Proof of Their Sin

Lauren wanted to release a laugh of offended pride, but was afraid it would come out as a sob. She ignored the phone and held his stare with defiant refusal to move across the room and touch it while a sensation like falling down a mountain tumbled through her. Her voice hurt her throat when she managed to speak.

“No need. I won’t marry a man who thinks it’s okay to cheat.”

His head recoiled like she’d slapped him. He tightened his grip on her phone until she thought the screen would crack. “I don’t cheat.”

“I wish I could believe you, Paolo, but you’ve lied to me before.” Her hand shook as she went back to stowing groceries in the refrigerator. “Men like you are incapable of monogamy.”

“Men like me?”

“Like you and Ryan. You’re sex machines. You made a pass at a bride on her wedding day, for God’s sake!”

“And you kissed me back,” he near shouted. “You came out to the garden after me, so don’t make out like I hunted you down. I was trying to get away from you. You made the first move in Charleston, too. So which one of us is the sex machine?”

Before she knew what she was doing, the yellow tomato left her hand and was flying at his head.

He fielded it like a pro, his reflexes catlike. His reaction of astonished disbelief came more slowly as he looked at the orb smashed into his palm. Very deliberately he set it aside and wiped his hand on his shirt, lifting his head in a way of a predator locking onto his prey. Retribution was a ferocious light in his outraged expression.

Lauren’s heart stopped. All her blood drained into her toes and a cold sweat chased it. She was as flabbergasted as he was and the way he seemed to gather and glow with challenge melted her into a puddle of apprehension.

“I—I—” she stammered.

He began walking toward her and she tried to retreat, backing into the fridge door and knocking condiments over in their trays while her nerveless fingers lost their grip on the cloth bag. It fell to the floor. More tomatoes rolled out toward his menacing steps while she managed to shuffle around the door and clatter it closed, taking refuge at one end of the island, putting it between them as he came up to the other end, threat in every line of his aggressive stance.

Part of her knew this standoff was insanely childish, but he looked not just furious, but intent. She was trapped and a frisson of something unidentifiable went through her. Not real fear, but the kind that chased you through a haunted house, making you want to laugh while you were screaming your head off.

“What are you doing hiding behind furniture? You wanted a fight, didn’t you?” he taunted in a voice that sent a sensual slither down her spine. “Or were you inviting something else?”

“I was inviting you to get lost, but you can’t stand for a woman to resist you, can you?” She practically threw the words out.

“If you at least tried to resist, cara, we might not be in this situation.”#p#????#e#

“Who is chasing who right now? I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re behaving like an idiot.”

His head went back in insult while a hint of desperation shadowed the eyes that stayed fixed on her. “Do I really have to chase a woman who wants to be caught?”

Her heart did a backflip while she protested, “Get over yourself!”

At the same time her heart raced with something more like anticipation than fear, even though she was very scared how she’d react if he touched her.

He made a sudden fake to her left. She feinted in a mirror dodge that started him down one side of the island. She took her chances running down the opposite side.

Paolo was not only competitive, but strong, athletic, and ruthless. Before she’d taken four steps, he had vaulted onto and slid over the island, landing before her so she would have crashed into him if he hadn’t caught her by the arms to cushion the impact.

“You—”

He smothered her cry of anger with his mouth.

She shouldn’t have been shocked. He was cutthroat enough to prove a point in this ruthless way, even if he did hate her. He didn’t have to resort to violence when he could demean her with her own uncontrollable response to him.

The devastating crush of his mouth on hers was a stamp of ownership, one full of all-knowing familiarity. He took for granted he’d elicit a response, and he did. Despite her admonishments to herself that she ought to fight him, should bite his bottom lip and beat her fists on his chest, something deeply vulnerable gave way inside her.

Weak tears smarted at the backs of her eyes, but they came from wanting this so badly and knowing it was nothing but a point to be proven for him while she was flowering like a desert plant tasting water after a drought. With an internal shudder, she gave in to him.