“Ms. Johnson, so good to see you again,” I say, forcing the words past the knot in my throat.
“I’m a married woman, girl. It’s Mrs. Johnson. I would think in four years you’d have learned the basic rules of polite society, but then again, you make your living writhing on a stage and moaning about your vast sexual history.”
“Momma, don’t do this. Not here,” Jessica pleads.
The older female Johnson pats Jessica’s arm in a there, there motion as she flashes a cruel smile to me. She knows every venomous word hit its mark, and no matter how many accolades I receive or how much success I attain, to her I will always be that girl from Nowhere, Nevada, the fatherless daughter of a whore. The one who corrupted her son. A girl who showed him a life outside family obligation. I open my mouth but close it just as quickly.
What is there to say or defend? She’s right. I am most of those things. With one major exception. I never corrupted Jake. He was the one that taught me how to down a shot and smoke weed. With him was the only time I’ve ever thought about sex outside of four walls or used something other than my body to get off.
“Actually, Ms. can be used for either married or single women,” I say through the fake smile I have plastered on my face. “As nice as this little reunion has been, I have to—”
Her cold hand clamps around my upper arm, holding tight enough to break capillaries. From the corner of my eye I see Jessica stand on tiptoe. Her head whipping back and forth looking for someone to help corral her crazy mother. Danielle Johnson leans in close to my face. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You listen to me, girl, and you listen good. Stay away from my son. You drew him in ten years ago because you were different. But how long did it take before that freshly minted penny no longer shined? One year? Two? Do you really think he only stepped out once? A woman like you doesn’t have what it takes to keep a man like him.” She lets my arm go, but she cups both of my cheeks kissing first one and then the other. In my ear she all but coos, “Stay in your lane, Ms. James, and stop reaching above your station.”
She pulls back to look me directly in the eyes before turning to Jessica.
Let it go, Sin. Do not let the wicked bitch of the west make you feel two feet tall and dumber than a box of rocks. It’s not your fault that she hates you. Hate is irrational.
I pull in a shaky breath and sink my teeth in the corner of my lip. I gotta get away from them. I take a slight step back, but she walks away before I can, all poised grace and sophistication.
“Let it go. Please. You know how Momma can be,” Jessica says, her russet skin flushed with embarrassed heat. She hugs me again, her embrace saying, “I’m sorry but she’s my mom.” But the apology coming from her mouth says, “I missed you. I know Jake has missed you. We’ve all missed you, girl. You are my sister from another mister.”
Her arms fall away, and she loops on of hers through mine. “I’m still only twenty, but Jake lets me drink when I’m ‘in a controlled environment.’ ” She gives me air quotes and drops her voice to imitate Jake’s.
She half pulls, half drags me to the bar. “Can we have the seven deadly sins?” she yells at the bartender. “You get it, right? Your name is Sin, the band is Sin City playing in Sin City, and the signature drinks for the event are called the seven deadly sins. Clever, right?”
“Yeah, no.” It is but I’ll be damned if I give Jake credit for anything. He probably didn’t come up with the idea, but whoever did works for him, so they are guilty by default. Yep, still a little salty over here.
“Come on, Sin. Don’t be like that. Loosen up. K?”
The bartender sets a colorful array of shots down in front of us on a small tray. Jessica hands me a shot glass filled with red liquid.
“To the return of the prodigal son, or I guess in this case, daughter.” She taps our glasses, and we both toss back the cinnamon-flavored drink. I push the encounter with Danielle Johnson to the back of my mind as we down shot after shot. Jake taught me well. Jessica orders another tray, and I glance down at our already empty shot glasses giddy and tipsy. I might actually be pushing the line of drunk.
After splitting another tray of shots, we make our way to the dance floor. My hands go up in the air. My body automatically synching with the hard-hitting drum beats and my eyes slide shut of their own accord. I miss this. The freedom to be in a crowd of people. Nameless. Faceless. Just another body carried by the beat. It feels good. No, good is not the right word. It’s ordinary, typical even, and I love it.
