Sin (8 page)

I know what Joshua will think when he wakes up and finds my note. Although I desperately wanted to make love last night, with him thinking I’d let Wesley into his house—well, it pissed me off. However, I understand his insecurities; I harbor a few of my own, left behind after years of dealing with a part-time father and now an unfaithful ex. I turn into my driveway just as the sun is rising. I step out of my car and face the water.

My house is across the street from a small park, so I can see the bay. Gray clouds litter the sky. Overcast days make me want to play in the snow or go skiing in Colorado. But how can I ever forget the year it snowed in Corpus? Everyone called it the South Texas Christmas Miracle of 2004. Schools and businesses shut down and everyone headed for the parks and beach. I built a snowman in my front yard. I smile, wishing for a repeat.

I go inside and plop down on the couch. My housekeeper stops in three days a week, usually while I’m at work. I smell Pine-Sol and leather cleaner. Then my cell vibrates. A text message from Joshua.

Playing games, Taylor?

I text back:

No. Need some down time.

Why?

Overwhelmed.

By me?

Yes.

I have that effect on women.

I roll my eyes.

You’re arrogant, Ivy League.

Don’t I have every reason to be?

How’s that?

Had you in my bed last night, didn’t I?

Now I’m the trophy girlfriend.

Are you my girlfriend?

My thumbs freeze.
Think carefully.
Am I ready to get seriously involved again? I know Wesley and I had a long break during the holidays, and we weren’t intimate for weeks before that. Another red flag I chose to ignore. But there’s something undeniably attractive about Joshua—beyond the physical. That’s reason enough for most women to rush into something permanent. Not me. I’ve had a half-dozen guys chasing me at once. Hot ones. Rich ones. Assholes.

Yet every time I try to forget Ivy League, he sneaks back into my thoughts and dreams.

My phone vibrates again.

I’m waiting.

Thinking.

Do I need to visit your bedroom again?

I practically giggle myself off the sofa. The night Joshua showed up uninvited and made me…I can’t believe I let him do that to me. What am I supposed to tell people who ask how we met? The arguments in his office don’t count.

I text back:

Going for a swim.

He’ll have to be satisfied with that.

An hour later, I’m swimming laps outside, burning off some calories and my frustration.

“Macey.”

I stop mid-stroke and find Wesley sitting on a lounge chair near the shallow end.
How long has he been here?
Like an idiot, I forgot to change the security code on the gate. He looks so different now. Not as hot as he used to be. In fact, either his infidelity or my anger has distorted his appeal so much, I can’t stand the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” I don’t even bother getting out of the pool.

“We need to talk.”

I avoid looking his direction, mentally scrambling for an excuse to get away. “I have an appointment in an hour.”

He stares at his watch. “Really?”

“All right,” I say, frowning. “Want the truth—I’ll give it to you. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He studies my face for an eternity, then stands. “I know it’s complicated, baby.”

“Don’t
baby
me.” I hate that.
Baby. Darlin’. Sweetheart.
Endearments reserved for men who are faithful. “You lost that right the minute I stepped off the plane, Wesley. Take your shitty idea of a relationship and get the fuck out of here.”

Ignoring my words, he strips off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He kicks off his tennis shoes and socks.

“Wesley?”

His shorts follow. Now he’s standing in his briefs, his ridiculously muscled body on full display. I head for the closest steps. But he’s in the water, blocking my exit route before I reach them. “Sometimes words aren’t enough,” he offers.

I’m in panic mode. Should I confess where I’ve been spending the night? Claim Joshua as my new boyfriend? Not if I have any doubts about it. But…

“Once a lover, always a lover,” he adds nonchalantly.

My stomach twists into knots. What planet is this man from? He thinks he can waltz back into my life whenever he feels like it? Pretend nothing happened? I click my tongue in total disgust. I’m stranded between the deep and shallow ends, standing in chest-high water. “Leave.”

He shakes his head. “No. Not until I’ve had a chance to show you how I feel.”

“Are you intoxicated?” I hope he is—that’s the only viable excuse. “Or just stupid?” I’m still leery of climbing out of the pool. I feel safer in the water. I’m a stronger swimmer. The minute I hit land, he gains the upper hand.

“As sober as I’ve ever been.”

