yours.”

  Motioning for him to sit up, I pull the chain over my head and slide it down over his, making it join the other pendant around his neck.

  “Happy birthday week,” I add with a smile, and suddenly, Ross goes very still.

  “You’re giving me a birthday gift?” he asks at last, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “It’s not pure gold, and I attached a leather chain so that I wouldn’t lose it in here.”

  Seconds of silence follow as his fingers stroke the pendant from all sides.

  “Is there something engraved in there?” he wants to know.

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  I smile at the excitement in his voice. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

  He straightens so he can reach my lips, and I mold into him as he bestows a sweet kiss on me.

  “Thank you, Devon.”

  I smirk. “Don’t thank me yet. Maybe you won’t even like it.”

  “I like it because it’s a gift from you,” he counters in a firm tone, the words tugging at my heart. “What’s your birth month?”

  “Jun-… July,” I correct myself at the last second.

  As soon as the word is out, I’m left wondering why I lied. I could have told him that my birth month was June. I could have also told him that my birthday was on the sixth of June. But for some unknown reason, I didn’t.

  “You’re a ruby,” he says with a smile, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

  “What?”

  “The birthstone of July is the ruby—one of the four most precious gems. I always knew you had the fire of a ruby in you.”

  I don’t even manage a smile. It’s called Silent Sins for a reason, Ella. You can fuck. You can deceive. You can lie. You can be a sinner whenever you want.

  And still, the lie burns like fire in my throat.

  “Devon.” His tone signals that he wants my undivided attention. “I like what we share. A lot. But I don’t want to wait two weeks only to meet with you for two hours in a room where I can’t even see you. Would you… would you be willing to meet in private?”

  There’s a shifting feeling near my heart, one that is cold and hot at the same time, and I realize with shock that the no-strings-attached rule has started to crumble. Because there are strings. Because we get attached. Because we do commit.

  But no matter how much I want to get a glimpse of the man who already owns my body, I’m not willing to leave my safe bubble.

  “I… I can’t. Not yet,” I whisper.

  He bobs his head in a nod, but I can sense the chagrin radiating from him as he wiggles out from under me to stand up.

  “Ross, I—”

  “It’s okay. I get it,” he quips, and I watch him standing there in the middle of the room for a good minute.

  The alarm rings, telling us that our time is up, but we don’t move, clueless as to how to say goodbye. He rakes his hand through his hair, and at that moment, I realize that this might have been the last night we will share.

  Shit. I’m not willing to say a final goodbye yet, but I’m not willing to take this huge step, either. It cost me too much to open up to him. I need more time to adjust.

  “Okay, then…” I break the silence at last, rising to my feet and heading for my door, but before I can vanish in the changing room, a hand snatches my hip.

  Twisting me around, Ross smothers me in his arms before his lips lock onto mine with almost savage need. My eyes slide closed as he works against my mouth voraciously, devouring my lips and tongue until I’m lost in a synaptic-firing frenzy. A myriad of emotions slams into me as he deepens the kiss with one hand on the back of my head. By the time he pulls away, I’m so dizzy, I have to hold onto his shoulders for support.

  We stand there with our foreheads pressed together for a long minute, the hot air of our labored breaths mingling between us.

  “Until next time?” he asks, and I don’t miss a wave of vulnerability in his tone.