The people on the dance floor are here to celebrate the Hotel landing a residency with Sin City. They either don’t know who I am, or they don’t care. No one has approached me to ask for an autograph or selfie. I haven’t had that in so long. One song blends into the other, and tension I wasn’t aware I was carrying eases off my shoulders with each passing tune.
Jess and I are in our own little bubble, oblivious to the people around us. Watching Jess catapults me back in time to the ten-year-old girl that used to try to teach me the latest dance moves in my tiny kitchen. I’ve missed her. By the time I broke up with Jake, Jess was sixteen and I assumed, maybe wrongly, that she’d be one of the people firmly on his side of the line.
The alcohol pumps through my bloodstream, pushing me closer to drunk than buzzed. When I feel a big body sidle against my back, I relax into it. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Jake. I could go blind and drunk but every fiber in my being would recognize this man, his presence, his touch.
His tentative hands slide over my hips and the rational part of my brain bristles at the idea of him being bold enough to touch me after our sordid past and all the years and hurt feelings. The other part of my brain, the one that can’t forget the pressure of his mouth on mine and still imagines, even now, we could live happily ever after… that part moves my body into his, closing the small distance he’s keeping between us. I sigh with relief when his hands slip around my waist and his hips start a slow grind.
Jessica is still in front of me, and the smirk on her face tells me this whole thing is a setup, and I totally took the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. She drifts away, carried by a sea of people, but I can’t bring myself break contact. I force my lids up. My lazy gaze sweeps the dance floor. Not one eye is turned in our direction. No cell phones collecting more damming evidence. On tonight’s guest list we have the upper echelon of Las Vegas who have their own questionable proclivities. Being felt up by my ex on the dance floor doesn’t seem to be garnering attention—good, bad, or indifferent.
Jake feels good, too good, like a warm blanket on a cold night. All I want to do is snuggle in and carve out a place next to him that’s perfect and mine. I want to stay in that spot, make myself comfortable, and get tangled up in him. In his heat.
I can’t hear the music anymore. My brain is only capable of feeling the even rise and fall of his breathing, the thump of his heart against my back, and the motion of our bodies moving to the beat. We are like melody and rhythm, innately different, but both key components to the perfect song.
Jake moves the hair off my neck to drop a kiss on the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder. It’s a fleeting touch, a reverent caress that hits me deeper that it should, and I shudder, my eyes drifting closed. Just for a second, I let myself drown in a world colored by memories where this is where I belong. Where his tentative hands roving my body is exactly as it should be. A place where the rosy hue of nostalgia shows him as he was, the lover that seduced my mind and enticed my body. He’s the man who ravaged my soul.
We never had a problem with this part. Me wanting him, the physical aspects of him like his reddish-brown skin, the magic hands that always find the right spot, and the seductive flavor of his intense kisses. It was all the emotional baggage we couldn’t seem to unpack. There is so much between us, all these little hurts that led to a big rift we just can’t cross.
How do I reconcile him touching my body like I’m the most valued treasure with the man who slept with another woman
in our bed or the man who was bitterly jealous of my best friend?
It’s been so long since anyone has touched me in exploration and growing passion. And it’s Jake. I lean into the solid mass of his body, rocking my hips to his rhythm. Maybe the music has hypnotized me because with a quick flip of his wrist Jake turns me around before I can make any sense out of what happened. We’re face-to-face and for the barest second, I forget to hate him. He pulls me in close until every curve of my body melds with his. He slides his hands down my ribs, toying with the waistband of my pants before cupping both globes of my ass. I can’t bring myself to move away. He feels like everything I’ve wanted and nothing I need.
Instead of calling it a night, going back to the villa and practicing some self-love, I melt against him.
