Billionaire’s Sins by L. Steele

11

"I love my mum to bits, but she annoys me to no end by agreeing with my Father on most things. Gah! I have come to realize it's really important to stand up for yourself and in what you believe in and not allow a man to dictate how you're going to live your life."

-From Ava's diary

Ava

"Ava, are you listening? Ava?" I pull the phone away from my shoulder, and stare at it. Raisa called me when I was at the bar, and I stepped out to take her call, and now I regret it. She's reminding me to come to my father's wedding... My father's wedding. OMG, how can those two words even go together? Can I actually look on while he marries someone else? Someone who'll take the place of my mother at his side?

"Ava?" I hear my sister's voice over the phone, and sigh, then press the device to my ear, "I am here, Raisa."

"Are you out clubbing?" I can practically see the scolding expression on her face.

"You don't have to sound so judgmental." I huff.

"I'm not," she protests, "I was just wondering where you were out. That's all."

"Yes, I am at a club, and no, I don’t do this every night. I am only out because I've had a few hard days and needed to unwind."

"Of course," she mutters, "must be fun to dance for a living, then also dance to have fun."

"You didn't just say that." I scowl, "Seriously, Raisa. I may not work a desk job like you, but I do have a career... It's just that it's a creative one."

"Of course," Raisa murmurs. Her tone is contrite, but I am not really sure if I believe her. "I am not faulting your career choice, Ava. It's just... I... It's unorthodox, that's all."

Wait until you hear about my choice in men. Hoo boy, talk about being unorthodox.I snicker, and all but sense Raisa getting prickly on the other end of the line.

"You don't have to make fun of me," she says in a hurt voice, "I really am trying to understand you, Ava."

"I know you are." I hunch my shoulders. "I know I've been a bitch since Dad broke his news. Well, no, even earlier, since Mom's death..."

There's silence on the line, then I sigh, "Okay, okay. In general, I've been a bit of a brat for a while now."

"Thank you," she exclaims. "Now that we have that out of the way, are you coming to the wedding?"

There's silence. A beat, another. "I... I need to think about it," I finally say.

"Think all you want." Her voice hardens, "Just as long as you come."

We'll see. I am still not sure I want to attend, but if I don't go my dad will be hurt and I don’t want that to happen either. I'll be there, is what I want to say. Instead, I hold the phone away from my face. "Oh, someone's calling me. I'd better be going. Bye, Raisa."

Coward. I am such a coward. Why is it so difficult to simply tell her that I'll be there? Maybe because it feels like I am being disloyal to Mum if I say that I'll attend the wedding? Despite everything Dad told me, I still don't feel completely right with going to see my Dad marrying another woman. I shake my head. I need to stop obsessing about it and carry on with the reason I am out tonight. Music, dancing. Yes, that's why I came out today, right? To forget all of my worries for a few hours. I pivot, then head for the dance floor.

Twenty minutes later, the music pours over me, ripples down my stomach and in between my legs. I close my eyes, shake my booty, drag my hands up over my head. Let the rhythm infiltrate me, curve around my waist, sizzle down my legs, my toes. Ah. With the right music, the right beats, the right tempo, it’s like I am flying. OMG, this is sooo much fun.

I grind my hips, bend my knees, curve my torso to fit to the melody. Swipe my hair up and away from my neck, turn my head to the side, then the other way, grind my hips again, only to brush up against something… Someone. Hands grasp my waist, then I am pulled back and fitted against the unmistakable bulge of male hardness. Warmth grips me. He’s here; he came for me. He has to have come. He couldn’t stay away. Hot breath grazes my ear, the heat of his body envelops me. The scent of beer and stale sweat assails me. No, not him. Who the hell is this, then? I snap open my eyes as he leans into me.

"Hello baby, wanna go for a test drive?"

Eeeugh. Is that even a pick-up line, or what? I turn around to take in the features of the man who leers down at me. Sweat beads his brow; his cheeks are ruddy. His face boasts a weak chin and his lips are slightly parted as he pants down at me. Just my luck. Of all the creepy crawlies in the world, the grossest of them all had to come onto me. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I seem to forever attract the wrong kind of man? And the one time I’d been sure my luck was changing, that I’d found someone who was different, and hot and kind and sexy and dominant, and yet, sensitive… Yeah. I know. Turns out, he was too good to be true anyway. "Get away from me."