Now I’m really nervous.

“Let me kiss you, Macey, hold you in my arms again.”

I laugh bitterly. “I know this is a real struggle for you, being the megalomaniac you are, but what part of
get the fuck out of here
don’t you understand?”

“Uppity little bitch.” He dives off the stairs, headed right for me.

I scramble to the side of the pool and jump out. I run full speed, around the side of the house, and slam into something hard—no, some
one
. I’m breathless and shaky.
What the
…I meet Joshua’s dark gaze. He hugs me close, then holds me away from his body.

“What’s going on?”

I don’t need to answer. Wesley appears on the footpath, dripping wet and looking more enraged then I’ve ever seen. If I don’t say something,
Clash of the Titans
is going to happen.

“Macey,” Wesley snarls. “Who the fuck is he?”

Joshua steps in front of me. “Her fucking boyfriend. Who are you?”

I clutch on to him, trying to drag him toward the house. He’s too big, too strong, too angry to persuade. “Please, Joshua,” I beg. “He’s not worth it.”

Joshua shoots me a death glare, though I know it’s not intended for me. “Go inside.”

He’s dressed in swim trunks, a beach towel draped over his left shoulder. I cringe, knowing he wanted to surprise me by joining me for a morning dip. “I can’t,” I say. “This is my problem.”

“No,” he disagrees. “It’s
our
problem.” He focuses on Wesley again. “Don’t remember me from the club? I cracked you in the face.”

Wesley’s jaw clenches, as if he’s reliving the moment. “Son of a bitch…” He glares at me. “You’re banging this guy?”

I want to disappear. “You don’t have the right to question me. We’re done. Understand? You thought so little of our relationship that you cheated on me.”

“Answer me,” he presses.

“Joshua
is
my boyfriend.” Saying it breathes life into my weary body. “Now go before I call security.” That’s why I love living here: my rent includes the discreet services of a private security company. Men with real badges and guns.

Defeat finally registers on his face. “It’s not that easy, Macey.”

I glance at Joshua, wondering what to do. I’ve made it clear on several occasions that I’m not interested in reconciling with my ex. “We’re going inside,” I tell Wesley. “Make sure you close the gate when you leave.” I give Joshua a solid shove toward the house, and to my surprise, he lets me take the lead.

Two things just happened. Macey claimed me and I started a hit list. I’m not done with Wesley yet, not by a long shot. But I know this isn’t the place or time to finish things with that asshole. Macey opens a side door and we end up in a mudroom. There’s shelving and a couple of padded benches and a powder room. Every time I’m over here I discover another place in this house. It’s too big for her to live in alone.

Then she glances up at me with confusion, seeking my reassurance, probably needing me to tell her I know she didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t. When she slammed into me, I knew someone was after her and all I wanted to do was protect her. And I will.

I frame her face with both hands. “There’s no need to explain anything.”

“Really?” Her big blue eyes make me hard as a rock.

“Seems we both have exes who still want something from us.”

“Sorry—that man doesn’t understand what
no
means.”

“I don’t blame him.” But that doesn’t excuse his bad behavior. “Common ground is good, Macey. That means we understand each other better.”

“Do you think that’s what attracted us initially?”

I smile. “I think people who share common experiences or hold the same beliefs are naturally drawn to each other. But there’s more. I promise.”

She nods.

Every time I turn around there are thieves waiting to steal what we have—envious assholes ready to destroy our happiness. Not today. I claim her mouth. Nothing is going to hold me back this time. I reach behind her back and untie her bikini top, releasing what my hands failed to finishing caressing last night. She has flawless breasts—firm and round—with brandy-colored nipples. I palm my way down her middle, nearly tearing her bikini bottom off.

I eye the closest bench, then slowly walk her backward, kissing and cupping her breasts at the same time. When the backs of her knees hit the bench, she sighs and closes her eyes. I can’t keep my hands off her—hell, my whole body is on a collision course with hers. I need to be inside her, need to leave my mark. It’s instinctual. And as primitive as it feels, as selfish as it sounds, I’m a man. And this woman is worth something to me. Again, I can’t explain it. Words fail me where Macey is concerned.

