Mr. Sin: Book One of the Sin Series

He may not be the actual Lucifer, but his aura says he might be. Either way, the man is fine. Like drop-dead-gorgeous level of fine. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. His nearly black hair is styled back in that way that only certain men are able to pull off. It has that tousled, carefree, just-fucked look. It’s shorter on the sides, but long enough that I can see a little bit of curl around the base of his neck. But it’s not the perfect hair, or the strong jaw, or the warrior’s body that makes him look like he belongs in the underworld. It’s his eyes. They’re captivating. Shining with fury. And so dark they look like pools of onyx. If the eyes truly are the window to a person’s soul, then this man is made of sin. One heartbeat with him and I’m torn between running away or dropping to my knees.

“Apologize.”

His command stuns me, but I note that his voice sounds just as sinful as he looks. Deep. Dark. Direct.

I nearly reply, not sure what I’m apologizing for but willing to anyway, when his gaze flicks to Mr. Idiot. Oh, right, this other guy. I see the Devil tighten his grip in Idiot’s hair. And fuck if that doesn’t have me picturing the Devil behind me, hand twisting my locks into a makeshift ponytail, forcing my head back…

My thighs clench.

“I said, apologize.” The Devil growls.

I look back to Mr. Idiot’s face, registering the panic in his eyes. And just like that, I understand what happened. This jerk was coming back to grab me, again, and the Devil intervened. My dark hero.

“I’m s-sorry.” Mr. Idiot stammers, but with his lips smashed against the bar it’s hard to understand him.

Using more bravado than I feel, I lean in. “Come again? I couldn’t quite make that out.”

As Mr. Idiot mumbles another apology, I dart a look at the Devil. He’s staring straight at me, with a wicked trace of a smile on his face. And goddamnit, that tilt of his lips makes him even hotter.

We keep our eyes locked on each other for a beat longer than comfortable, both ignoring the idiot, pressed face-first against the bar.

I feel like my pulse must be visible in my neck with how fast my heart is beating. Thankfully, the Devil breaks our staring contest first.

“Excuse us.” He says with a slight nod of his head in my direction.

Without waiting for a response, he steps away, pulling the other man with him. I watch in rapt attention as the Devil hauls his prisoner back through the crowd.

He drags the jerk over to a pair of men in matching black polo shirts. The size of their necks indicate that they’re security. Mr. Idiot looks like he’s trying to say something, but the Devil leans close and talks directly into his ear. I’m too far away to hear what he’s saying, but I’m guessing it’s not pleasant since Mr. Idiot’s face drains of all color.

The Devil hands him off to the security giants, but instead of turning back my way, he follows them towards the exit.

Realizing that I’m standing here staring, I glance around for the first time since this whole ordeal started. There’s a crowd of people still watching the Devil, but no one’s looking at me. Either they don’t know my involvement, or they’re all too enamored with the sexy mystery man to care about some random woman.

Shaking my head, I turn my back on the action and claim a seat at the bar.

The bartender, who saw everything, gives me a small smile. “I’m guessing you could use a drink. What’ll it be?”

“A glass of red, please. Any kind.”

He nods and steps away without further comment. As a seasoned bartender, I’m sure he can sense that my nerves are close to snapping and that my need for alcohol is immediate.

My hands are trembling as I set my small purse onto the bar. The adrenaline from the fight or flight confrontation is starting to wear off, and it’s leaving me shaky.

I debate cancelling my drink and calling it a night, but before I have time to act, the bartender returns with my wine.

“Here you are, miss. I selected my favorite Cabernet for you. Thought the bold flavor might suit you well this evening.”

I smile. Both at his sentiment and the fact that he called me miss rather than ma’am. Taking a sip, I conclude that the bartender is a genius. This is exactly what I needed. Another swallow of wine and my shoulders start to relax.

