Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (28 page)

“I want it in my in-box tonight, girlfriend. No vacillating, got that?”

Got that? Linc's line when he's deadly serious. Are you safe?

“Yes, ma'am.” Destiny tipped a salute.

“Speaking of which, I heard a rumor tonight about a certain hunk and a lip-lock in the office?” Jess arched her brows a couple of times, the gesture dripping a sexual question. “Do tell. Is he the one who got you all hot and bothered in Alaska?”

She knew her heating face and neck wore a blush. “And then some.”

Jess’ crossed leg did a little dance. “Spill, girlfriend. Gory details.”

Cooperating but giving only the basics, she told Jess about her and Linc’s time in the cabin in Alaska.

“Did you two have a spat?” Jess’ arms slipped to her knees when she leaned closer. “Is that why you were so grouchy when you came back?”

No way Nadine would keep her trap shut about her and Linc.

“Sort of. Weeell, as it turns out, technically you could say Linc's one of Nadine's exes. A couple of years ago they were snowed in at her house, and boredom set in on his part.” Let Nadine tell
those
gory details.

“Whoa.” Jess’ bob bounced side to side. “No way I could wrap my mind around Nadine and my boyfriend and a past. She’s a vicious bitch, Sara—Destiny. And lately she and Juanita have been a little too cozy, considering they were once nasty enemies. I’d watch my back.”

And you don't know the half of it. Ha!

“Trust me, it's not easy.”

“He must be a helluva guy, honey.”

“He is.” On impulse, Destiny blurted, “He says he wants to marry me.”

“Whoa. That's fast work.”

“I decided to say yes tonight.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you've been through a lot in the last while. Juanita and Kenny and that sex tape. Her little stunt tonight's going to have tongues wagging in the publishing circles for some time.” Jess stared at a spot on the wall for a couple of seconds. “On the other hand, it's a brilliant marketing strategy. Especially if he's as hunky as I heard. Going to do the whole white-wedding bit?”

“I don't think I'm going to have a choice. He has ten brothers and sisters.”

“Ten?” Jess’ little shriek made Destiny's lips twitch. “I hope he's not entertaining you having a brood.”

“We haven't even talked children yet. Don't worry. I anticipate a long engagement. Your turn, Jess. Who've you been babysitting?”

“Tom Rodney,” Jess replied. “But it's a big secret.”

“Scout's honor, I won't blab. Wow, that's incredible. He's coming back to St. Paul's?”

“And I'm his editor.”

“Why? Not why're you his editor—you're the best—but why's he returning to a small press?”

“Partially because we do both print and e-books.” Even Jess’ ears reddened when she blushed. “He says he admires the way we marketed Juanita's book.”

“The way
you
marketed her book.
You're
the one with the genius marketing streak.” Destiny leaned over and hugged Jess. “I'm so happy for you. What's it like working with him?”

“Interesting. His general knowledge is amazing. The man's read Nostradamus in the original French.”

“He speaks French fluently?”

“If only. The man's fluent in six languages, including Mandarin.”

“Impressive. Juanita's going to hate being number two in the pecking order,” Destiny mused.

“And she's not going to have the influence she has now with Tom back in the fold.”

Jess was the best friend and boss anyone could hope for, Destiny decided thirty minutes later when the cab she'd called stopped in front of the Plaza. She climbed into the vehicle, pulled the door shut, greeted the driver, and reminded him of her address. Settling back against the worn leather, she shivered as a delicious wave of heated air coasted across her bare shoulders.

Jess had had a eureka moment and had devised a brilliant strategy to downplay Juanita's dramatic announcement. When she returned to the party, Jess planned to protest loudly to all and sundry that Juanita's revelation had not been a publicity stunt, which of course, guaranteed that's how the whole event would be interpreted.

I must remember to email the book to her when I get home.

Destiny laid the press packet for Angel's new release on the seat at her side. Remembering Jess had mentioned something about a first for the novel, a new idea about cross-marketing, she searched through the contents of the Cartier purse that made up the kit, ignoring the chocolate goodies, the requisite bookmarks and recorded book trailer, and pulled out Angel's latest hardcover.

She scanned the contents and dedications, skipped to the last page, then flicked to an otherwise blank page with the words, “Turn the page for a preview of Juanita Sender's new blockbuster,
Fated Destiny
.
”

Whaaat?