Her eyes pop open and I kiss her again, savagely this time. Our tongues crash together and I’m not gentle as I reposition her at the end of the bench, spreading my towel out, then urging her to lie down. It’s long enough to accommodate her from head to thighs, but she has to bend her knees and plant the soles of her feet on the edge to be comfortable.

My breath hitches in my throat as my gaze slides down her form. Slim arms and legs, the flattest stomach, and in the center, a tight little clean-shaven snatch. And it’s calling to me—wet with excitement and need. I shed my shorts, gripping my erection, showing Macey what she fucking does to my body.

“I’ve had this since last night.”

She flashes me a smile, full of desire and promise. I run my finger down the center of her slit, feeling the moisture. She’s ready. I’m ready. Sometimes foreplay is overrated; nothing excites me more than first entry. I place her heels on my shoulders as she watches—her eyes never leaving mine. Perfectly aligned, I cup her ass cheeks, lifting her off the bench, and pump into her. She screams. I stop; her inner muscles contract and squeeze me so tight I nearly explode.

“Okay, baby?” It’s hard to concentrate on anything else.

She nods, her eyes wide as I ease in another couple of inches. This isn’t about tender lovemaking. We’re both saturated with anger and passion and the need to silently reassure each other that we’re committed to finding out where this will go. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her body reacts to mine. It’s primordial, as natural as the planets orbiting the sun. Macey and I fit together, and there’s a fucking order to the universe.

I grip her ass tighter, plunging deeper and deeper, and she meets every stroke, her hips spiraling, her soft cries unintelligible at first. But then she utters my name a dozen times and I nearly lose it again. I’m completely consumed.

“Macey…”

A few minutes later I drop to my knees. I rub my face, recovering from the intensity of our mutual pleasure.
Good God,
nothing about this girl is normal. She takes bits and pieces of me every time we’re together. I grip her left ankle and squeeze. “Feel good?”

She raises her head, staring down at me like I’m stupid for even asking. “Shall I justify that with an answer or are my quivering legs proof enough?”

I grin. She’s right—her legs are quaking. I scoot to her side, running my fingers up her arm. “More?”

She exhales loudly through her mouth, studying the ceiling. “Want to rip me in half?”

“Did I hurt you?” I pluck her hand off her chest, hoping I didn’t get too crazy.

“No,” she assures me. “I’m not opposed to another rigorous workout.” She winks. “My body just needs rest.”

I’m relieved. “Let me give you a bath.” An excuse to touch her intimately again. “Then I’ll take you to dinner.”

She sits up, stretching her long legs out, exquisite as the Venus de Milo. I refuse to ever let her forget how beautiful she truly is. “You take my breath away.” She smiles and I summon every last ounce of control I have to beat back my insatiable hunger. “Yes?”

“Barbecue?” she asks.

“Whatever you want.”

With continued encouragement from Joshua, I settle down over the next week, accepting our new relationship for what it is: fresh and unspoiled. It’s Saturday afternoon, and my big annual football party starts in less than five hours. Renee and her fabulous staff have taken over my kitchen. Delectable smells waft
upstairs—Swedish
meatballs and ranch-style turkey chili. The menu also includes steak hoagies, creamy tomatillo guacamole, homemade chips, grilled chicken and beef fajitas, and pomegranate beer punch. Not to forget the open bar and endless veggie and dip platters.

I wander downstairs, checking the decorations in the pool room first. Streamers and balloons honoring all the NFL teams, but my Cowboys are selfishly
overrepresented.
There are two big screens along the far wall; I’ll replay the Super Bowl during the party. Next, I wander into the living room. All of the furniture has been moved to the perimeter, and a temporary dance floor has been fully installed along with strobe lights and a smoke machine. The DJ booth is already set up and I check the playlist. I’m a big fan of mixing it up: country, classic rock, and current hits. I give the DJ my final approval, then head outside.

The backyard is my favorite part of the estate, not just the pool and veranda. There’s half an acre of gardens, the greenhouse, fruit trees, and a Japanese rock garden with a traditional teahouse and small courtyard. Visitors can follow a cobblestone path to a waterfall and view my collection of exotic fish. I used to spend a lot of time here, meditating or writing in my journal. Until I met Wesley. Then everything changed.