  “Until next time, Ross.”

  ~~~

  “You’re quiet today,” Zoya muses with a sideways glance at me while I rotate a shot glass on its axis.

  I tear my gaze away from my phone, leaning back in my chair and offering her a weak smile. “Sorry, I’m suffering a headache. I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

  It’s the best excuse I can think of. I don’t want to ruin our Thanksgiving dinner.

  Zoya looks at Holly before she throws a suspicious look at my phone. “You’re waiting for a message from him, right?”

  Shrugging, I toss my phone into my bag.

  “Did something happen between you two?” Holly asks as she fills my shot glass to the rim.

  I blow my cheeks out, and then release the air in a huff before I spill the beans. “Ross wanted to meet me in private.”

  “And?” Holly prompts.

  “And I declined.” I tip back my head to down my shot. Zoya opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. “I can’t do it. Not yet.”

  Zoya and Holly share a knowing look. I know I’m in for a lecture about how I should finally get my head out of my ass, but Holly surprises me when she says, “Then don’t do it. You signed up for Silent Sins to have fun and stay anonymous. You’re not obliged to meet the guy in private.”

  “I know,” I mumble in a deflated tone.

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  I pinch my bottom lip, trying to come up with a halfway plausible answer. “The problem is that he’s disappointed, and I may have ruined any chance of meeting him again.”

  Not entirely true, but there’s no way I can explain to them how extremely complicated things have become.

  I’d gathered my wits and sent Ross an invitation a few days ago. His answer is still ‘Pending,’ but I’m not surprised. This has been our game since the beginning. Letting the other suffer. Going for the long haul. Playing tug-of-war.

  But this time, I may have tempted fate.

  After our last date, I spent the evening in front of my computer browsing through everything there was to find about birthstones, and what I found let a flush of adrenaline tingle through my body.

  Obviously, Ross’ birth month is November, so his birthstone is the topaz. It’s said that those people radiate warmth, calm tempers, and eliminate nightmares, which got me thinking… Ever since I started meeting with Ross, I haven’t had a single nightmare. They used to plague me on a nightly basis, but now, they’re gone. I feel more relaxed and clearer in my head. I could put it down to sex and the amazing orgasms, but what if it’s more? What if it’s just this man?

  Then, I looked up June’s birthstone, and guess what?

  It’s the same gem embedded in the ring my mother gave me on her death bed, the one that belonged to my real father. The same gem that owes its scarcity to its color-changing feature and unusual light-absorbing properties. The alexandrite.

  And then the most absurd question came up in my head: What if Ross is indeed my perfect match? Not just in the sack, but also in life? What if this stupid program indeed found the perfect man for me? The one who’s destined to be my counterpart?

  Ross offered me the chance to figure it out, but I blew it because I was scared. Scared to see the disappointment shining in his eyes when we f
inally meet in person. Scared to give him a glimpse into the dark pits of my fears and self-doubts. Scared to show him my broken self.

  Plato’s Allegory of the Cave comes to my mind. In his theory, the philosopher depicted a cave full of prisoners who have never seen the outside world. A fire behind them throws shadows against the wall they’re facing, but they don’t know they’re just shadows because they’ve never seen the fire, hence they are clueless as to what’s causing the shadows. Only if they turn around to see the fire will they be enlightened.

  And only if they break their chains and follow the sunlight will they see that the real forms exist outside the cave.

  Ross wanted to show me the sun. He wanted to set me free. He handed me the key to break my chains.

  But what do you do if you’re afraid of the outside world? What do you do if you’re afraid to see what’s causing the shadows?

  You throw the key away and keep your shackles.

  My new Piaget watch tells me that six minutes have passed since I’ve last checked the time.

  Which means I’ve still got about six hours to kill before I can finally make my excuse to leave the Christmas party at the gallery and face bigger problems than the gold prices rising after the U.S.-China trade deal, or if Senator Shay’s wife should rather go for the Mikimoto pearl necklace instead of her fifth Bvlgari piece.

  “Mr. McCabe!” Brooke calls out with a plastic smile on her face, beaming at the National Jeweler reporter as if she’s exuberantly happy to see him. She can’t even stand the guy. “What a pleasure. I’m so glad you could make it.”

  She air-kisses the two heads shorter, fifty-something man, who could sell ad space on his forehead.

  “Mrs. Crawford, the pleasure is all mine,” he drawls with a lopsided grin.

  “Let me introduce you to my sons—Nathan and Nick.”

  Plastering a smile onto my face, I shake his sweaty hand. “Good evening, Mr. McCabe.”

  “Ah, the famous CEO of Crawford Crescent,” he says before he turns to Nick standing next to me. “And the new gallery manager. Congratulations on your new position.”

  “Thank you, Mr. McCabe,” Nick says. “I read your article about PGI’s effort to boost the manufacturing of platinum designs.” Gathering from the shit-eating grin on the man’s face, Nick struck gold with this conversation starter.

  Brooke’s hand on my elbow tightens, signaling I should stay put so we can all make an impression while I try to appear interested in what the two have to say about the platinum market.

  The Christmas theme is all over the place, and I have to say, Janice outdid herself with the decoration. The open-concept entrance explodes in shades of red and gold, encouraging passersby to explore the gallery and shell out money for rocks and other useless shit like Santa Claus earrings, reindeer necklaces, and Christmas bell cuff links. Even the walls boast expressive paintings of winter wonderlands, and golden glitter powders the gleaming floor. Brooke upped the ante and forced the salesclerks to wear red Christmas dresses and Santa hats, but instead of enjoying the view of plunging necklines, the red lace-up only reminds me of Devon’s devil costume.

  “You think platinum can sustain its recent recovery on the market?” Mr. McCabe asks.

  Brooke’s nails dig into my elbow, and my gaze snaps back to the reporter who’s apparently expecting my personal opinion.

  I clear my throat.

