4. Amelia

I stareat Sinclair for a long moment, his words still ringing in my ears. I'm not surprised he came and found me. Honestly, I expected him earlier. But I'm a little surprised he didn't lead with the fact that his family owns Midnight Industries. The fact that he didn't immediately throw that out there to win my forgiveness is, in an odd way, exactly the thing that earns it.

Anyone else would have done precisely that. It would have been the simple thing to do. But I'm beginning to suspect there's nothing simple about this man. He's as complicated as those beautiful blue eyes.

"So, you're really a cop, huh?" I ask, unable to help myself. The job suits him and the authority that hangs in the air around him. He's got cranky cop written all over him. Even dressed in khaki shorts and a blue polo that matches his eyes, he's fierce… and fiercely beautiful.

He dominates the small living room in my bungalow, eclipsing the space. His presence will linger long after he leaves, as will his delicious scent. It's mint, spice, and Sinclair—utter perfection.

"Surprised?"

"Not even a little bit," I say, smirking. "Just curious how a small-town cop ended up here." I glance around with big eyes. "Barbados doesn't exactly seem like your kind of place. No offense." I pause before adding, "I mean, you did almost drown like five feet from the shore."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You're asking for it, mermaid."

I laugh quietly. Teasing him is fun. He's hot when he's grumpy. "Why Barbados, Sinclair? The beach is obviously not your style."

"It's not. My brother's asshole assistant decided I was too fucking cranky and needed a vacation, so they bought me the trip for my birthday. He fell in love recently, so he's more psychotically happy than usual." He grimaces. "I think Sterling went along with it just to get rid of Sullivan for a week and sent me along to babysit."

I cock my head to the side, eyeing him. "Um, isn't Sullivan a grown man?"

"You'd think so." He hauls himself to his feet, moving way too gracefully for a man his size. "But the fucker can find trouble anywhere."

"Oh, really?" I arch a brow at him, a smirk dancing on my lips. "So, that was him I hauled out of the ocean today, huh? Not you?"

He takes a slow step toward me, his eyes locked on my face. "You being a smartass, mermaid?"

I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart, unable to resist messing with him. He's had me stressed out all day. If I'm messing with him, he deserves it, at least a little bit.

And maybe I like the way he looks at me when I do it. No one ever looks at me the way he does—like he's dying to know what I taste like. He hasn't stopped looking at me like that since he walked through the door.

Frankly, I wish he'd get on with it already because I haven't stopped thinking about him all day. He played through my mind on a loop even when I was mad at him.

"Why did you pick Barbados, Amelia?" he asks, taking another step in my direction.

"My boss sent me."

"Your boss?"

"Mmhmm." I tip my head back, watching him from beneath my lashes. "I'm a literary agent in Los Angeles. I just helped a client option the rights to her book series for television and made her and the agency a whole bunch of money. So, my boss decided I deserved a vacation to celebrate."

"Nice." Sinclair takes another step toward me. "What kind of books do you represent, baby?"

"Mostly romance, YA and adult." I pause. "Some fantasy, depending on if it's any good or not."

He smiles at that. "You like what you do?"

"I love it." I beam at him. "Books are magic."

"Your mom is a writer."

I narrow my eyes at him.

He shrugs unapologetically. "I'm not sorry I looked you up, Amelia. I'm not going to fight fair when it comes to you."

"Oh. Are we fighting, then?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

He stops directly in front of me, kneeling so he's at eye-level with me. "On how mad you're going to be when I do this," he whispers. Before I can ask what he's talking about, he moves. The man is like a freaking ninja.

One minute, I'm on the couch, and he's in front of me. The next, he's on his butt on the floor, and I'm straddling his lap, my hands caught in his. His lips come down on mine.

He kisses me, aggressive and passionate, a hungry assault that"s as breathtaking as it is primal. His arms engulf me, one circling my waist while the other cradles the back of my head. I gasp into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, his tongue sweeping in to taste me.

He tastes like danger and adventure—of sea salt and mint—with an undercurrent of something else that's entirely him.

I kiss him back with everything I have, drowning in the heated frenzy we"ve been dancing around since I hauled him from the ocean. It's wild and raw and utterly delicious.

My fingers find their way into his hair, tugging at the dark strands, anchoring myself in the whirlwind of sensation.

He groans deep and low. The decadent sound grates against my womb, sending heat spiraling through me. I bite his lower lip, drawing a surprised grunt from him.

"Goddamn, mermaid," he growls, palming my ass. "I take we aren't fighting?"

"Definitely not," I breathe. "Unless you break my heart. And then we're absolutely fighting, Sinclair Midnight."