NOW
Jake
I press my forehead against Sin’s and cup her face in my hands. The place in the center of my soul that snapped and burned without her, that grieved her loss, begged for her forgiveness, and longed for her return finally starts to calm.
The beat slows down, and she raises her arms, sliding her hands around my neck. After four years of trying to remember the exact texture of her skin, I remember how soft and warm she is. My body comes to life with a vivid confirmation that, yes, Sin is as good… no, better than any memory. My erection grows against her stomach and to the surprise of both of us, I’m sure. She snuggles in closer.
“Sin,” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear. I don’t know if I say her name as a question or a statement. All I know with any conviction is I want her in my bed. Now. A shiver rolls down her spine, almost like my desires just broadcast on a frequency only she can pick up.
“Jake?” She glances up at me. Instead of anger, a different type of heat lines her voice. I lean back to look into her eyes, and I see a hedonistic mix of skepticism, apprehension, and excitement. Sin is excited—for me. We still have all our underlying issues, but for right now… Sin is here.
I let that thought settle into my mind. She not a fevered dream or a ghost I conjured from my past. For now, she’s mine. An opportunity I cannot squander.
“Mr. Johnson, Ms. James, it is in the best interest of everyone here for the two of you to give each other a little breathing room.” I hear Jeanine’s stiff English accent. Fuck me! Since Sin came back, it feels like the universe is conspiring to keep us apart.
First it was the slap. Then the bullshit interviews. Tonight, I had the hard realization that although my life progressed in some areas without her for the most part, I’ve stagnated while she’s… well, she’s her. What do I have to offer to the woman that has the world at her fingertips besides my fucked up self?
My first curveball of the night was the little scene I witnessed on the stage. The second was my mother and her displeasure with the situation. I don’t know what my mother said to Sin, but the tension between them was palpable from across the room, and that was before she grabbed Sin’s arm or Jessica’s eyes found mine silently begging for help. I refuse to let the third ball leave the pitcher’s hand.
Jeanine clears her throat, but I don’t look away from Sin. I can’t. If I blink, if I so much as breathe the wrong way, I’ll lose her and I can’t do it again. Not when she’s open to me for the first time in four years. Maybe even longer than that. I grab her hand and lace our fingers.
“All I’m asking for is a little faith, Sin. Just a little.” I repeat the words I said ten years ago the first day we met. Her eyes flutter and her fingers loosen around mine and my heart plummets. It fucking drops into my shoes. She going to say no. I don’t think I can take another no from those lips. Not when I’m this close.
“In what?” she asks, a challenge in her eyes. The adrenaline rush I felt at her impending no spikes higher when her husky voice gives me what I’m reading as a yes.
“Me.”
I don’t wait for a reply as I clasp her hand tightly in mine and push through the crowd. Away from Jeanine and my sister. Away from all the very real reasons why we don’t make sense. I move forward with determination toward a hidden door that leads to an enclosed patio. The area was kept closed tonight because it doesn’t have the space to accommodate even a third of the people we expected and sits adjacent to the lounge making it invisible to the people inside once the door is closed.
But at sixty-four floors up, surrounded by hedges, it’s perfect.
I press my code into a small keypad on the wall. A glass panel opens with a whoosh. I pull Sin through the entrance just before the door slides back into place, the lock reengaging.
Away from the hard-base rhythms and curious eyes, the air around us is hot from the earlier summer heat and abnormally quiet. The stars are blotted out of the sky by the bright neon that makes up the Las Vegas Strip, but the moon is full and bright, washing her dark skin with a blue hue.
Sin faces the closed door. She has her hands on her hips and her head hanging down, exposing the back of her neck.
What thoughts are going through that pretty head of yours? Acceptance? Resignation? Some fucked up middle of the road indecision?
Her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes deep. Sin is knee-deep in a battle between her heart and her head.
I recognize it because I fought the same campaign the night she slapped me. She’s trying to convince herself she shouldn’t be here, in this space and moment with me, while her heartstrings remain entangled with mine.
