Page 2 of Breaking the Sinner

It was hard to tell which man was the hottest. It was also hard not to stare.

Like this one. One more rippling, Louvre-worthy sculpture of a man sauntered her way, his neck thick as a tree trunk, jagged tattoos marking a path up the right side of his body, crawling over his chest, and up the sides of his neck. At his collarbone, bold letters read COBRA. He had short, raven hair that had been shellacked into a perfect Ken Doll hairstyle. As he came closer, Gen realized she hadn’t met this one yet. She would have remembered him. Would have fought to never look anywhere else ever again.

He stopped a few feet behind her, his eyes like molten chocolate.

His eyes.

Staring right at her.

Gen snapped her gaze to the vanity table. She lasted a few seconds before curiosity won. Jas yanking at her hair only distantly registered as she found Mr. Louvre with his hands on his hips, watching Gen like a cat eying his dinner.

Oh, yes. This was the one.

The hottest of them all.

He wasdirtyhot. His lips curled into an illegally sexy smirk. Shadows under his eyes ignited questions and gasps at the same time. Gen’s pussy throbbed with years of unmet desires. He was everything she’d ever physically pined for in a man.

Even when her only examples of worthy men growing up included khakis, pressed button-down shirts, and a rumbling voice with which to praise the lord, seeing this man made something marrow deep rumble to life. Primal. Ancestral. From the beginning of time, which she’d recently decided was not six thousand years ago. As if her body had just beenwaitingfor him to show up.

“Have you ever considered an ombre?” Jas chirped.

“I don’t know what that means,” Gen forced out in a dry whisper. She took one last drink of Mr. Too Sexy To Ignore and the way he watched her. As if he’d already started eating her alive in his mind. She reluctantly moved her gaze to find Jas’s in the mirror. One painted brown brow was arched. High.

“Seriously?” She furiously teased a section of hair near the back of her head. “It’s like, this super cute but gradual color shift from about halfway…” She flicked her wrist to highlight where on Gen’s head this would be. “To all the way down.”

Gen nodded, licking her lips as her gaze slid back to the man in the mirror. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, talking to one of the other Holt Body trainers like they were kings of the world. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Jas tutted. “Notnow. I’m Style today. But you would seriously look cute with an ombre to blonde.”

The words didn’t register, but she logged them anyway. Add that to the list:get an ombre.Wasn’t that Spanish for “man?” If so, that was also on her list.

Maybe this exact man could be on her list.

“Thanks,” Gen said but wasn’t sure the word made it past her lips. The physical model of perfection came nearer, his narrow hips covered with tighter-than-necessary gym shorts that betrayed an excellent bulge. His thighs were granite arcs, the color of freshly steamed milk. He was alabaster wrapped in sexiness. He came up to the mirror and propped a forearm against the edge. His reflection felt like a mirage or something dreamed of in a fever sweat.

“So would you swipe left or right on me? Be honest.”

His voice ran through her like fingers combing hair. Except Jas was tugging on her hair, making her scalp scream. Jas sent a strange smile toward the handsome visitor. And then anxiety hit her hard, like a wall of water in a perfectly executed cannonball.

What did swipe left or right even mean?

“Are you…” she began.Talking to me, she finished in her head.

Jas cleared her throat. “On your phone, Gen.”

“I don’t, uh…” Jas tugged sections of her hair into bobby pins. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Both Jas and the new arrival looked at her in the mirror with surprise etched on their faces. Her stomach plunged.

“Like on Tinder,” the guy said, pushing off from the mirror, tilting his head at her as if his explanation somehow clarified things.

“I have a flip phone,” Gen offered.

Jas snorted.

“Shit,” said the guy. It rang in her ears like sacred harmony. Something silken yet rough in that one word. “Old school.”

He wet his bottom lip, his gaze dragging over her, as if he’d personally assessed every cell of her being. She wilted in the chair, paralyzed with indecision somewhere between “I love you” and “I need to leave immediately.”

---