The words blurred. She blinked and whispered, “Juanita Sender's
Fated Destiny
.”

Her
title?

Had she ever discussed the title with Juanita? Must have.

Pulse quickening, she raced through the first paragraph, the second, all six pages of the preview, each word anticipating the following one, each sentence a boot kicking her belly.

By the time the cab came to a stop, Destiny's temples thrummed, her thoughts whizzed, and her stomach churned, acidity doing an Indy loop up her throat.

I'm going insane. Juanita couldn't have stolen my book; I only just finished it. Maybe I unconsciously plagiarized Juanita. No, no. I wrote that first chapter five years ago.

Juanita's the plagiarizer, not me. She stole my book. But how?

On autopilot, she paid the cabdriver, entered the building, prodded the elevator into movement, and stared at the paneled roof.

Her temper kicked in before the elevator dinged.

No way in hell am I letting Juanita get away with this stunt.

Destiny jingled the keys in her hand as she trudged down the hallway to her apartment, her eyes sweeping the baseboard absently.

Was Linc safe? When would he get back? How to tell him she'd changed her mind about everything?

“Destiny,” a soft male voice intoned.

The keys flew out of her hand. She jumped back, her heart juggling an erratic hip-hop. “I have mace. My neighbor's a light sleeper. I'll scream.”

While she squeaked out the words, Destiny's fingers scrambled for the pepper spray in her purse. Creepy Mr. Ronson deserved a shot. He'd scared her too many times waiting for her in the shadows.

“Linc sent me. He didn't want you to hear the news on television.” The giant hulk moved out of the shadows, and a Nordic vision backlit by the hallway's meager fluorescent tube made her gasp.

He was taller even than Lincoln, his complexion gold dusted, and his eyes, slanted and piercing, seemed impossibly blue against his tanned skin. His massive shoulders were bunched and intimidating, with arms that threatened a Popeye bulge when he let them drop. Destiny gulped and forced herself not to pedal backward.

His words sank in.

“
Linc sent me
.”

“Linc?” Her hand rose to encompass her throat, as if that would contain the pulse threatening to leap out of her skin. “Oh God, he's hurt.”

“A slight graze. Nothing serious. I'm Sax Anders.” He held out an enormous hand, the fingers thick, nails recently manicured.

Destiny couldn't form a coherent thought.

“You're in shock, Destiny sweetheart. I'm going to take your purse and help you get into your apartment. Can you hear me?”

He escorted her into the apartment, made her sit on the sofa, and poured her a glass of wine. “Drink, Destiny.”

Destiny almost swallowed a huge gulp of cooking wine that had soured to vinegar. The acrid taste kick-started her brain. She spat the red liquid into the tumbler he'd given her.

“Linc? Where is he? A slight graze? He's been shot.” She scrambled upright, only to have her knees buckle, and she collapsed on the sofa again.

“A slight graze on his right shoulder. Didn't even need a stitch.”

“Oh. Where is he?”

“On the way back from Sumatra. He didn't want you learning he'd been injured on the news tonight.”

“He's coming back tonight?” She'd wake up next to his hot, naked body tomorrow. She squinted at the man leaning on her fridge. “I don't remember Linc mentioning anyone named Sax Anders.”

“You probably know me as Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? You're Lucifer,” she blurted. “Trust me—you're more the archangel Gabriel.”

His rosy lips twitched. “I wouldn't mention that moniker to Sinner. He'd pop me one.”

“It wasn't meant like it came out.” She prayed he didn't think she was flirting with him.

“I'm to stay with you until he arrives.” Lucifer straightened, pointed to the TV in the diagonal corner, and asked, “Mind if we watch the news? I want to hear the media spin on the rescue.”

“He rescued the hostages?”

“Satan, Sinner, Demon, and Devil rescued the hostages.”

“And you stayed behind?”

“I lost rock, paper, scissors.” He shrugged, and the tight black T-shirt he wore strained to contain one watermelon of a bicep. “Someone has to man the communications and coordinate the events.”

Lucifer, she discovered, epitomized the strong, silent type. Where possible, he answered her questions with one word. Drawing blood out of a stone would prove easier than prying information from the man.

She did learn he and the rest of the squad had an annual tradition of having Thanksgiving dinner with the Chapmans. That the annual pre-dinner ball game stirred a passionate macho rivalry between the paratroopers and former Navy SEALs and Linc's brothers.

