Page 37 of Relentless Sinner

Jaxon is in it, swimming.

I didn’t know he was going to be here. I’ve been watching him for the last half an hour as he does laps from one end of the pool to the other.

I’ve never seen anyone swim with such grace and poise before. Jaxon moves through the water as if he was made for it. Like they’re one and the same.

Watching his powerful arms slicing through the water and his insanely muscular torso is making me think of Jason Momoa again. This time as Aquaman.

I haven’t seen Jaxon since the other night and I haven’t stopped thinking about him either.

About how he protected me from Dad, and that little conversation we had out on the balcony. The few minutes we spoke was the most normal I’ve felt with him since I’ve been here. I needed something close to normal that night. I was a mess.

I’m still a mess. That hasn’t changed.

I’m hoping that seeing Cora later will fix that.

It’s finally Friday. I’ve been up since six, eager for the time to fly by so I can see her. She’ll be here by midday.

I hung out in the bedroom for a little while thinking about everything I needed to tell her. When it got brighter outside I grabbed some coffee and went for a walk by the lake. Then I came here.

I found this little spot the other day. It’s on the other side of the house where there are fewer people to make me feel like I’m being constantly observed like a lab rat.

I’m sure the guards are still watching me through the surveillance. It’s just good to not physically see them. It makes me feel more relaxed. Even though I know that’s just an illusion.

Kind of like the one covering my mind about Jaxon. That illusion is trying to sway me into wanting him to be my savior. Andotherthings I shouldn’t think of.

I think I’m so fascinated with him because this is the first time I’ve been around a guy without my father breathing down my neck.

Every guy I’ve ever been interested in has been wary of my father—definitely understandable.

At school, people had their suspicions about our ties to the mafia, so most guys stayed away from Natasha and me.

My father was so overprotective that he demanded we live at home when we went to college.

After college I actually wanted to go straight into med school but Dad insisted I do some work experience at the hospital first for a year before making the commitment to another lengthy study program. Truthfully, he was just being an asshole because he didn’t want to cough up the tuition fees even though he could more than afford it.

Being at home under Dad’s watchful eyes made it hard to date or meet people. The one boyfriend I had—Lucas, the guy I lost my virginity to—came from another mafia family. We saw each other in secret during my freshman year. When my father found out about us he raised hell and then some.

Lucas was already transferring to college in Europe so I think that was my one saving grace. But after that Dad got worse.

That’s why I was looking forward to heading out to L.A. to med school. The chance to go only came about because one of Dad’s high-profile clients is a professor at UCLA. He encouraged him to allow me to go.

Dad agreed because he thought it would get him in their good graces. It did but of course now things have changed.

Everything that’s happened over the last few weeks has thrown me off kilter.

My life has been so different from one day to the next, going from one extreme to another, that I don’t even trust myself anymore.

Jaxon is leaving later tonight for his trip. He’s going to San Francisco for the next three days, then he’s back for our engagement party. After that he’s off to Italy and he’ll return a few days before the wedding.

While he’s away it would be wise to strengthen my mind so I can set myself straight.

Jaxon swims over to the poolside. As he pulls himself out I’m shoved further down the forbidden path and so transfixed by him that I can’t look away.

Water slides down his hard body, tracing every ridge of muscle the way you would with your fingers. The sun reflects against the droplets of water that cling to his chest, making them sparkle like they have some kind of claim on him.

Water drips from the ends of his long hair, guiding my gaze down his body.

I bite my lip and push against the little voice that’s telling me I shouldn’t be watching him. Not like this. Yet like an insolent child who’s determined to be bad, I soak up the raw, untamed vision of him, taking in all the hard lines and intensity of his masculine body.

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