Mr. Sin: Book One of the Sin Series Read online

  MR. SIN

  By S. J. Tilly

  Mr. Sin

  Sin Series Book One

  Copyright © 2021 S.J. Tilly

  All rights reserved.

  First published in 2021

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover: James Adkinson

  Editor: M. Penna

  This book is dedicated to my mother.

  Thank you for always being there, for your help in making my books possible, and for not making it all weird the first time I sent you one of my sex scenes.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWO

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIX

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER NINE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SASHA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  SASHA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  SASHA

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  VINCENT

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  SASHA

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  SASHA

  EPILOGUE

  SASHA

  ANGELO

  About the Author - S.J. Tilly

  Acknowledgements

  Books by this author

  CHAPTER ONE

  SASHA

  S eeing my brother’s name light up the screen, I spend a moment debating the option of not answering. It’s a short debate. If I don’t pick up now, he’ll just keep calling.

  With a sigh, I answer the phone. “Hey, loser.”

  There’s a brief pause before he responds. “Sounds like you’re in a bar.”

  “How very investigative of you.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m in one of the hotel bars. It’s a nice establishment. Hardly any crime.”

  John ignores my sarcasm. “You with your boss?”

  It’s my turn to pause.

  “Sasha.” I can picture the vein throbbing in his forehead as he says my name.

  I may have turned 30 earlier this year, but I’ll always be his baby sister. And he treats me accordingly.

  “We parted ways literally two minutes ago. We have to get up early to catch the shuttle, and you know how she is, one drink limit and 8 hours of sleep,” I tell him.

  “Smart woman. I take it you’ll be heading up to your room now.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question.

  I resist the urge to pull on my hair. “Not yet. I heard about this fancy little sex den around the corner that I wanted to check out. Need to capitalize on the whole what happens in Vegas thing.”

  “Cute, Sasha. Really cute.”

  I can’t help but laugh. He’s too easy to rile up. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m going to have one glass of wine then I’ll head to bed.” I glance around the bar that I just stepped into. It was a last-minute decision as we walked through the lobby on our way back from dinner, but I refuse to apologize for wanting to have a little fun. “I’m trying to enjoy my last evening of vacation.”

  John huffs. “I’m not really sure you can call it a vacation. A single night in a hotel for a bunch of work meetings isn’t exactly relaxing.”

  “It’s more relaxing than it could’ve been. Seriously, I’m lucky Cheryl didn’t try to fly us home on a red eye tonight,” I admit. “Plus, if I ever actually took a vacation, you’d just badger me about being alone the whole damn time.”

  I’m not exaggerating about either point. I was shocked that Cheryl booked us rooms for tonight. We caught the 6:00 a.m. flight this morning to spend all day sitting through meetings. But even after an excruciatingly early morning, my boss would normally make us fly h
ome that same day. So, I’m going to enjoy my night of freedom. Away from home. Away from responsibility.

  “I didn’t say to travel alone,” John replies.

  If he were here, instead of in Chicago, I’d flick him in the forehead. “Oh gee, why didn’t I think of that? Hey, maybe I’ll find a nice gentleman tonight at that sex den who’ll want to go away with me. Next decade. When I have some time off.”

  “Ha. Ha.” John says with only a touch of humor.

  “Goodnight, John.”

  “Go to your room, sister.”

  I smirk as I hang up. My big brother is annoying as hell, but he means well. He just doesn’t understand when being protective becomes overprotective.

  “Boyfriend?”

  I hear the voice right as a hand lands on my lower back.

  Instinct has me quickly stepping away before turning to face the culprit.

  “Excuse me?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “On the phone. Was that your boyfriend?”

  I look the man over as I ponder the best way to brush him off. He looks like your typical sleazy casino guy. We aren’t technically in a Casino, but the rule still fits. He has shiny thinning hair, a belly straining a too-tight shirt with the top 3 buttons undone, highlighting a gold chain laying across a bunch of greying chest hair.

