Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

“That’s bullshit! You threatened me! You lied. You’re such a big fat liar! You’re insane!” I take a step away from him, away from the bed. “I should leave right now. I mean, damnit.”

“Are you sure?” He takes a small step toward me. “There’s lot of money on the table. You can earn more working with me than you can on your own.”

I snort. “I could never work for you.”

“Fine—that’s not my offer.”

“What is?”

“Working with me.”

MY EYES ROLL UP AND DOWN his body. Kellan Perfect Walsh isn’t. He’s a drug dealer. Who wants me to work with him. My mind spins at the crazy shift in our dynamic, and as it does, I realize I feel... tempted.

Shit.

I don’t even stop to analyze my feelings. I snap, “No way. You must be insane,” an

d make a beeline for the door.

He’s on my heels. My ears pique, but he doesn’t speak. Good. I close my hand around the doorknob, but my hand’s shaking too badly to turn it. As I fumble with the knob, my traitorous eyes slide back to his handsome face.

“Just hear me,” he says softly.

I turn around and press my back against the door. “It doesn’t matter what you say, Kellan. My answer’s no.”

“Then no harm in hearing me, is there?”

I shrug. The answer is ‘yes’ but I’m not telling him that. My temptation is a secret. Secret shame.

“So if you decided to try dealing for me, the first thing we would do is, you’d live here for a few weeks,” he says calmly. “We would get to know each other. Come to trust each other.”

I scoff, even as my mouth goes dry. Living with Perfect Kellan... I shake my head. “I wouldn’t live with you if I was homeless.”

He closes the gap between us and looks down at me. “There’s a lot of money in this, Cleo. You could still be part of your sorority. Still be treasurer, even.” He smirks, as if the idea of me as treasurer is amusing. “But for a couple of weeks, you would live here. And during that time, I would train you.”

He rolls his shoulders. He looks tense, as if discussing this is taxing and he needs to loosen up. “I’m not a grower and I’m not a dealer. I’m an operation. I supply to everyone working campus, like Matt, and even to a lot of the town too. And I’ve got a steady supply of medical grade shit.”

I snort, so he can’t tell I’m stunned. “I’ve heard that before.”

He nods. “But have you seen it?”

He’s looking at my hands, and I realize I’m still holding the bud. I run it under my nose once more, breathing deeply as I try to think.

I don’t trust this guy as far as I can throw him. Which isn’t far. He’s bulky as hell and the sad fact is, I haven’t lifted my puny five-pound arm weights in months.

When he touches my hand that’s holding the bud, I start to sweat. Not just because I don’t trust him. Because he’s very attractive, and for some inconvenient reason, my body reacts to his.

“What makes you think I’d ever live here with you?” I ask.

I don’t give two shits why he thinks I would live here. In fact, I’m sure he probably doesn’t think I’d do it at all. He just wants to prolong my time here while he tries to decide how to keep me from running off and squealing—because he can surely see now that sharing his dirty little secret with me was a mistake.

But I ask the question because I want him to think I’m considering it. I turn the bud over in my hand, prompting him to move his fingers off me.

His mouth twitches. “Would you believe me if I said I make a mean crème brûlée?”

I snort. I don’t know what I believe, but Kellan in an apron isn’t it. It dawns on me: I have no proof that he’s a dealer. He could be playing me.

“I don’t,” he says, shrugging. “I’m an ice cream and instant mac guy.”