Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) Read Free Page B

Lincoln broke into song, humming at first, and then singing a carol-like version of “We Three Kings of Orient Are” in a voice so low, so full of depth and richness, all thought of petty revenge took flight. Arrested, she sat up and stared at the flickering candle flames licking supple shadows through the main cabin.
    As his voice soared on the words “field and fountain,” she succumbed to the beauty of his singing, closing her eyes and swaying in time to the rhythm. The moment hung and hung, then ebbed and rose on an incredible free fall, suspended, time seeming to stop as the strength and power of his song shattered all links to modern-day civilization, the image of the kings' pilgrimage on a van Gogh starry, starry night almost too beautiful to bear.
    Silence broke through her enchantment. Blinking, mesmerized, and unable to remember her train of thought, she lurched to a standing position and drifted into the kitchen. On autopilot Destiny uncorked the wine, poured two glasses, arranged a platter of cheese, apples, and pears, and set everything on the coffee table.
    The quiet grated on her nerves, but she forced herself to perform mundane tasks, cutting five fat carrots into logs and chopping potatoes in half, all the while listening, trying to figure out what Lincoln was doing in the bedroom. After taking two small portions of venison from the freezer, she threw everything into an enameled Dutch oven, covered the contents with some of the wine, and added dried thyme, parsley, rosemary, salt, and pepper to the pot. Earlier Destiny had said another small Hail Mary when she'd discovered the stove was fueled by gas. She set the temperature to four hundred and fifty and meandered over to the couch.
    A soft thud reached her ears, all her nerve endings sparked and pinched, and she scrambled onto the soft upholstery, curling her legs together on one side, and reached for one of the wineglasses. Pretending she didn't hear the dull slapping of his bare feet meeting the wooden floor, she sipped the fruity merlot and leaned forward to pinch a slice of bread in half.
    “You lied to me, Destiny Driven.”
    She shot to her feet, her fingers slipping and sliding around the balloon goblet. The doughy bread fell to the floor.
    He had her passport in his hand, the book folded to show her picture.
    Naked save for a towel tied around his hips, he towered over her, and for the first time since stepping foot in the cabin, fear climbed and clogged her throat.
    “Who is Sara Parker?”

Chapter Two
    Lincoln gritted his back molars as shades of cherry he'd never known existed highlighted Destiny/Sara's cheeks, dipping a shade darker when her mouth opened and closed and no words followed.
    Whatever she intended to tell him wouldn't be the truth. Those fathomless obsidian eyes of hers skimmed his nose, flitted to the kitchen, alighted on the door. She opened her mouth again, shot a glance at the roof, wriggled her shoulders, and let out an audible sigh.
    “Sara Parker is my professional name.” Distracted by the husky, musical rasp of her voice, he almost missed the rest of her explanation. “My mother named me Destiny, and my last name is Driven.”
    She worried a bottom lip so fat and juicy, he knew that blowjobs, Deep Throat , and Destiny Driven would forever be intertwined in his head. Right before his gaze she seemed to deflate, head drooping, pouty mouth pursing to one side. Lincoln had never noticed a woman's eyelashes before, but hers cast half-moon shadows on her glowing olive skin.
    From the second he'd regained consciousness, he'd been captivated. The woman had the face of a Madonna and the body of a stripper. She'd managed to cut him out of the tree and get him inside the cabin while dressed for the balmy tropics, and hadn't whined once. Obviously capable and intelligent, she'd attacked the task of rescuing him with determination and success.
    Not to mention the fact that she felt like heaven in his arms, soft, supple, and