I try to pull away, but he applies more pressure on my hips and holds me in place. "Now, now," his features brighten, "is that anyway to treat our new-found friendship."

"You’re right," I nod, "I’d rather see your head on a spike."

"What?" He blinks.

"No, actually," I press a finger to my cheek, "I think I’d rather dig your heart out and eat it. Better still, bury my fangs in your neck and draw out your blood."

He pales. "Wh…what does that mean?"

"Don’t you know?" I lean in close enough for his horrid body odor to overpower me. Ugh, someone get me a bucket. I bare my teeth, "I am a vampire in disguise."

He stares, then bursts out laughing. "You’re funny."

"You’re not." I pull back my fist, bury it in his throat.

He roars, releases me. I scramble away, lunge forward through the crowd of dancing people. A woman steps in my path; I shove past her. A man dances his way across my progress; I dig my elbow into his side. He yelps, moves away. I dart past, make it to the edge of the dance floor when a heavy hand descends on my shoulder. I yelp, turn and swing. The sweaty barnacle ducks, then tightens his grip with so much force that pain sears my arm.

"Let go of me," I grit through clenched teeth.

"Says you and which army?" He smirks.

"Says me."

I hear the growled-out words, despite the fact that music is booming all around me. Hell, I’d hear him even if he didn’t speak. All he’d have to do is think it, and I’ll bet I could glean it from his mind… Whoa, hold on. He’s not that Edward…and you’re not Bella, much as you’d like to be. And this is not a fairytale, or a stalker vampire romance… This…is real life, and he’s a priest, and you are a…foolish woman who’s developed feelings for him. I twist my shoulder, try to get away again. This time, he hauls me around and against him.

I grimace, "Let me the hell go, you asshole." I dig my elbow back and into his side. He doesn’t even lose a breath. He winds his arm around my neck, begins to sway with me. That unwashed body scent of his crowds me and his oily heat crawls around me. Gross. I raise my foot and bring it down on his massive one. He yells, shoves me away from him and straight at Edward, who grabs me, shoves me behind him.

Whoa, okay, not expected. Not that I didn’t think he had it in him. I mean, of course, I’d suspected that the priest’s facade only partially obscures the over-the-top possessive man hiding somewhere in there. Only, I hadn’t been sure. I’d thought he’d saved that part of himself—that crazy devotion that comes from being fixated with something or someone. I’d been sure he was saving all those emotions for the One Above.

So, to have him throw a punch, catch the other guy at the temple and follow that up with a punch to the stomach… All in one move… Whoa… It’s hot. Okay, it’s crazily hot. I watch, open mouthed, as he follows up with a third hit to the chin. The other guy sways, then crumples to the ground. People move away, give him space, then turn away and continue dancing.

Edward turns on me, his gaze intense. His jaw flexes and a vein throbs at his temple.

"Edward, I—"

He holds up a hand, then jerks his chin toward the exit. I stiffen and he glares at me. Anger thrums from him—vital, real. A dense cloud of heat wafts off of him, slams into my chest. I swallow. Oh, shit. This isn’t good. Not at all. He takes a step forward; I scramble back. He moves in my direction. I turn, elbow my way through the crowd, reach the exit, and walk up through the winding staircase, past couples making out, past another couple dry-humping, their tongues down each other’s throats. I swallow; my throat goes dry. I turn to glance over my shoulder to find his gaze locked on me. Goosebumps pop on my skin; my thighs clench. I lose my footing and stumble, only for him to grip my waist and straighten me. The warmth of his palms scalds me through my dress. I shiver, and he looks me up and down. His gaze widens. When he glances back at me, his pupils are dilated, his breathing ragged. Then he sets his jaw, schools all expression from his face. He releases me so quickly that I stumble again. This time I right myself. He tips his chin up again.

"So what? Now you’re not talking to me?"

His jaw tics.

"Is this some kind of silent treatment?"

