Free Closer To Sin by Elizabeth Squire

same path. The heat in her belly liquefied and she squeezed her legs together to appease the slow throbbing that was building. What would it feel like for Sin to touch her like this? Wicked. Enticingly wicked.
    With a frustrated groan, she dropped her hands to the sides of the bath and submerged herself under the water. If her response to him today was any indication, he probably represented more of a threat to her than any potential assassin.
    ***
    Sinclair filled two glasses with a measure of brandy and turned to the man standing by the fireplace. ‘Gaston, mon amie , you are looking well. And how is that beautiful wife of yours?’ he queried, urging Gaston to take a seat.
    Much like the room where he’d left Liliane, the private salon had obviously seen better years. The floral brocade upholstery was threadbare and fraying and the occasional table that lay between the two chairs was stained and deeply gouged. Behind him the dining suite appeared to have fared little better. In its favour, the room was graced by a wide window that provided a vantage point across the U-shaped tavern’s rear courtyard, and the stables beyond. The courtyard was well lit by lanterns, giving it a welcoming glow. The inn keeper had mentioned that today had been a market day, which would account for the inordinate amount of activity this evening.
    Sinclair studied his friend as Gaston toasted their good health. Only a few years older than Sinclair, creases gathered about Gaston’s eyes and his hair and moustache were sprinkled with a liberal application of grey. He had the look of a contented man. Over the years they had formed a strong bond of friendship and Sinclair knew he could rely on Gaston to watch his back when the need arose.
    ‘I’m to be a papa,’ the man grinned. ‘You’ll be our baby’s Godfather, yes? After all, if it hadn’t been for you—’
    Gaston’s ability to transition from joy to tears never failed to surprise Sinclair. ‘Gaston, you sentimental fool, those days are behind us. It’s about time you gave Anais a babe to hold, she does an admirable job keeping you honest.’
    ‘Bah, what would you know about that, Sin? But your time will come, mark my words,’ Gaston warned.
    Sinclair forced a smile. ‘Take heed, I’ve no intention of venturing down the path of holy matrimony ever again.’ He knew better than to be leg shackled to a wench who would demand constant attention but care not a whit for him. Unbidden, a tantalising image of sable hair and sapphire eyes flashed across his mind. He pushed the image aside. Liliane may not fall into that category, but no matter how much she piqued his interest, he was most definitely not proceeding down that road.
    Gaston dismissed him with a flick of the hand. ‘Bah. You can’t keep hanging onto memories of the past and using them to shield you from the future. Not every woman is like Carolyn.’
    ‘You mean not every woman will hike up her skirts and spread her legs for my groom the minute my back is turned.’ Sinclair knocked back the rest of his brandy and poured a second shot. ‘Mind you, that prognosis is probably aided by the fact that he’s dead.’
    ‘Sin—’
    ‘All that summer, I felt justified being here, thinking Carolyn was safe under my parents’ care.’ Sinclair ran his hand through his hair in disgust. ‘Meanwhile, the latest on dit in London was how my wife and the head of my stables had died after their ship floundered in a storm off the Irish coast.’
    ‘Sin, it may not have made any difference whether you were home or not. They chose their fate and died as a consequence of those decisions.’
    Sinclair leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Dragging in a slow breath, he pictured Carolyn as he had last seen her, standing demurely between his parents and politely wishing him a safe journey. As if she cared. He stood abruptly and went to lean against the window sill. ‘You’re right, Gaston,’ he begrudgingly admitted.