  I decide direct is the best way to address this problem. “I appreciate the interest, but that’s really none of your business.”

  The man pulls his head back, as if I hit him, transforming his double chin into a triple. I give him a tight smile before turning away.

  I make it a few steps closer to the bar before I hear his voice again.

  “How about I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about him.”

  I don’t stop or look back. “No, thank you.”

  What is with some guys? What part of my attitude makes him think that I want him to keep trying? I shake my head to myself. Sometimes I wish I had just half the confidence that these creepy men wrongfully possess.

  This time, the hand precedes the voice. His fingers wrap around my elbow, halting my walk. “Come on now, that’s not very nice. I’m just offering to buy you a drink.”

  I jerk my arm away and spin back to face him. The sudden move has my brunette locks falling across my face.

  I jerkily brush my hair out of the way and narrow my eyes while using my best fuck off voice. “Look buddy, keep your hands to yourself. Accept my no and leave me alone.”

  As a woman I know there’s a fine line between fending off unwanted attention and provoking aggressive behavior. It’s not fair, but it is what it is. I may have gone too far just now but I’m not always great at reigning in my temper.

  The man puts his hands up, a look of amusement flashing across his face. Jackass.

  I don’t wait for him to respond, and I don’t look around at the other patrons who might be watching us. Even with the semi-loud music playing I’m sure we are making a bit of a scene. Now I really need that glass of wine.

  Spotting a couple of open stools at the bar, I head towards them. I’d rather converse with the bartender than sit at a table and have to fend off more greasy mobster-wannabes.

  Just as I’m reaching to pull the stool out, I feel something brush against my arm. Preparing to tell off this jerk yet again, I turn my head towards the movement. Only instead of coming face to face with Mr. Idiot, I see him awkwardly bend away from me before he swiftly tips forward and faceplants into the bar top. The thud of face against wood is muted, but his groan is audible above the din of chatter.

  My mouth is open. I’m literally standing slack-jawed, wondering what in the hell just happened. Mr. Idiot is facing me, his cheek smashed into the hard surface, with his lips puckered into a lewd pout. It takes my brain a beat to notice the large hand on the back of his head, holding him in place. It takes another beat for me to realize that Idiot’s arm is wrenched behind his back, held in place by another large hand.

  Continuing their path, my eyes trace up what can only be described as arm porn. Thick muscled forearms are framed by the rolled-up cuff of shirt sleeves. Said sleeves are left straining in their attempt to contain bunched biceps. Large, rounded shoulders connect those arms to a broad, solid-looking chest.

  I force my mouth closed so I can swallow. This man’s upper body alone is causing me to salivate.

  My eyes skip up the buttons of his shirt to a corded neck. Above which is a firm chin covered in more than a shadow, less than a beard. His lips are full, tipped into a small frown and sinfully sexy. As if beckoned, my gaze snaps up and I find myself looking into the eyes of the Devil.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SASHA

  H e may not be the actual Lucifer, but his aura says he might be. Either way, the man is fine. Like drop-dead-gorgeous level of fine. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. His nearly black hair is styled back in that way that only certain men are able to pull off. It has that tousled, carefree, just-fucked look. It’s shorter on the sides, but long enough that I can see a little bit of curl around the base of his neck. But it’s not the perfect hair, or the strong jaw, or the warrior’s body that makes him look like he belongs in the underworld. It’s his eyes. They’re captivating. Shining with fury. And so dark they look like pools of onyx. If the eyes truly are the window to a person’s soul, then this man is made of sin. One heartbeat with him and I’m torn between running away or dropping to my knees.

  “Apologize.”

  His command stuns me, but I note that his voice sounds just as sinful as he looks. Deep. Dark. Direct.

  I nearly reply, not sure what I’m apologizing for but willing to anyway, when his gaze flicks to Mr. Idiot. Oh, right, this other guy. I see the Devil tighten his grip in Idiot’s hair. And fuck if that doesn’t have me picturing the Devil behind me, hand twisting my locks into a makeshift ponytail, forcing my head back…

  My thighs clench.