For the past five years, the paratroopers had lost by a margin of twenty.

“Twenty?” She wrinkled her nose. “You guys lose? And by twenty?”

“Cheating.” He refused to elaborate and quelled the questions dancing around Destiny’s brain by pointing to the screen. “It's coming up.”

The eleven-o'clock-news anchor devoted a concise two and a half minutes to the hijacking.

“I didn't know women piloted supertankers,” Destiny ruminated.

“Glass ceiling progress,” Lucifer explained.

The door intercom buzzed. “Destiny, let me in.”

Linc's voice shrouded her in the coziness of a heated towel on a blustery winter's day.

“My cue.” Lucifer's long legs uncrossed

Destiny watched as the blond giant ambled to the door, buzzed Linc in, and then shrugged into his jacket. He returned to stand in front of her and tweaked her nose, startling her into a small “ow.”

The door banged open.

Dazed by the affectionate gesture, she gazed up at him.

“See you on Thanksgiving Day, little sweetheart.” Lucifer’s grin proved somewhat bemusing.

“I saw that,” Linc growled, and then the door slammed shut. “Sweetheart?”

“Yep.” Lucifer's matching growl made Destiny chortle and shake her head. Her hoop earrings danced, tickling her neck.

But she couldn't take her eyes off Linc, off his craggy features, drinking in his glorious face, the way his growing hair curled over the tips of his ears. She bounded off the couch, started to sprint to him, but halted when the two men paused in the doorway.

They conducted a murmured conversation Destiny couldn't catch. She plodded back to the sofa, sat, and slumped into the upholstery, wondering how long their discussion would last.

“I thought he'd never leave.” Linc snapped the dead bolt in place and pivoted. “Jesus, it's good to see you, Destiny.”

Two long strides had him at the sofa, kneeling between her spread legs, palms cupping her cheeks. His gaze raked her. He dropped a hot, wet kiss on the corner of her mouth, tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently; then he sucked the stinging spot.

Her tongue snaked out to caress the smoothness of his mouth, slinking inside.

When his lips left hers, his thumb rubbed a hypnotic tease at one corner, dipping into the seam. His stare intensified. He didn’t utter a word and wore such a somber expression, her heart ached. She kissed his finger.

“What's wrong, Linc?”

“Marry me, Destiny Driven.”

A huge grin slid her lips wide. She didn't hesitate, not for a single beat of her heart. “Tomorrow, if you want.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a two-second pulse. “We'll buy a ring tomorrow. Are you up for a quiet civil ceremony in the afternoon? My mom's gonna want the whole church bit, and I'm warning you right now, she's a steamroller.”

He stood, shrugged out of his jacket, and winced when he tugged off the right sleeve. “And the girls, my sisters, are all going to jump in.”

“Make love to me, Linc.” She pressed a finger on his mouth. “I want you inside of me. I never want to wake up and find you not there.”

He picked her up.

“Your shoulder, Linc. Be careful.”

“It's a scratch. No nagging, Destiny. I need to carry you, need to suckle your nipples, need to eat your cream, need to feel your snug pussy clamping my dick.”

“I love you, Linc Chapman.” She couldn't prevent the words.

He halted, angled his head. “I love you, Destiny Driven. I gave my heart to you in Alaska.”

Destiny insisted he lie down on the mattress first; threatened never to suck his dick again if he didn't hold still while she undressed him.

“I'll hold still if you get naked.”

She figured humoring him would be her best strategy. “It's a deal. I'll be back in a second. Don't move.”

She whipped into the living room, gathered up Linc’s iPod and the two wireless speakers, imagined his expression when the music started to play, and couldn’t stop grinning. Glad now she hadn't changed out of her strapless black sheath, she toed on her black stiletto sandals and jogged back into the bedroom.

“I told you not to move,” she grumped. Her gaze trailed his naked beauty.

“I give the orders, woman.”

“Most of the time, but not tonight,” Destiny stated. “I have a feeling you're going to like my surprise. But first I want to take a look at that injury.”

She placed the wireless speakers and iPod base on the dresser, sat on the edge of the mattress, and carefully peeled one end of the bandage loose. The bullet had gouged a jagged chunk from just below the cusp of his shoulder.