Page 6 of Wicked Sins

As I push my bedroom door open, I pause for a moment to listen.

There’s a faint sound—perhaps my father’s bellow of a laugh—but it’s so dampened down by the thick doors in this house that it could just as easily have been my imagination.

Just another night at the fucking Bale house.

Chapter Two

Candy

The glass queen clicks when I tap her down on the chessboard. Mr. Bale’s chessboard is old but beautifully kept up—each piece sparkles like it’s brand new.

“Check,” I announce triumphantly. I sit up tall, lifting my chin at my opponent, my stepfather, Wayne.

He pores over the chessboard, the fingers of one hand curled around his chin, the other flat on his bunching thigh as he leans closer to inspect the board.

Gosh, but for a middle-aged man of—I don’t even know how old he is—he’s in really good shape. The rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white dress-shirt bare tanned, well-defined arm muscles. Eyes the color of dark wood regard me for a moment over the rims of his spectacles. I’ve only ever seen him wear glasses at night when we’re playing chess. They make him look like the type of professor every student would be drooling over instead of paying attention in class.

“My, but you’re a clever little girl, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

Pride rushes through me like electric fire, and I giggle nervously at the compliment. I snatch up my bottle of water and take a big sip, so I’ll stop fidgeting while I wait for him to make his move.

Wayne Bale frowns at me, but with that smile on his mouth, I know he’s not really mad at me outsmarting him. “I bet you wouldn’t be so damn clever if I’d fewer whiskeys in.”

I wasn’t really counting, but I’m sure my stepfather has only had like two drinks in the hour we’ve been playing chess in his study.

His eyes shift to the water in my hand. He nods as if he’s made a decision, and gets up from his chair.

“Time to level the playing field,” he says ominously as he heads for the drink cart pushed against a nearby wall.

The study, the master bedroom, and a guest room share the third story of Bale manor. I’m only ever allowed up here when we’re playing chess—the rest of the time, this area is strictly off-limits.

Dark, lustrous wood panels the walls, mostly bare but for a few framed certificates. There’s a fire crackling and spitting on the hearth of the massive stone fireplace. It’s a few yards away, but its heat is impressive even at a distance. A framed photograph of Wayne and my mother at their wedding day is perfectly positioned on the center of the mantel. A large desk and the two chairs by our chessboard are the only other pieces of furniture in here.

Ice clinks and bottles clank as Mr. Bale pours himself another drink.

I watch him moving around, taking in every perfectly groomed hair on his head, his wide shoulders, trim waist.

Oh my God, I’m ogling. I hurriedly turn my attention back to the board.

A blush heats my cheeks. I squirm in my seat, willing my face to cool down.

I can’t help staring—he’s so freaking handsome. I met him for the first time at dinner a week before the wedding. I honestly thought he was a movie star or something until Mom told me that he works with stocks and commodities. My mistake—but it didn’t help that he’d been dressed in a tuxedo at the time and that everyone at the restaurant knew his name.

Mom’s so lucky. I can’t wait to find someone as good looking, charming, and intelligent as Mr. Bale. I’d marry him in a second.

No, it’sWayne. He’s asked me so many times before to call him by his first name.

He makes his way back to me, but instead of going to sit in his chair, he passes it and comes to stand beside mine. I nearly put a crick in my neck craning to look up at him, and then turn wide eyes on the beautiful tumbler he hands me. Creamy liquid swills against the glass, and a few ice cubes tap against the side when he twists his wrist.

“You’re operating at a massive advantage,” he says.

My fingertips prickle in silent warning.

“I…I uh…probably shouldn’t,” I murmur. My blush deepens, and he shakes his head, eyes wide as if he’s just noticed my discomfort.

“Crap, I forgot,” he says. “You’re starting school tomorrow.”

New school.

---