Do something. I have to say something before she leaves or tells me to go to hell.
“Don’t talk,” I say, closing the distance between us, bringing her back flush with my chest. My arm wraps around her body, stopping just under her breasts. I slowly pull down the top and expose her skin. Her body jerks at the action and I smile. Sin doesn’t ask me to stop. In fact, she makes a barely perceptible move that erases any space between our bodies and nestles my dick between the globes of her perfect ass.
“Just listen.” I drop wet kisses down the back of her neck, and she stifles a moan. “Listen to your body, Sin,” I whisper against her ear, cupping her breasts, tweaking the nipples into a stiff peak.
A ruined sigh falls from her lips as her body arches, pushing farther into my hands. Her head falls onto my shoulder and exposes the slender column of her throat.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” I say, resting my forehead on the back of her head as I place my hand between her breasts and bring it up her neck to wrap loosely around her throat.
“To touch you.” I run fingertips down the skin of her tight abdomen. “Kiss you.” My lips ghost up the curve of her jaw toward her ear. “Taste you,” I murmur as my mouth brushes the edge of her mouth.
Sin twists in my arms and we both pause, staccato breaths forcing our chests to touch. I lean forward, drawn to her by something innately us, a chemistry that has been there since the beginning. We kiss again, the touch of our lips is fleeting like the flutter of a butterfly wing. The second time our mouths come together, it’s in a frantic burst of desperation.
I lick my way into her mouth using my larger body to press hers against the wall and the kiss explodes. Our tongues twist and our teeth nip and our bodies grind. It’s damn near euphoric. Lust pumps through my veins but it’s more than that. It’s this primitive impulse to reclaim her. Reclaim what is mine.
She pulls her head back and we’re both panting, fighting to pull oxygen into our lungs.
“I get it. I do,” I say against her lips. My tongue flicks against her full bottom lip. “I know you don’t want to be here. That’s that hardest part of this. The fact I know it’s my fault. That my girl, the only girl I’ve ever wanted”—I run my nose along the length of hers and take a deep inhale of Sin spicy skin—“doesn’t want me anymore.”
Those midnight orbs study my face. The shadows obscure half her features, but I see enough of her expression to know she thinking too hard. Whatever this is between us isn’t difficult. It just is. We just need to be.
“Jake, it’s not a matter
of ‘don’t want.’ It’s that I can’t let go of—” She breaths out on a frustrated hiss. I don’t let her finish that sentence. I don’t need to rehash the don’t wants or the can’ts. I cut off her words with my lips, and she lets out a wrecked moan, grinding her tender nipples against my chest, and wrapping her hands around my neck.
“I know why you can’t, Sin. Just for tonight let me remind you why you can.”
I slide both hands into her hair and tilt her head so I’m looking directly into her eyes. I close the distance between our lips and devour her. She tastes like cinnamon and Sin, and she feels like… fuck, she still feels like mine.
NOW
Sinclair
“Tell me what you want, Sin,” Jake murmurs against my lips as he draws me in. His tongue dipping between my parted lips.
Him.
Stripped down to its purest form I want Jacob Johnson.
It makes zero sense, like none at all. I can’t even explain it to myself. How can I want a man like him? One who hurt me the way he did? No one held a gun to his head and forced him to smash another woman in our bed, no less. He made a conscious choice, a decision that reconstructed our future. It happened four years ago, but I still remember every stinging detail. Down to the color of the pink panties I was wearing when I crawled down the hall. Talk about a walk of shame. I was hurt and just so humiliated.
But seeing him again sparked a sense of recognition in my soul. And that was before he kissed me. I can’t pretend like I don’t feel the karmic connection because it’s there. It’s always been there, dragging us together from the first moment we met.
Right now, I don’t know if it’s the liquor swimming in my head or all the things uniquely Jacob Johnson. But I want to explore it. See if the memory holds up to the man, the reality.
Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1) Page 12