His eyebrows draw down. He folds his arms, stares down at me, down that patrician nose of his. His gaze is so intense, so angry...so helpless. I swallow. "Shit, it’s never easy between us, is it?"

He blows out a breath, then pinches the bridge of his nose, nods toward the stairs. "Go on," he growls.

I turn, march up the steps, through the crowd of people around the bar, and out the main door onto the sidewalk. The cold instantly washes over me. My fevered skin seems to sigh in gratitude. I turn my face to the light breeze that blows past, hoping to hide my heated cheeks. Then, just like that, the temperature seems to dip. I shiver, wrap my arms about my waist.

"Where’s your coat?" he snaps.

"Inside, with Isla." I turn to brush past him, "Maybe I should get it."

"Leave it," he orders, his voice taut. Tension grips every muscle in his body.

He stalks forward. I watch as he reaches a Harley parked a little up the road. He opens the storage box on the bike, pulls out a helmet, then turns to glower at me. What’s his problem anyway? And since when do hot, sexy priests drive hot, sexy bikes? Why is it that he’s hellbent on breaking every single stereotype I have in my head about men of the cloth? Not that I’ve known any of them before, considering I haven’t ever been to church. What? My parents were agnostic. When they were not too busy quarreling, they were too busy making up. Which left me to my own devices. Hence—the overactive imagination. None of which has ever dared me to dream of this hot as f guy who crooks his finger.

What the hell? Does he think he calls and I’ll go running to him? I fold my arms across my chest.

He glares at me and I shiver. It’s the wind; that’s all it is.

He tilts his head. I tip up my chin. He arches an eyebrow and moisture beads between my legs. He holds out the helmet to me. I draw in a breath, take a step forward, another. By the time I reach him, I am shaking all over. Why does this man affect me so? What is it about him that makes me feel like I am back in high school and in the presence of my biggest ever crush? Umm, maybe because he is? Only it’s more than a crush I feel… It’s lust…love…? Nah, not that. Ridiculous. How could I be in 'anything' with this man whom I barely know at all?

But you do… You know enough about him. You know that he’s sensitive, that he wants to dedicate himself to a bigger cause, that he wants to help his people, that he wants to remain loyal to his vows, to stay faithful to his one true love.And how could that not impress me? Strangely, it’s the very things that make him unobtainable to me which also make him irresistible. And that, folks, neatly sums up the contradiction that my life often ties itself up in.

He places the helmet on my head. I peer up at him as he pushes the hair away from my neck, before snapping the strap under my chin. His fingertips brush my skin and a shiver races down my back.

He frowns, then pulls out a jacket, drapes it over my shoulders.

"What about you."

"I’m good," he mutters. "Besides, considering you’re not wearing much, you need this more than I do."

"I’m wearing enough," I huff as I shove my arms through the sleeves.

"Is that what you call…this…this…bandage that you are swaddled in?" He rakes his gaze down the dress that hits somewhere above my knees.

So, it’s a little tight, a little figure hugging, and maybe it emphasizes my boobs and the curve of my arse… But really, it’s perfectly respectable. Side note—yes, I had sorta hoped he’d end up in the bar. Speaking of… "How did you know where I was?" I frown.

"Isla called Sinclair who handed the phone over to me."

"Oh, wow." I blink. "That’s certainly a circuitous route to have taken for you to get to me."

"There are easier ways to get my attention," he grumbles.

"I wasn’t trying to get your attention," I retort.

"Weren’t you?"

"Of course, not," I lie. "I was merely out on the town, single and footloose, and ready to take someone home tonight—"

"Is that what you were trying to do in there?" He draws himself up to his full height, "Seemed to me, you were trying to get away from that man’s unwanted advances."

"I was managing myself well enough, until you came along."

His lips twist, "I am the last person you should be lying to, Eve."

Don’t say it. Don’t remind him. Don’t, Ava."Because you are a priest?"

His jaw tightens. That familiar polite mask—the one I hate, the one that implies that he’s hiding away the man behind the persona—is back on his face. Well, too bad. After all, he’s made it clear that there can be no relationship between us. So, he can hardly blame me for throwing that at him. And I didn’t throw it, as such. I mean, he is a priest. It’s his chosen vocation, so why the hell is he so pissed off with me now?

