His Sweetest Sin

It’s nothing I can refute, so I don’t try. “I’m going after Amelia with or without your help. Although I would be much obliged if I had it. My intentions are anything but pure...well, maybe pure pleasure.”

She laughs again. “All right, all right. I’ll help you for her as much as yourself. I do believe you are what she needs.”

“Really?” Sounds intriguing.

“Doesn’t every good girl need a bad boy to show her all the fun she’s missing out on?”

“She’s been missing out, has she?”

Her response is dry. “Amelia’s here from eight in the morning until eight in the evening. Those were the same hours her brother used to work, which she said were ridiculous. Yet, even when she goes home she’s working from home. Aside from spending time with her brother and sister-in-law, she only lives in the books she reads.

“Amelia Bishop is a good girl down to her pinky toe, when it comes to men and having fun. Fair warning, she is still a lawyer and a better one than she thinks she is, therefore she is not above being manipulative and sneaky to get her way. The woman can hold her own, have no doubt about that. Except when it comes to her personal life.” She sighs. “Amelia doesn’t have the best instincts when it comes to men. They’ve either been too old, too bossy, too boring and bland, or even worse, too mean. She’s only dated lawyers, but she hasn’t dated in a while now. For a while she’d do a lunch or coffee date here and there, but then she had the accident, and it’s been crickets ever since.”

“What kind of accident did she have?” Mary’s face is flooded in remembered pain. Why the hell is my stomach knotting up in apprehension of what she’s about to tell me?

“A very bad one. Almost eighteen months ago she was struck by a car in the middle of a crosswalk. It was awful. Her left leg was ravaged, she broke it in three different places, and her arm in two places. But the accident didn’t only wreck her body, it wrecked her confidence. She’s always fought with her weight, the way most women do.

“Only now...she doesn’t think anyone would want her at the weight she is now. Her mother is constantly telling Amelia to lose weight, doing everything from sending athletic equipment to weight-loss fad drinks here to the office. It’s awful, the things the woman has said to her daughter.”

I’m not prepared for the way hearing about Amelia’s accident has my chest aching. What the hell? It’s easier to focus on my anger toward her mother. Mothers, a double-edged sword of life if ever there was one. It also goes a long way toward explaining Amelia’s inability to comprehend why I would want her. Pretty shitty way of thinking, I’ll change her mind. “Thank you, gorgeous. I appreciate your time and insight. What time will Amelia take her lunch tomorrow?”

“She doesn’t take a lunch unless it’s a business one. She eats at her desk most days. Tomorrow, her schedule is clear from eleven thirty until two. She usually likes to eat later, from twelve thirty to one would be best.”

“Good to know, and where would she like to go?”

“Hmm...” She opens then reads through a scheduling diary taking up her desk. “She hasn’t had Goldfinches in a few weeks, however, her favorite restaurant is Giorgio’s.”

“Thanks for all the tips. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Walking away, I pull out my phone to store some of the information Mary gave me so I won’t forget. Amelia Bishop is adding up to be quite a puzzle I’m going to enjoy solving. When I pass the reception desk this time,

the blonde is engrossed in her computer screen. I can’t hold in a chuckle as I remember her face. Serves her right.

I hit save on the information Mary gave me, then do a search on Amelia. A little scrolling has me impressed, Penn State and Harvard with honors. She also represents several big companies here in Chicago. There are dozens of pictures of her with her clients she helps pro-bono at a woman’s legal clinic, with many of the women writing paragraphs full of love for Amelia’s help. Then I get to the information on the accident.

Shit, what the hell is up with me and my chest twisting at the idea of Amelia in pain? I try to shake it off when I hit the street, but it lingers long after I hail a cab to take me home. The cabbie recognizes me and starts laying into me about last season and how I think this upcoming season is going to go. I shrug a few times before he gives up on me. I’m not in the mood. Amelia is plaguing me. I hadn’t lied to the gorgeous Mary; Amelia Bishop has got me all twisted up. Only now, I’m starting to wonder if going after her is a good idea.

Amelia’s been through a lot. She has a ton of baggage I’ll have to unload before I can get to her. It’s not all that I’m worried about; I’m not interested in anything other than to have some fun. The longest I can see us hooking up is a few weeks. It’s the first week of January, but already I’ve got spring training on my mind. I only have fun during the off-season, while the season is going on, baseball is my everything.

For the first time in years, the idea of going after a woman knowing it won’t be for long sends guilt running through me. Usually, the women I fuck are as uninterested in long-term as I am. They’re experienced in no-strings-attached. I’m not cut out for long term, baseball season or not. It’s my own baggage, and I don’t want Amelia thinking it has anything to do with her. Even though I spent all of ten minutes with her, between that time and the things Mary, said it was obvious Amelia knew nothing about sex for fun and pure pleasure. Teaching her promises to be a long, intensely pleasurable and gratifying experience. It also seems like the ultimate sin, to initiate someone as sweet, shiny, and pure as Amelia into wicked, raw, and dirty sex. Fun, yet so very wrong.

The cabbie slams on the brakes in front of my place. I thank him and hand him a twenty, telling him to keep the change. His surprise when he sees my home is clear. Since it happens often, I don’t pay it any mind. My house is a four square, with stained-glass windows, and all the period features of the year it was built, 1904. I love it. When I saw it on the website I told myself it would be an investment property, it was a lie. The moment I saw it I wanted it for myself.

Saying goodbye to the glass and chrome condo in the Watertower building six months ago, was something I did without blinking. Now the condo is rented out and I feel at home here for the first time in...ever.

As I unlock my front door, my phone rings. Checking the display, I don’t recognize the number. I send it to voice mail. I didn’t record the outgoing message, it’s the robotic voice for privacy. If the person leaves a message and it’s not some groupie or fan who got my number, I’ll call them back. Watching the display a message doesn’t come through, but the display does show I’ve missed a call from the number before, November tenth. Hmm, I don’t remember it. Probably just a wrong number. I shrug it off.

After the freezing cold of Chicago in January, the warmth of the house gets to me fast. I take off my coat and hang it up. Then I take off my sweater as I go upstairs to change. Around the house I prefer to hang out in my boxer briefs, but winter in Chicago doesn’t allow for it unless I want a thousand-dollar-a-month electric bill. I find a well-worn T-shirt and even more worn flannel pajama bottoms. Tossing my clothes in the walk-in closet, I scan it. Something is off.

My housekeeper is stealing from me. Damn it. After too many times of waking up with shit missing, thinking it was the strippers I brought home, ever since I moved into this house, I took them to a hotel. Where I left them to sleep off the night, usually leaving before the sun was up. Only shit is still coming up missing.

I text her that she’s fired, consider the shit she stole her last check. I’m not going to go through the hassle of trying to figure out what she took. Cuff links were the usual item when I was in the condo, I’m down to a few studs for my left ear. I have a few diamond studs, like the one in my ear now. I also have some onyx ones, and a few blue sapphires. I’ll deal with finding a new housekeeper later. The argument against me living in a house with five bedrooms and four levels flits through my mind before I stamp it down. This time I’ll go through a service to find someone instead of online.

My cell rings again, this time I know the number. It’s my lawyer in Austin and I was waiting for his call. “Yeah.”

“How did it go with Bishop? What did he say?”

I can’t keep the smile off my face remembering Amelia Bishop. “Ethan is out of town. I’m letting his sister, Amelia, handle it. She says I’m a dumbass and you’re a bad lawyer for handling the sale instead of pointing me to someone in Chicago.”