Make Me Sin

12

Clearly, I was wrong about my voice being the source of his dislike. It seems almost naïve of me now, to expect such a simple, innocent explanation.

But no. A.J.’s hatred of me is far more personal than the mere sound of my voice. I’m back to square one.

And now he’s grinning. Grinning.

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Princess?”

I refuse to answer him. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t let him bait me. Like Jamie said, I have to show some class, and let it go. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get my feet to agree with my brain’s command to turn around and walk away. We stare at each other in silence.

He moves closer to me, his gaze never leaving mine. His voice drops so low it’s almost intimate. “You want to know what I see when you open your mouth?”

He smells like something I’d like to eat. Something warm and sugary, like a fresh-baked cookie. My mouth waters, but I’m far too stunned by what’s happening to examine my physical reaction to him. My heartbeat skyrockets.

He leans closer. He inhales, as if he’s scenting me, too. He puts his lips right next to my ear, so close I feel his warm breath feather down my neck. It makes me shiver.

“Ask me what I see, Chloe.”

It’s the first time he’s ever spoken my name. Electricity runs through my body, setting every nerve on fire. My n*****s harden. My breath falters. Even if I wanted to, I can’t speak.

He slowly turns his face, skimming the tip of his nose across the skin of my jaw. When we’re eye to eye and nose to nose, he whispers, “Ask me.”

The shop disappears. We’re suspended in empty space, alone in an endless sea of black. All I see are his eyes, gold and gorgeous and haunting.

“W-what do you see?”

In near silence, with barely a breath, A.J. murmurs, “Ghosts.”

All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My arms pimple with gooseflesh.

He turns and leaves me standing there, gaping after him like a fool.

“We’re ready for dessert, Nina.”

My mother’s voice jerks me back into the present. I’m sitting at her elegant dining room table with Eric sighing contentedly beside me, holding my hand under the tablecloth. My father sits to my right. Jamie is seated across from me, watching me in bemusement over the rim of his china coffee cup.

In the past four hours, I’ve done nothing but obsess over A.J. Edwards and his cryptic final words. I haven’t been able to come up with a single hypothesis that makes sense of them, or of his even more strange behavior toward me. I can’t wait to get Jamie alone and grill him on whatever else he knows about A.J. Especially any details about the woman in Russia who he sent flowers to today.

Unfortunately, because my parent’s cook, Nina, is about four hundred years old, bless her, this dinner is moving at a snail’s pace. We might still be sitting here at the turn of the next century.

“That was awesome, Mrs. Carmichael. I love your cooking.”

My mother accepts Eric’s compliment with a gracious smile, as if she actually had anything to do with preparing the dinner. “Thank you, Eric. It’s so nice to see a man enjoy a meal.”

This is a not-so-subtle dig at my father, who usually takes one sniff at Nina’s bizarre Thai-Peruvian-Japanese concoctions and heads to the fridge to rummage for anything resembling real food. Eric, on the other hand, will eat anything that moves. If we were ever involved in a plane crash and became stranded on a desert island, he’d be the last one to survive, happily devouring every beetle, worm, and flying insect in sight, without a bit of squeamishness. I’m convinced he doesn’t own taste buds.

On the positive side, most of what Nina makes doesn’t include meat, which is a plus for me.

My mother turns her attention to Jamie. “James, any new special lady friends we should know about?”

My brother smiles serenely. “Not in particular. Though if you’d like to know about any new special male friends I’ve recently made, that’s quite another topic altogether.”

My mother pales. My father changes the subject so fast my head spins.

“Chloe, we’ve talked about your brother’s new case, my new case, and your mother’s new art acquisitions, and you haven’t yet said one word about yourself.”

I’m pleased my father is showing an interest in my work. This isn’t typically the situation. “Now that you mention it, I do have some important news to share.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” I don’t miss the look that passes between my parents. They lean forward eagerly. I’m touched by their attentiveness.

“Fleuret is going to be featured in People magazine!” Feeling proud of myself, waiting for their follow-up questions, I take a swig of the silky Bordeaux my mother’s served with dinner.

My mother blinks. “People magazine,” she repeats slowly, as if she’s never heard of it. “Is that the one that does all the stories about Kim Kalashian?”

My brother comes to my rescue, his voice dry as bone. “Kardashian, mother. You know, one of the most famous women in the world? And yes, that’s the magazine Chloe is referring to. It’s an incredible opportunity for her.” He turns to me with a smile. “You didn’t tell me about this today, little bug. Congrats. Good on you. When’s it happening?”

“I didn’t hear anything about this either.” Eric sounds miffed. “Does this mean you’re going to be working even longer hours now?”

I take another slug of my wine.