He turns away, straddles the bike, then starts the engine. The boom-boom-boom of the pipes fills the space.

He glances at me sideways. "Get on," he snaps.

I pull the jacket closer. The scent of him floods me and it feels like I am wearing him on myself. If this is the only way I’m going to get close to him, then so be it. I’ll take every opportunity I can to spend time with him. I throw my leg over and mount the steed.

He turns and asks, "You, okay?”

I nod.

"Hold on."

I slide in closer, place my hands on his waist. He zooms forward. I yell, then throw my arms around him as he accelerates. The front of my thighs and my chest are flush against him as he whizzes up the road. The cold air buffets my uncovered legs. I huddle even closer to the warmth that emanates from him. And for all that, he isn’t wearing a jacket, but he shows no signs of feeling the chill. He really has extra-hot blood. That must be why he’s also such a smokin’ hottie. I snicker against his back, and the muscles under his skin seem to ripple. The only thing separating me from him is my jacket and the thin shirt that he’s wearing. If I slipped my hand in between the plackets, I’d finally be able to touch, sense, feel what it means to be skin to skin with him.

Liquid heat pools in my core. My mouth waters. I turn my face into his shirt, draw from it deeply. The scent that is pure Edward overpowers my senses, and just like that, I am wet. Maybe I should bottle it. That way, when he’s not around, I can still sniff him. Hell, I could come just by touching myself as I smell him. Gah! Stop that…

He turns off the main road and I glance around me. Huh? This is not the way to my place, so where are we going? Is he taking me to his… Where does he live? Near the church? He can’t be taking me there…surely?

He turns off again, under a bridge, then around another roundabout, turns to the right, and there, in front of us, is the Tower Bridge, otherwise known as London Bridge, but from an angle I’ve never seen it.

We seem to be almost under it, but not quite. The entire structure is lit up in a silvery light that turns it into a beautiful artefact that is ageless, timeless… So serene that it’s almost tranquil, despite the hustle and bustle of the city. How many others have watched it from exactly this angle? Who were they? What did they do? Did they also come here because they were avoiding something…like the big elephant between us…aka this attraction, this connection…this…completely insane need to be close to him, to feel him, touch him, hear him speak, laugh, to kiss his eyelids, his mouth, his cheeks, that beautiful throat of his that flexes when he’s angry and stretches when he’s sad. I swallow as he pulls over by a small park. He shuts off the bike and silence descends. My heart begins to thud and my pulse pounds at my temples. Why did he bring me here? To talk? About what?

Why isn’t he saying anything yet?

I slide off the bike, pull the jacket even closer. He lowers the kickstand, disembarks, then opens the storage box on the bike. He pulls out a pair of leather pants and hands them to me. "Put them on; you’re cold," he commands.

I grimace. "Is this how you speak to your flock? Do you order them around as well?"

A nerve throbs at his temple. "I didn’t bring you here to argue with you."

"Then why did you bring me?"

He rolls his shoulders. "Come." He gestures me toward the park.

I step into the pants, fold up the hems so I don’t trip on them. The waist band is elastic and I fold it a few times until it perches on my hips. Not very comfortable, but it’ll keep me warm.

I cross the sidewalk, and head up the small park to a bench that faces the view of the bridge.

I sink down and he sits… As far away from me as possible on the other side of the space.

My heart deflates a little. Shit, what was I expecting? That we’d hold hands and gaze into each other’s eyes. As if. I stare ahead at the piece of marvelous architecture that stands there as if suspended in the darkness.

For a few seconds we don’t speak. My muscles unwind and I slide down the bench a little. The cold sinks into my blood and I stamp my feet to stay warm. "If only there was something warm to drink," I mutter aloud, then blink when he slides a flask across the space.

I shoot him a sideways glance. "What’s that?"

"Whiskey."

"I didn’t know you drank."

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

"Only because you don’t share anything with me."

He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand, "I know, I know, it's not like we've had much time to get to know one another; still..." I shuffle my feet, "all I'm saying is that I'd like to find out more about you."

He blows out a breath, then leans forward. "What do you want to know?"