Page 77 of Sin With Me

Air catches in my lungs, but I find myself unable to deny him. My still-floury hand reaches out between us, gripping his much larger one as a wide smile spreads across my face.

“Why, handsome,” I gasp, pressing my opposite palm to my chest as I feign a heavy Southern drawl, “How could I ever deny you?”

The sound of his deep chuckle fills the kitchen alongside the crooning melody of Can’t Take My Eyes off You by Frankie Valli. A shocked sound escapes my lungs as Isaac yanks me into his body and wraps me up. I’m still struggling to catch my breath when he begins to move the both of us in time with the beat.

Giggling, I wind my arms around his neck, letting him sway us around the kitchen. With a small sigh, I rest my head on his chest, not caring about the mess I’ve made on him or the flour that’ll be on my skin.

At this moment, it’s just us. The outside world fades, and I forget that he’s my stepfather and we shouldn’t be this close. I forget about the almost-kiss we just shared. I forget about the way I’ve been touch starved for years, and how this is filling me up in ways I didn’t know I needed.

He spins us, my hair flying out behind me. My head falls back, and another bright laugh pours from my open mouth. Suddenly, he dips me, my back bending deeply. He keeps one of his strong arms banded taut against the curve just above my ass and the other nestled in my hair.

As he pulls me upright, I wrap my arms around his neck again, keeping my head tipped back to stare up at him. His once seemingly black eyes are now molten chocolate but grow soft as he sifts his hand through the long strands of my hair.

“What’s gotten into you?” I laugh softly, my fingers tapping the back of his shoulder even as shivers wrack my body at his gentle touch.

Instead of his lips tipping up like I expect, they tip down and a deep crease forms between his brows. My own smile falls as I anticipate his words.

His eyes search mine and a heavy weight grows thick between us, replacing the previous desire almost completely. His mouth parts, a heavy exhale gushing from his chest as though the words have been stolen from his lungs.

A knock comes from the front door before either of us can say anything and it’s like that fucking knock has somehow burst our bubble. The tension fades out of us, and Isaac all but shoves me away, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

I stumble, fighting the weakness that’s suddenly appeared in my legs.

We stare at each other, the few feet between us feeling like an entire ocean of bad mistakes. My throat feels too dry. My eyes burn. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure it’s about to shatter.

He glances down at himself, huffing out an annoyed breath as his arms shoot out to his sides.

“Go on,” I say, wiping my hands on the tea towel I’d tossed on the counter earlier. Swallowing thickly, I shove all my emotions deep down to inspect later. Or never. “Clean up. I’ll get the door.”

The words have barely left my mouth before he’s rushing toward the stairs.

I watch as he ascends the steps to his bedroom, taking them two at a time. How could he do that? Go from sweet and light, to abruptly pushing me away like we hadn’t just shared a moment. And not just any moment…the moment.

Another knock, this one rapid and impatient, draws my attention, and my head snaps to it. With a deep breath, I toss the towel back on the counter, wiping my mostly clean hands down the front of my apron as I make my way through the kitchen.

My knees lock up just as I hit the threshold to the living room. Decorum smacks me in the back of the head as though Mama’s standing behind me herself, tapping her toe, her hands planted on her hips. Shaking my head, I remove my apron and hang it on its hook, ignoring the ghost of her.

God, she’d be so disappointed in me.

Another knock rattles the door and I jump, letting out a squeak.

Get it together, Eve.

Dread pools in my stomach with every step toward the front door and I don’t know why. It’s like it knows whoever is on the other side and is screaming at me not to answer. To just pretend like we’re not home. To stay in this little burst bubble that Isaac had created for us.

But my hand wraps around the brass doorknob and twists anyway.

“Hi—oh, you’re a mess, girl,” Mary says. Her disapproving gaze skims my body and her brows crash together, clearly finding me lacking.

The rest of the dread drops into my stomach like a lead brick, and I have to swallow back whatever retort was about to launch itself off my lips.

“Mary,” I say, trying to sound pleasant, but I know she can read my true thoughts on my face. Roman always did say I have a terrible poker face. If he was here, he’d know exactly what’s running through my head.

What the fuck is she doing here?

“Thought I’d welcome Isaac home from his long trip,” she says, smiling brightly, losing the sneer she’d grown at my appearance. Her pearly whites are bright against her tan skin in the Georgia sunlight, and my hand wraps tighter around the doorknob, suddenly feeling inadequate. Her hair is perfectly coiffed and curled, her makeup flawless, despite the heat.

How did she know he was already home? He wasn’t supposed to be home for another few hours, at least.

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