My phone buzzes in my purse. Extracting it, I see that my brother has texted me a news article about the crime rates in Vegas after midnight. Luckily for me, it’s not even 10:00pm. I don’t reply, instead shoving my phone back into my clutch. If I start a conversation with him now, I’ll end up telling him about what just happened, and then my brother will utterly lose it. More testosterone is not what I need tonight.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Good grief, that Devil of a man was intimidating. And attractive. Probably for the best that he disappeared. I’m grateful for the role of protector that he played, but I’m not fool enough to think he did it for me. I mean yes, I was the damsel in distress in the scenario, but I imagine he has a savior complex. Or he just hates men who grope women. Or his sister had a similar experience. Or girlfriend. And of course, he has a girlfriend, there’s no way that man is unattached. Actually, a man like that probably has multiple girlfriends. I bet they all look like lingerie models, not big-hipped, cat-owning, public relations consultants who vacation alone in hotel bars.   

Keeping my eyes closed I heave out another sigh and push out those toxic thoughts. Just as my mind clears, I feel the presence, rather than see it.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

My slowing pulse spikes once more. I don’t have to see him. I recognize the voice. The Devil just called me sweetheart. I mentally slap myself. Get it together, woman! The man did a good deed and is simply following up.

Opening my eyes, I do my best to act casual. “I am. Thanks to you.”

His appearance is just as jarring now, as it was the first time I laid eyes on him. Only this time he’s standing closer. Too close. His dark eyes studying me intently. Searching for the lie in my words.

“Really, I’m okay.” I force a small smile onto my face. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Somehow, his face gets even more serious. I can’t read the emotion. Disapproval? Disappointment? My cheeks flush when I understand how inappropriate my offer must’ve sounded. Here he was, saving me from unwanted advances and the second Mr. Idiot disappears I basically hit on the guy.

I instantly backpedal. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant to offer a drink as a thank you. Payment for your services or whatnot. You wouldn’t have to drink it with me.” And just like that, I’m rambling.

I clamp my mouth shut and turn forward. Attention on my wine. Maybe if I stop talking and pretend he isn’t there, he’ll fade away and I can believe none of this ever happened.

Spinning the stem of my wine glass, I watch through my periphery as he pulls out the stool next to mine. What is he doing? He can’t honestly want to sit here. With me. But that’s exactly what he does. Now I’m really lost. Do I start over? Run away as fast as I can?

I try not to notice how graceful he is, as he seats himself next to me. His foot bumps against the leg of my stool, and I think it’s on purpose.

“No.” His gravelly voice sounds beside me.

That’s it. That’s all he says.

Ugh, time to woman up. Pretending my high-waisted black pants and emerald silk blouse give me superpowers, I slowly turn in my seat. He’s already turned himself towards me, so I find myself facing the Devil head on.

Meeting his eyes, I stay silent. I may have sounded like a simpering nitwit a moment ago, but I’m going to act like a mature adult now.

The side of his mouth pulls up. “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t let you buy me a drink. Call me old fashioned.”

That’s not exactly a clear answer. Old fashioned like he won’t let a woman pay? Or old fashioned like he’s married and he won’t have a drink with a woman who isn’t his wife? Or old fashioned like he’s a rich attractive man who’ll only drink with startlingly gorgeous women half his age?

The bartender interrupts my musing. “Sir, is there something you’d like?”

First the bartender calls me miss, now he calls the Devil sir. He’s so damn proper with these titles.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” the Devil says as he gestures towards my wine.

And then before I can object, he hands the bartender cash. I wasn’t prepared for it, so I didn’t get a good look, but it seemed like a lot more money than necessary. Either that or drinks here are way more expensive that I thought.

“It was kind of you to offer.” The Devil says to me. “I can’t recall the last time a beautiful woman offered to pay for my drink. But I can’t in good conscience let the woman pay.” I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up one of his large hands. “I’m all for equality, but until the glass ceiling breaks and women make the same as men, dollar for dollar, I’ll be the one buying.”

Well, shit. He’s stunning and progressive. And let’s not forget that he called me beautiful. I don’t even know what to say to all that.

The bartender sets down the glass of wine with a nod towards me. “I think you broke her, sir.”

The Devil smirks.

I blink away the shock. “My apologies. With how easily you handled Mr. Idiot back there I was expecting you to be more of a macho, pretty-body-empty-brain caveman type. Not, well, not whatever the hell you are. Some sort of goddamn unicorn.”