I suck in an exaggerated breath as I approach the water. Strings of colored paper lanterns were hung for the party; I like them so much, I might leave them up. I sit down on a marble bench, staring at the fish. Sometimes I wonder who has a better life—them or me. The answer isn’t hard to find—Joshua makes things better.

My cell rings, but I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Macey?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Bishop.”

How’d he get my number?
“Is everything okay?”
Did something happen to Joshua?

“Of course,” he assures me. “Turns out we have a mutual friend.”

I find that hard to believe after spending ten minutes with his colleagues the other night. “Who?” I’m curious to find out.

“Sabrina.”

“Sabrina Lopez?” She’s a nurse at the Naval Health Clinic.

“The very one,” he says. “She invited me to your party tonight. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t mind me showing up.”

“Well…” I’m contemplating it. Joshua may be late; he spent Friday night in Kingsville with his family. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Just a friend.”

“Sure.”

“Can I bring anything?”

Boxing gloves come to mind. I’m not sure how Joshua will react if he sees him, but if I can help broker peace between them, it’s worth a shot. “A bottle of wine,” I suggest.

“Make it two.”

“See you tonight.” I end the call.

By seven, the doorbell starts ringing. I also hired a butler of sorts and two parking attendants. All I have to do is go downstairs and smile. I take a last look in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. I elected to wear a traditional Indian sarong tonight, in twenty different shades of purple; more like a strapless dress that opens up at the knees. Of course I’m wearing a brand-new Missoni Mare string bikini and black heels. If I can, I swim every day; it’s one of the benefits of living in Corpus, even in the middle of winter.

I walk downstairs and am greeted by at least twenty guests. I shake hands and offer a dozen kisses on my way to the kitchen.

Renee smiles. “Ready?”

“Born a hostess,” I remind her.

She nods. “The offer still stands.”

I tap my chin. In no way am I an investment broker, but I know a great opportunity when I see one. Renee’s catering business has grown steadily over the last three years, and her client list includes the mayor and the Diocese of Corpus Christi. We’ve discussed expanding her services to include interior design or even wedding consultation, things I’ve always been interested in. But I don’t have a degree or even a GED.

“Give me more time.” I pat her arm.

“How long?” She looks at me expectantly.

“Six months.” Another conciliatory nod, then she shoves a plate of kouign amann in my face, a French pastry she knows I can’t resist. “Resorting to bribery now?” Of course I sample two.

“Whatever it takes,” she says. “I’ll put the rest of these in your fridge.”

I continue through the kitchen, tasting the chili and other treats. I even ordered chocolate fondue with
strawberries—something
I hope Joshua likes. Satisfied everything is in order, I head for the living room again.

It’s packed and reeks of sweat and cologne. “Rude” by Magic! is playing and I elbow my way into the mix of dancers, letting the beat swallow my thoughts. Shaggy comes on next, and I frown, disliking how the lyrics of “It Wasn’t Me” remind me of Wesley. If he could have gotten away with it, I’m sure he would have lied. And if he had, I would never have hooked up with Joshua. After the pool incident last week, I haven’t heard from my ex—it’s as if he disappeared. I ignore the rest of the song, enjoying the crowd instead. I’m sandwiched between two guys I don’t know, wiggling my hips when Sam Smith’s “Stay with Me” starts.

Not really focused, I sway, lost in the music. That’s when someone grabs a handful of my sarong. I whirl around in time to catch a drunk asshole with a wad of cash trying to jam the bills in the side of my bikini bottom.

“Let her go,” a voice demands from behind.

Someone reaches around me and grabs hold of the guy’s shirt.
Holy shit.
It’s Bishop, and he doesn’t look happy. He pushes the guy, causing him to slam into a dancing couple. That pisses the other guy off and a there’s a quick shoving match before my
butler
breaks it up. Thank God for security guards who wear tuxedos and open doors. I glance up at Bishop, a frown etched on his face.

“Thank you.”

He nods. “Where’s Joshua?”

“Kingsville.”

He grabs my elbow and ushers me down the hallway, then outside. When did he learn the layout of my house? There’s a group of people on the veranda and a server with a tray of Champagne. Bishop grabs two flutes, offers me one, then we walk quietly down the footpath, toward the gardens.

“You’re a dancer?” he asks.

