Sinclair

Chapter Fourteen: Sin

WITHIN SECONDS, THE ONCE vacant parking lot is filled with motorcycles, the engines throttling and their headlights shining on me much like a police officer's flashlight. I feel incredibly exposed as Sinclair parks his motorcycle right beside me. All I can do is stand there like a deer in headlights as he shuts off his motorcycle and slowly starts to get off, his eyes focused on me the entire time he does so.

As Sinclair is walking up to me, I see more headlights pulling into the bar's parking lot. It's a light blue four-seater convertible filled with women. The top is down and you can hear the girls in the car yelling over the motorcycle engines, talking to the guys as they search for a place to park. These girls are what the guys refer to as, "stress relievers." After a long day handling "business", the guys come back to the bar and meet with women just like the ones in that blue convertible. Women who have a taste for danger and a thirst for men who can provide it.

And everyone in town knows you can only find men like that at Carla's.

I can't focus on any of that, though, because a certain dirty blonde haired, leather-clad man is stalking toward me. The grin that is stretching across his face can only be described as a "shit eating grin." He's smiling so hard, his dimples are showing and his rows of perfect teeth are exposed. There is nothing about Sinclair's face that isn't perfect. Even his nose—slightly crooked from a fight he got into a couple of years back—fits so well on his face. He is perfection in the truest form.

And he's inching closer and closer to me.

"Little goddess," he begins softly, reaching out to touch me. "I didn't know you were going to be here. If I had known, I would have set up my office." His grin turns into a smirk.

Annoyed—both at the fact that I have to deal with him today and the fact that I can feel my self-control waning as I look at that smirk of his—I fix him with a steely glare. I know that he's implying taking me up to his office and like he's done so many times before, giving me the ride of my life.

Not that getting a ride of my life would technically be a bad thing...

No, Freyja. Stop it.

"I'm not here for you," I tell him, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes, inching my car door open. "I was here to visit Carla and Sonny. Now that I'm done here, I think I'll be leaving."

Before I can even get into my car, Sinclair—in one smooth motion—pulls me into his side and closes my car door. Now, I'm completely pressed up against him and I can already feel my self-control wave at me and yell, "Bye, bitch."

"Stay," he whispers in my ear before moving to place a kiss on the corner of my mouth.

And like always—like my body belongs more to Sinclair than it does to me—my body just...reacts. A combination of a frantic heartbeat, uneven breaths, and skin that feels like it has been set on fire. My mind tells me to pull away, it screams at me that this is wrong, that being this close to Sinclair is not good for either of us. But the thing is, my body seems to have more control than my mind because it stays firmly in place as Sinclair pulls back to give me a wicked grin.

"How about we go back to my place and finish what we started last night, little goddess?"

At this point, all the guys and the girls have gone inside the bar. I see a couple of the women shoot me mild glares and I know why. Every woman wanted to take a crack at Sinclair Buchanan. Especially women like them—women who wanted danger and excitement. With Sinclair, every single pore oozed danger and every single word he spoke was excitement. Their glares did little to bother me, though. I was used to the women who frequented these bars not liking me very much due to Sinclair's weird infatuation with me.

"The guys are going inside, shouldn't you be going, too?" I ask, changing the subject and trying to remove his arm from around my waist.

He tightened his hold, not enough to hurt but enough to know that he was silently telling me to stop fighting him.

"I see the guys all the time. You're all I want to see right now, little goddess." And then he buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.

"Right now?" I snort unattractively, the sound half nervous because of the fact that we are so close as we stand her alone in this empty parking lot.

You Shook Me (All Night Long) by AC/DC is blasting through the speakers now and I can hear low laughter and the higher pitched flirty laughter of the danger groupies. I can hear Carla cursing at Bruiser in Spanish and this is resulting in more low pitched laughter as the guys laugh at the exchange. Basically, no one is paying any attention to Sinclair and I. We're all alone. And again, a couple of days ago I was ready to let him put me on my counter and use his tongue on me while my door was open and my neighbors—who were undoubtedly watching us—would've gotten an eyeful. I was thoroughly certain being alone with him with no witnesses was a bad idea.

No, worse than a bad idea, it was a terrible idea. I needed to get out of here right now.

"I really should be going home," I say, my voice coming out quickly and my tone slightly panicky. "I have a current project that I'm working on."

Sinclair raises his eyebrows, a look of pure amusement crossing over his face.

"You look scared, little goddess."

"Well, yeah, you don't exactly have a good track record when it comes to controlling yourself."

"If I remember correctly, you don't either." His eyes sparkle with amusement as he goes on. "Remember in Paris, I decided I wanted to show you around, so I got up to get dressed. You got straight out of bed, told me we didn't have to go sightseeing and then you got on your knees and—"

I sputter erratically to cut him off, holding my hand over his mouth to further help in my attempt to shut him up. My entire body is warm and my face is hot with embarrassment. Yes, I am aware that when it comes to Sinclair I'm a total nymphomaniac, I don't need him reminding me of this.

"You don't have to tell me, I remember."

He pulls my hand from his mouth and kisses my palm softly, his eyes right on mine as he does. I'm sure that right then, he can tell exactly what I'm thinking. I'm sure that he knows my mind is exactly where his mind currently is.

Maybe it's because of all the hormones that have built up in the last year that we were apart or maybe it's the fact that each and every time I see him, I'm reminded that he doesn't merely look like a sex god, he is a sex god.

Whatever has been building inside of me for these past couple of days finally boils over and before I can stop myself, I whisper the word I know will drive him crazy.

"Sin."