  “I said, apologize.” The Devil growls.

  I look back to Mr. Idiot’s face, registering the panic in his eyes. And just like that, I understand what happened. This jerk was coming back to grab me, again, and the Devil intervened. My dark hero.

  “I’m s-sorry.” Mr. Idiot stammers, but with his lips smashed against the bar it’s hard to understand him.

  Using more bravado than I feel, I lean in. “Come again? I couldn’t quite make that out.”

  As Mr. Idiot mumbles another apology, I dart a look at the Devil. He’s staring straight at me, with a wicked trace of a smile on his face. And goddamnit, that tilt of his lips makes him even hotter.

  We keep our eyes locked on each other for a beat longer than comfortable, both ignoring the idiot, pressed face-first against the bar.

  I feel like my pulse must be visible in my neck with how fast my heart is beating. Thankfully, the Devil breaks our staring contest first.

  “Excuse us.” He says with a slight nod of his head in my direction.

  Without waiting for a response, he steps away, pulling the other man with him. I watch in rapt attention as the Devil hauls his prisoner back through the crowd.

  He drags the jerk over to a pair of men in matching black polo shirts. The size of their necks indicate that they’re security. Mr. Idiot looks like he’s trying to say something, but the Devil leans close and talks directly into his ear. I’m too far away to hear what he’s saying, but I’m guessing it’s not pleasant since Mr. Idiot’s face drains of all color.

  The Devil hands him off to the security giants, but instead of turning back my way, he follows them towards the exit.

  Realizing that I’m standing here staring, I glance around for the first time since this whole ordeal started. There’s a crowd of people still watching the Devil, but no one’s looking at me. Either they don’t know my involvement, or they’re all too enamored with the sexy mystery man to care about some random woman.

  Shaking my head, I turn my back on the action and claim a seat at the bar.

  The bartender, who saw everyth
ing, gives me a small smile. “I’m guessing you could use a drink. What’ll it be?”

  “A glass of red, please. Any kind.”

  He nods and steps away without further comment. As a seasoned bartender, I’m sure he can sense that my nerves are close to snapping and that my need for alcohol is immediate.

  My hands are trembling as I set my small purse onto the bar. The adrenaline from the fight or flight confrontation is starting to wear off, and it’s leaving me shaky.

  I debate cancelling my drink and calling it a night, but before I have time to act, the bartender returns with my wine.

  “Here you are, miss. I selected my favorite Cabernet for you. Thought the bold flavor might suit you well this evening.”

  I smile. Both at his sentiment and the fact that he called me miss rather than ma’am. Taking a sip, I conclude that the bartender is a genius. This is exactly what I needed. Another swallow of wine and my shoulders start to relax.

  My phone buzzes in my purse. Extracting it, I see that my brother has texted me a news article about the crime rates in Vegas after midnight. Luckily for me, it’s not even 10:00pm. I don’t reply, instead shoving my phone back into my clutch. If I start a conversation with him now, I’ll end up telling him about what just happened, and then my brother will utterly lose it. More testosterone is not what I need tonight.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Good grief, that Devil of a man was intimidating. And attractive. Probably for the best that he disappeared. I’m grateful for the role of protector that he played, but I’m not fool enough to think he did it for me. I mean yes, I was the damsel in distress in the scenario, but I imagine he has a savior complex. Or he just hates men who grope women. Or his sister had a similar experience. Or girlfriend. And of course, he has a girlfriend, there’s no way that man is unattached. Actually, a man like that probably has multiple girlfriends. I bet they all look like lingerie models, not big-hipped, cat-owning, public relations consultants who vacation alone in hotel bars.

  Keeping my eyes closed I heave out another sigh and push out those toxic thoughts. Just as my mind clears, I feel the presence, rather than see it.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  My slowing pulse spikes once more. I don’t have to see him. I recognize the voice. The Devil just called me sweetheart. I mentally slap myself. Get it together, woman! The man did a good deed and is simply following up.