Sin (Devil's Den #3)
by Violetta Rand
Sin proves that passion goes beyond smoldering desire when hearts dance to their own special beat.
Every woman at the Devil’s Den strip club has a story to tell, and Macey Taylor is no exception. Smart and self-reliant, she’s got a chip on her shoulder, a broken heart, and no patience for a sexy new manager with an Ivy League pedigree and a strict set of rules. Macey prefers to break rules, something she lets Joshua Camden know from the start—even as he ignites a fire in her that goes beyond the hottest club in town.
Joshua is working the Devil’s Den for all it’s worth, learning everything he can about the adult-entertainment game before investing in a place of his own. Macey is a surprise: a woman as strong-willed as she is gorgeous. Joshua wants to get inside her world, to see through her eyes. But he soon discovers that seduction is a two-way street—and expecting redemption without risking his heart may be the greatest sin of all.
He turns sideways so he can see me, wearing a look of complete innocence. “I just thought this would be the perfect opportunity to continue with our conversation.”
“Conversation?” I repeat.
“You ejected me from your office.”
“After you told me to pull my head out of my ass.”
A smile forms on my lips. “You deserved it.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But you’ll have to adjust to the new rules, accept my authority.”
I nearly spit out the water I just swallowed. “Accept your authority? What kind of talk is that?”
His eyes sparkle. “The truth.”
I wait to respond until after the waitress takes our order. “Let me guess, you’re a control freak?”
“Amongst other things,” he says. When he reaches for his water, his sleeve hikes up, revealing a gold Rolex. “Aren’t you?”
He’s testing me. “Actually,” I say, “I’m quite flexible.”
“I noticed.” His gaze drifts over me, and his fingers tickle the top of my hand.
Oh. My. God. Did he watch me dance tonight? He’s flirting and there’s nothing subtle about it. I’m glad I’m wearing a padded bra; my nipples are raging hard. I inch away, wishing there were somewhere to hide, but my side hits the wall, reminding me how trapped I really am.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Ms. Taylor?”
“No,” I lie. Oh yeah, uncomfortable on so many levels.
“I just want to talk with you.”
Then talk, Ivy Leaguer, don’t touch. “If this is about that safety protocol crap, save your breath. Three points of contact onstage? We’re lucky if we maintain two, the way we have to beat customers off us.”
We trade looks. His eyes have suddenly lost their luster. “There’s absolutely no touching allowed.” His shoulders go rigid. He drifts toward me again, his left hand sliding across the table. “If anyone violates that rule, find me.” Then his boyish grin returns. “Paris?” He changes the subject.
“Six weeks—wishing it were eight.”
“No,” I say, proud of my travel portfolio. “Third trip in five years. I spent three months in Greece last year.”
“Do you have family or friends abroad?”
“Is your family in Texas?”
Yeah, I think, six feet under. “My father died a few years ago. There’s no one left.”
Another awkward moment of silence, but I recover quickly. “And you? Texas bred?”
“Born and raised.” I see the pride in his face. “My family owns a ranch outside
Kingsville,” he adds. “That’s where I spend weekends.”
So he is a country boy. “Sisters? Brothers?”
“One each, Nathan and Raquel.”
The waitress delivers our food; I’m grateful for the interruption. I gaze at my grilled chicken spinach salad, then enviously eye his rib eye and mountain of gravy-smothered mashed potatoes. “Smells yummy.”
He cuts a piece of meat and offers it to me. “Have a taste.”
Before I know what I’m doing, my mouth opens. He grins—sliding the fork gently between my lips. My heart beats erratically as I chew. “Habit of yours?” I ask.
“Hand feeding women you just met.”
“Not yet,” he says casually. “But it very well could be.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I stare at my salad, vigorously mixing in the honey-mustard dressing with my fork.
“Takes heavy cream to make butter,” he says.
I feel his gaze on me. There’s something about this man that leaves me sputtering like a mindless girl. When I look up, his green eyes cut into me. Thank God my cell phone rings. I fish it out of my purse. Wesley? At this time of the morning? I sigh, dropping it back in its respective pocket.
This guy doesn’t give up. “Ex,” I clarify.
“Need to talk about it?”
Now he’s offering his ear? I twist around so I can get a good look at him. My shoulders drop as I let out a loud breath. “Are you really interested in my shattered love life?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin, returns it to his lap, then lays his fork on his plate. “You have my full attention.”
Maybe talking to someone I don’t really know will be therapeutic. Or a disaster. Because there’s some kind of crazy chemistry between Joshua Camden and me. I can see it—hell, I feel it. Like little stabs with a knife all over my body. I decide to sum it up quickly. “Take my advice: don’t go on extended holiday alone if you’re in a committed relationship, especially over Christmas.” That’s all I’m going to say. If I’m not careful, this man will have me lying down on a couch somewhere spilling like an overturned pitcher of iced tea.
Violetta still lives in Anchorage, Alaska and spends her days writing evocative New Adult romance and historical romance. When she’s not reading, writing, or editing, she enjoys time with her husband, pets, and friends. In her free time, she loves to hike, fish, and ride motorcycles and 4-wheelers.
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