Page 5 of Protected by the Sinner (The Sinner’s Touch #2)

I know exactly why I’m here.

It was the lack of any other choice that made me come face-to-face with Beau Carmouche-LeBlanc, even though the moment we stood in front of each other, I was certain he’s not the kind of man you mess with.

The impact he had on me was hard to hide.

I knew he was checking me out too and that I had to fully commit to playing the part of the bold intruder, but for a few moments, I found myself mesmerized by his looks.

Dark jeans hugging his thighs. A black shirt stretched tight across a muscular chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the hair on his arms. Flat abs. Thick biceps looking like they might burst through the fabric of his shirt.

Beau LeBlanc is the embodiment of masculinity. His face carries a shadow of stubble that doesn’t dull his beauty.

I vaguely register there are other people around, but I can’t break our eye contact. I’m breathless, my skin tingling. The strength he radiates pulls me in like a magnetic force I can’t escape.

His hair is as black as mine, disheveled in a way that suggests he couldn’t care less about appearances, or perhaps that someone had their fingers in it, tugging him into a kiss just moments ago.

The thought unsettles me, which is ridiculous. We’ve never met before, so how could I possibly be jealous of a stranger?

His face is the kind you want to learn to draw, just to capture every detail. Not conventionally handsome but ruggedly gorgeous, leaving no room for anyone nearby to look away.

He shows no emotion while the hostess explains that I tried to sneak in without being on the guest list. I can’t tell whether he’ll kick me out or let me stay, and that uncertainty makes me anxious.

My heart is pounding in my chest. Every sense is on high alert, warning me that coming here was a mistake—even though I know I had no other choice.

After I got my assignment, I looked up everything I could about Beau. There wasn’t much besides his age—thirty-eight, thirteen years older than me—and that he’s a playboy who owns a global chain of nightclubs.

I’m analytical by nature, and I couldn’t understand why someone like him would interest those monsters.

But now that I’m here, I get it. The press calling Beau LeBlanc the King of the Night , as if he’s just another billionaire, is as misguided as the people who sent me thinking they could handle him.

“What’s your name?” he asks. His voice is anything but gentle—it demands an immediate answer.

I swallow hard before speaking, forcing myself to slip into character. “Amber Martin. Actually, I lied. My name was never on that list. But it would’ve been a huge loss for your party if I weren’t here.”

I try to act like I’m breathing, which is only half true. The air comes in short bursts because I feel dizzy and afraid.

My brain says, Run as far away from him as you can , but my body keeps pulling me toward him.

What have I gotten myself into?

Then I force myself to remember why I agreed to this insanity. If I back out now, I’ll hate myself forever.

“Loss? I don’t like that word. And I’m not the kind of man who lets opportunities slip by.”

Right after saying that—and catching me off-guard—his arm wraps around my waist, forcing me to walk with him.

My entire body is overheating, and it’s a miracle I’m still on my feet.

“I thought we were staying where the fun was,” I say, acutely aware that his fingers are burning through the fabric of my blouse.

“And how do you know I’m not taking you somewhere even better?”

God, that voice alone could make a woman climax.

“Are you?”

“You ask a lot of questions for a party crasher, Amber Martin.”

“If that’s what you think I am, why didn’t you throw me out?”

He completely ignores my question, guiding me to a sofa in a glass-walled area. We climb stairs to get there , and yet I can still hear the music pulsing from downstairs.

I glance around and realize it’s just the two of us here. And strangely, despite everything Beau is making me feel, I’m not scared.

Maybe trusting a man who radiates danger is incredibly stupid, but even though I know—deep down—that Beau is no fairytale prince, I have a gut feeling he’s different from the people who sent me.

He sits, totally at ease, but there’s a sense of false calm about him—like a predator biding his time.

I shouldn’t be looking at him. Eye contact is a risk. But who says I can look away?

He’s too close for my heartbeat to handle—I can smell him.