Just as I think I may have stepped too far out of line; his lips pull into a full smile. “You think I have a pretty body?”

Feeling the tension break, I roll my eyes. “If that’s all you heard then maybe my original assessment was correct.”

“No taking it back. You called me a unicorn, it’s on the record now.”

“On the record? Okay, counselor.” I study him closer. “So, who’s the girl? There’s got to be at least one woman in your life to make you so attuned to things like harassment and equal pay.”

If I wasn’t staring at him so intently, I would have missed his smile tightening.

“My mom is very… let’s call it outspoken.” His tone is still light, but I can feel its fakeness.

“Moms will be like that -” I reply.

“Is it safe to assume you’re here for work?” he asks, his eyes doing a quick sweep of my body.

His sudden change of topic is obvious, but I don’t fight it. Even though I ditched my black suit jacket after dinner, I still look very much like the businesswoman that I am. I don’t have many vices, but clothes are one of them. Luckily, I make enough money to indulge myself. My style tends towards simple but tailored. Accentuating the curves I like and hiding the ones I don’t.

I nod. “I am here for work, but tonight is my vacation. And as with any good vacation, I’d rather not talk shop.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The Devil said, sounding sincere.

I probably shouldn’t continue to call him the Devil in my head, one of these times I might say it out loud.

As if he can read my mind, he extends his hand. “I’m Vincent. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

When my palm slides against his, I feel the friction all the way to my center. His hand is so large that mine disappears inside his grip. His fingers are warm. His hold on me firm. The rough spots are a welcome surprise. He’s a man who knows how to use his hands.

“Sasha.” My voice comes out breathy.

“Sasha.” Vincent repeats. My name sounds like pure decadence on his lips.

I roll Vincent’s name in my mind and find that it fits. I’ve never known a Vincent before. It’s unique, dark, and a touch exotic. There’s a chance that I might be projecting.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “I mean it. If you hadn’t intervened, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.”

“You don’t have to thank me, but since you seem to insist, you’re welcome. I’m only sorry I didn’t break his arms sooner.”

“Is that what told those security guys to do to him? Take him out back and break his arms?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Now, now, Sasha. No work talk, remember.” He scolds playfully.

I laugh. Cute, smart, and witty. This guy has to have a bad side. He needs to. It’s not fair to the rest of us mere mortals if he’s really this perfect.

I decide to change the topic as abruptly as he did earlier. “So, Vincent, what’s the last book you read?”

When he chuckles, the vibrations make me realize that I’m still clinging to his hand. I let go, but Vincent is slower to release. The slow glide of skin on skin feels horribly erotic and I do my best to stop the shiver that crawls up my arm.

“The last book, hmm? I’m a bit embarrassed to say that I don’t remember the name of it. But it was a Mark Greaney novel. I usually have at least one thriller going at a time.”

“Fair enough. I’ll admit there are books I’ve read without ever looking at the title.” I said, telling the complete truth.

“And you? What’s the last book you read?” He asks.

“A J.D. Robb novel. I don’t remember the title either.” I lie.

“You’re lying.” Vincent narrows his eyes on me.

I shrug. “Perhaps.” I’m not going to admit to a title with the word naked in it. Not to him. Not right now.

Vincent’s heated look causes a swarm of butterflies to take flight in my uterus. I take another sip of wine to calm them.

“Do you prefer physical books or the digital versions?” He asks.

“Both.”

“Explain.”

I don’t know how a single word command can be sexy, but with Vincent speaking it, it is.

“I get all of my favorites as physical books. But I love the ease of a digital novel. Being able to finish one book in a series and immediately start the next is my kind of lazy convenience. Not to mention having the app on my phone. Like right now for example, say you start to bore me, but I’m not done with my wine yet.” I tip my head towards my glass.

“Extremely likely -” Vincent grins.

“Indeed. And if that’s the case I simply pull out my phone and start reading. Couldn’t do that with a real book.” I gesture towards my small purse.

“I concede to your reasoning.” Vincent gives me a slight bow, never breaking eye contact. “I’ll do my best not to bore you.”