  “The outlook is definitely brightening,” I say. “Platinum rebounded from a decade low to a record high within a couple of months. Precious metals experienced a renewed bull market, so in my opinion, it’s just a matter of time before platinum catches up to gold. Look back to the early two-thousands when platinum doubled gold on multiple occasions. Not sure if prices will be twice as high again, but I’m positive we’ll see a return back to parity soon.”

  Pursing his lips, Mr. McCabe nods in respect, clearly surprised by my answer. “We’re on the same page here, Mr. Crawford. Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to go looking for a Christmas present for my wife.”

  “Please, let me be of assistance,” Nick chimes in, jumping at the opportunity to parade him around.

  “Did you see the mayor anywhere?” Brooke asks when the two are out of earshot, keeping her smile in place as her gaze bounces over the gallery.

  “No, but his wife is ogling the new Harry Winston white gold watch for half an hour now.” I point to a lanky lady whose eyebrows look as if someone applied them with the brush tool in Microsoft Paint.

  “Excellent,” Brooke mumbles before she struts away in her wine-red Jean Paul Gaultier number.

  Nick and I are in matching Christmas attire, too, with the difference that Brooke managed to force a Santa hat on him while I stayed resolute and only agreed to wear a wine-red suit with gold buttons and a tie with snowflakes.

  After the boring chit-chat with Mr. McWhatever, I fetch a wine glass from the bar and pick my way through the crowd to the back end of the gallery where I have room to breathe and time to stew in my misery.

  Leaning against a room divider, I let my gaze wander over the people mingling at the tables. Half of the high society of Manhattan is gathered here tonight, thanks to Brooke’s outstanding promotion skills, and Nick’s idea to invite a bunch of sexy Christmas bunnies serving as waitresses.

  You can tell that Brooke is in her element playing the host by the way her face brightens every time someone gushes about the amazing Christmas party or admires her Jimmy Choo pumps. Well, at least she’s having her fun handing out gift bags and dishing out compliments instead of grating on my nerves and giving me a lecture about how I should participate in the boring-as-shit conversations.

  I stare blankly at a group of MILFs twisting bracelets on their wrists and holding earrings to their ears, some of them pieces we’ve lent out to celebrities on Oscar nights. No amount of jewelry will make them younger or prettier or more desirable for their husbands screwing their barely-legal secretaries behind their backs. Still, they come here every month, some even every week, to swipe their golden cards over our counter and leave with a bag full of diamonds they’ll show off at a no-name charity event where they don’t even donate a fracture of what they’ve spent on the shiny pieces.

  And not one of the hundreds of jewels on the turnstile displays or inside the glass cabinets is worth more than the new pendant hidden underneath my crisp shirt.

  Fingering my collar, I pull on the leather chain to fish it out and examine it under the bright spotlight, like I’ve done countless times already. Cheap zinc alloy with a black engraving, worth not more than five bucks. It took me some time until Google spit out the meaning of the symbol, and when it did, I nearly fell off my chair.

  It’s the Hebrew writing for the number six.

  The most considerate gift I’ve ever received.

  I tap a finger against my wine glass, resisting the urge to throw another glance at my watch.

  What’s Devon doing right now? Probably snuggling on her couch in her oversized cookie pants and doing whatever the hell she does for a living. Or enjoying the Saturday night in a club and getting hammered with whoever the hell are her closest friends.

  My fingers tighten around the wine glass, and I have to loosen my grip before it shatters in my hand.

  I want to know these things. I want to know where she lives and what bike she drives and what her dragonfly tattoo looks like. I want to see the color of her eyes and watch them glaze over when she comes.

  And I want to know her fucking name.

  We could have skipped that Silent Sins shit and met in person. I could have rolled her between my sheets whenever I wanted—with the lights on, of course—and we could have shared a few more dates with her making those fantastic tacos.

  But she said not yet. Not yet.

  As in, not now and maybe not ever.

  At first, I thought she hadn’t warmed up to me enough to agree on a real date, but then I unpacked everything she said, and I realized that she is just afraid.

&
nbsp; ‘I’m extremely paranoid and constantly obsessed with my safety.’

  She didn’t tell me why, but I could hear it in her trembling voice and in the way her accent sharpens the ‘r’ rolling over her tongue whenever she’s agitated. There’s a deep-rooted fear keeping her hostage, and I want to maim the person who cemented it into her soul. Devon nearly suffered a panic attack when I cracked my knuckles last time, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that someone hurt her in the past.

  With a sigh, I pull out my phone. I haven’t answered her invitation for the next date yet. Call me an asshole, but I want her to feel at least an ounce of the torture she’s been putting me through. Sure, I didn’t exactly make things easy for her when I confessed that I met one of my other matches, something I regretted the moment the words were out. Maybe that’s why she’s not ready to meet me. I abused her trust.

  Then again, trust isn’t something you go looking for when you sign up for Silent Sins. You’re looking for the perfect fuck-buddy, and dammit, Devon is the best I’ve ever had. I swear that girl can swivel her luscious hips like no other. Every orgasm she gave me was mind-blowing, and I fear that she made me unfuckable for every other woman out there.

  A pity I don’t even have an image…

  My blank stare drifts over the gleaming glass counter to my right where Janice put the latest Tiffany collection on display. A necklace with an octagon-shaped ruby catches my attention, and I walk over to examine the piece. Christmas is close, and I want to give Devon something in return. The ruby is her birthstone, so it would be a thoughtful present.

  A two-thousand dollar present for a fifth date, but who cares?

  “My favorite Crawford boy,” comes an unmistakable voice from behind me, and I turn around to see… an elf.

  As usual, Susan seized the opportunity to dress up for the occasion and put on a mint-green elf dress flaring over red and white striped socks. A crazy hat with jingling bells sits on her head and earrings that look like candy dangle from her ears. I rub my hand over my mouth to hide a laugh.

  “Hi, Susan. I’m glad you came.”

  “You know I love Christmas parties,” she chirps with a beaming smile and turns to face the ruby necklace. “A beautiful piece.”