Read Online Make Me Sin by J. T. Geissinger - Free Book Online Page B

the risk of an embarrassing encounter with his crotch. Especially if, as he has said, and his shoe size and stature surely indicate, it’s huge.
    He senses my hesitation. “What’s wrong?”
    My voice comes out tiny. “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”
    He takes my hands, and gently lowers them to his abdomen, locking my fingers together over a hard expanse of muscle that definitely isn’t his crotch. “Better?”
    I sigh in relief. “Best.”
    He revs the throttle. The bike rattles and hums beneath us, itching to leap into motion.
    I prompt, “So—Jacques Cousteau?”
    “Right. He used to say that the most beautiful creatures are always the most dangerous.”
    I recognize this saying. It’s one of Mr. Cousteau’s most famous. “No, what he actually said was, ‘Zee most beeyooteefool creetoors are also zee most dangeroos. ’ ”
    Hearing my terrible French accent, A.J. laughs, a second miracle for the night. Loving the sound of it, I grin.
    “That he did, Chloe, that he did. So I figured, following his logic, every dangerous creature therefore has to be female, because females are the only creatures who are really beautiful. Compared to them, us guys are just a bunch of slobbering idiots.”
    He looks at me over his shoulder. His smile is devastating. My heart skips a beat, then stalls out altogether.
    Holy mother of all craps.
    At the exact moment we pull out of the lot and zoom off into the night, I realize just how much trouble I’m in, and that, in more ways than one, it’s too late to jump off this ride.
    Because, reckless fool that I’ve become, I want too badly to see where it’s going.

I ’m being carried up stairs. My head rests on a heated, solid surface. I feel safe, relaxed, and completely at ease.
    I have no idea where I am.
    I snuggle closer to the sweet-smelling warmth that surrounds me, and sigh in profound contentment. I could stay here in this gently rocking, protective cocoon forever. My fingers find strands of silk. I begin to twist the silk through my fingers, smiling at how lovely it feels on my skin. I bring the silk to my nose and inhale.
    Cinnamon. Sugar. A hint of smoke and musk. I love that smell. I’d happily drown in it.
    A jarring, metallic clang makes me jerk. I whimper. A voice mutters, “Goddamn useless security gate.”
    More stairs. The sound of even breathing. The slow and steady thump of a heartbeat beneath my ear. The voice comes again, gentler this time. “Chloe. Wake up, Princess, I need the key.”
    “Mmm.” I nuzzle my face into the warmth that is both unyielding and sinfully soft, like velvet laid over granite. I tighten my arms around it, because somehow I can. Wherever this place is, it’s heaven .
    I hear a low, strained groan, as if someone is in pain.
    “Shhh.” I press my lips against the silken heat. I hear myself make a noise deep in my throat, like a purr. The groan comes again, more anguished.
    “Chloe. For the love of God. Give me the key.”
    Through my fog of contentment, I consider the word: key. I keep the key . . . “Spare,” I mumble. “Top o’ the frame.”
    A moment’s pause, some rustling and gentle movement, then I hear a satisfied grunt. Now I’m somewhere darker than before, because the red light behind my lids has been extinguished.
    Home. I’m home. The thought floats to me on a leisurely breeze. I recognize the orange-blossom scent of the candle I forgot to blow out before I left for dinner, which is still burning on the coffee table in the living room. It gutters as I glide by noiselessly, effortlessly, on my way somewhere else . . .
    I’m laid down on a soft, soft surface. My limbs are gently arranged. My shoes are removed. It’s not as warm as before, nor nearly as pleasant. I frown, trying to open my eyes, but my lids are like lead. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to regain the heat I’ve lost. A weight settles over me: a blanket. I burrow deep under it, sighing in contentment once again.
    Something