“What gave it away?”

His lips form a straight line. “Don’t be sarcastic, Macey.”

“Yes,” I answer, suddenly aware of every bad choice I’ve ever made. For some reason, I’m embarrassed of what I do for a living for the first time in a really long time.
“Unfortunately,
things like that happen sometimes.”

“They shouldn’t.” He stops, then looks me in the eyes. “And your boyfriend should be here to protect you.”

I’m not sure how to take that; I owe him my gratitude. However, I won’t tolerate him insulting Joshua. I’m starting to understand the depth of their dislike and rivalry. This exceeds a malpractice suit. “Life happens,” I comment. “He’s with his family.”

“All right.” He eyes a bench off to the side. “Shall we?”

I follow him and we sit down together. “Where’s Sabrina?”

He takes a sip of Champagne. “At work.”

I’m beginning to think she never intended to show up tonight. It’s too convenient. But I won’t say anything; he’s already here. “Why did you come to my party?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I laugh to myself. Another glimpse into the good doctor’s candid bedside manner. “I’m in a committed relationship, Bishop.”

“Stop it, Macey.” He places his glass on the ground, then turns back to me. “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.” He cradles my left hand in his. “I don’t see a ring on this finger.”

I snatch it away, my ire increasing exponentially. “Is that a universal stop sign for guys who try to pick up men’s girlfriends?”

He chuckles. “Maybe I deserved that.”

“There
are
some brain cells left up there.” I tap his head. “Aren’t there a ton of girls…”

“Every day.”

I believe him. Who could resist a thirty-something accomplished cardiologist with wicked eyes and a great body? I’m entirely dedicated to Joshua, but I’m not blind. Yes, if I were single, I’d date him. “Pick one.”

“I did,” he whispers. “From the moment I spotted you on Camden’s balcony that morning, trying to pull your shirt down to cover your G-string.”

This is the goddamned story of my pathetic life: feast or famine. “I have a crapload of single friends.”

He flashes his perfect teeth. “I’m quite capable of finding a woman if I need one.”

Arrogant. But I smile, appreciating the sentiment. I don’t like being set up either. Not that I ever chased men. I just never had a problem meeting them. “Friends?”

He steeples his fingers, placing them under his chin. “An interesting proposition, Ms. Taylor.” He stares at me. “As a general rule, I never
befriend
beautiful women. There’s always an ulterior motive on my part.”

“At least you admit it.”

“Part of my training in med school—always tell the truth.”

I lose myself momentarily in the stark colors of the evening sky. A cooling breeze lifts my hair. “How do you control the urge to ask attractive patients on a date?” At least he’s not a gynecologist.

“The Hippocratic Oath.” He sounds so serious. “Keeping myself far from all intentional ill-doing and all seduction, and especially from the pleasures of love with women or men, be they free or slaves…”

I’m vaguely familiar with it, but never realized it included such words. “It sounds so medieval.”

“Prehistoric,” he corrects.

I laugh. But I can feel his heated gaze on me again. Maybe I should register as one of his patients.

“Most of my patients are elderly.”

I nod. “Why cardiology?”

“Followed in my grandfather’s and father’s footsteps,” he says. “There are five generations of physicians in my family.”

“It must be incredibly satisfying saving lives.”

“It’s more about prevention these days. Why dancing?”

Ah,
the infamous question I loathe answering. “Why not?”

“Hardly an appropriate response.”

“Life happens.”

“Not sure that’s how that goes, Ms. Taylor.
Shit
happens. Life just is.”

“Not a religious man?” I seize the opportunity to steer our conversation in another direction.

“Let’s just say I’ve witnessed too much suffering and death to believe in a supreme power. Call me agnostic.”

“I can’t blame you. I’ve seen a lot of bad things, too.” There’s an awkward pause. “What time is it?”

Bishop checks his Rolex. “Nine.”

“I think we should rejoin the party. I’m expecting some friends.”

He grins. “Some? There are at least a hundred jammed inside your living room.”

We get up and start for the house.

He stops, taking my hand. “Will you tell Camden about our conversation?”

“I’ll let him know you made an appearance.”

He bows his head. “Tell him I think he’s a lucky son of a bitch.” He lets go and departs, following the walkway to the gate.