I cross my legs, remembering the instructions I was given, but he doesn’t seem focused on my body. He’s looking at my face, which throws me off.

“What color are your eyes?” he asks.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with eyes that color.”

“Can you even see them?”

He leans forward, getting way too close, and I immediately regret the question. It must’ve sounded like an invitation.

“Maybe not that clearly,” he says, touching my face. “Ah, there we go.”

His fingers are on my chin, and if they slide down to my neck, he’ll feel my heart going crazy.

“I think they’re yellow,” I say automatically.

He lifts his phone and shines the flashlight in my face. “Yeah, they are yellow,” he says, sounding pleased—but his tone shifts with the next question. “Who are you?”

I go lightheaded with fear and scan the room for an exit—in case I need to run. There isn’t one. I’m trapped here with him, and I’ve just been found out. I count to ten in my head, trying to calm down.

Doing my best to stay in character, I say, “Amber Martin.”

“I wasn’t asking your name; I meant what you’re doing here. Do you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you are, Mr. LeBlanc.”

No, I had no idea how dangerous coming here would be.

“ Mr. LeBlanc? ”

“We haven’t been formally introduced yet.” I give him a seductive smile.

“Where are you from, Amber Martin? You’re not from Texas.”

“Actually, I grew up in Texas. These days, I’m from a lot of places.”

Because we can never stay in one city too long.

But that part stays in my head.

A waitress comes over, and I swear to God, she’s practically shoving her tits in his face. I have no right or reason to feel this way, but I want to grab her by the hair and make her back off.

“Tell me about what you said about being from a lot of places.”

“I’m not sure I should spill my life story to a stranger.”

Trust me when I say you don’t want to hear my story.

This time, I’m not trying to provoke him—I’m just afraid I’m not a good enough liar.

He seems to take it as a game and lightly brushes his fingertips along my arm. I shiver, wishing he’d keep going, but instead, I pull away.

It’s useless because he wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Are you trying to make me curious, Amber?”

“Am I succeeding, Mr. LeBlanc?”

“Do you have any idea what it means to catch the attention of a man like me?”

How can something he says scare and arouse me at the same time?

I wish I could ask him, Who are you, Beau? Why did they need me to get close to you?

A wave of unease rolls through me, even though I know my loyalty should never lie with a stranger I know nothing about.

“Are you telling me you’re a dangerous man, Mr. LeBlanc?”

The waitress returns with the drink, then quickly vanishes.

He hands me the glass and, once again, ignores my previous question. “Try it.” His commanding tone both irritates and excites me.

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Much worse. I’m being nice since we just met.”

I’m shaking as I lift the glass to my lips. His next words make it even harder to breathe:

“Look at me while you drink. I want your eyes on mine the moment the champagne hits your tongue.”

God . The man is intense. I don’t stand a chance against him.

I take a small sip and pray he doesn’t notice my hand trembling. I can’t blow my cover now.

“Good?”

“Yes.” I take a breath, bracing myself to dive deeper into this role. “Want a taste?”

I kneel, my mouth inches from his. I could get closer, but something tells me Beau likes to lead.

His movements are slow, building up a cocktail of anxiety and desire inside me. When I finally feel his hand in my hair, it’s so good I forget this whole thing is a lie.

Without meaning to, I tilt my head back. I want him to kiss me, no matter why I’m here tonight.

As if he enjoys seeing me so undone, his grip tightens, and I realize I like the roughness.

My eyes are half-closed because I want to see as well as feel the moment our lips meet. And when it happens, it’s like a storm tearing through me.

I suck on his tongue the way he does mine, mimicking him, desperate for more. Heat rushes to the center of my thighs, a pulsing ache that makes me want to climb on top of him just to find relief.

But then, just as I lose all sense of who I am, he pulls back.

“You were right. Delicious.”

I blink, stunned that he stopped. And only when he stands and offers me his hand do I snap back into character.

“But now I remember you mentioned something about having fun. Show me what you like, Amber.”

That’s a great question.

Maybe we’ll find out together.