"Break it? Baby, I'm trying to own it." He kisses me again before hauling us to our feet, breathing hard. "Fuck. If we don't stop, I'm not going to be able to keep my damn hands off you, Amelia. And as much as my dick loves that plan, I'd at least like to take you out before I start misbehaving."

My heart melts, my stomach fluttering like crazy. "You want to take me out?"

He cups my cheek, staring at me. "Damn right, I do. Why don't you go get dressed?" Mischief flares in his eyes. "I won't even make you buy me dinner, Heiress. I'll be a goddamn gentleman and buy yours."

"Someone alert the media!" I cry in my best southern accent. "The Sheriff of Midnight, Texas, isn't even going to make me sing for my supper! He's a real gentleman!"

He throws his head back, laughing loudly. "Fuck," he growls, dragging me back into his arms before I can dart away to go get dressed. His lips come down on mine in another hard kiss. "Had I known you were waiting for me right here in Barbados, wild horses wouldn't have kept me away, mermaid."

"Ditto, Sheriff." I wink, scurrying to the bedroom to get dressed, a big, cheesy smile plastered across my face.

My dad is going to lose his mind when he finds out about this.

"Wait a minute."Sinclair pauses with his beer halfway to his lips. "You're telling me that your uncle was your mom's professor?"

We're nestled at a little resort restaurant down the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore. The scent of cooking meat and saltwater fills the outdoor space, along with the sound of a band and lively conversation from all around us. For my first official date ever, it's my favorite first official date ever. We haven't stopped laughing or teasing each other since we got here two hours ago.

"Yep. He and my aunt met at a masquerade ball where she was pretending to be my mom." I laugh quietly. "She wasn't very good at it, obviously. They ended up falling in love, and the rest is kind of history."

"Your family is far more interesting than mine," he mutters, taking a long drink.

"Uh, yours has a whole town named after you."

A smile ghosts across his face. "True. We also have a fucking haunted mansion."

My eyes go wide. "You do not!"

He shrugs, taking another sip.

"Sinclair! Tell me your house is not haunted," I squeak, hiding behind a drink menu.

He laughs, tugging it out of my hands. "I'm just kidding." A tiny furrow creases his brows. "Mostly. It might be haunted. I don't fucking know. It's been in the family for ages."

"I am never visiting your family's house, Sinclair Midnight," I hiss. "Ever."

"So, let me get this straight. You'll dive into the ocean to rescue someone without a second thought, but you're afraid of ghosts?"

"Yes," I say primly. "Everyone with any sense is afraid of ghosts, Sinclair."

He throws his head back, laughing loudly. "Fuck, you're adorable."

"No, you're just crazy. You've spent far too much time in your Halloween town and your haunted mansion. Your sense of reality is seriously skewed." I take a big bite of my chicken, effectively ending the conversation… only to choke when a man who looks far too much like Sinclair comes striding across the outdoor restaurant toward us.

Sinclair reaches across the table, grabbing my glass. "Take a drink, mermaid," he croons. "You're okay. You're breathing."

I cough and splutter. "B-brother," I finally gasp. But by that point, there's no point. His brother is already standing beside the table, smirking at us.

"I thought that was you," he says, staring at his brother.

"Sullivan," Sinclair says with a heavy sigh.

Sullivan glances at me. "You're the one who saved him today."

I nod, wiping my eyes. "You're the one who was sleeping on the beach. Would you like to join us?"

Sinclair scowls.

I kick him under the table.

"Ow!" he mutters.

"Oops." I bat my lashes at him. "My foot slipped."

"I like her," Sullivan mutters to his brother, not buying my crap.

I beam at him.

"I actually have something to do, so I can't," he says.

"Are you sure? I bet you have all kinds of embarrassing things you can tell me about your brother that I can use against him later," I say, trying to sweeten the deal. He and his brother came here together. I feel bad for dragging Sinclair away and hogging him all to myself.

"No, he doesn't. There are no embarrassing stories," Sinclair says, eyes narrowed on his brother. "What do you have to do?"

"Oh, I have all kinds of stories, sweetheart." Sullivan grins, his eyes lighting up. "And that's not your business, fucker. It's mine." He looks back at me. "Raincheck on the humiliation?"

"Definitely."

"There will be no humiliation," Sinclair growls, glaring at Sullivan, who just laughs evilly and waggles his brows.

"Toodles, fucker."

"Where are you going?"

"My business, not yours!" He flips Sinclair off discreetly and then waves at me. "Seriously, Sin, don't fuck it up. I like her!" he calls before disappearing into the crowd.

Sinclair stares after him, clearly flustered, which makes me laugh. Sullivan is definitely the youngest brother, and Sinclair is obviously the oldest. They remind me of me and my sisters. I antagonize Coraline, my oldest sister, in the same way.

"You're going to give me nine kinds of hell, aren't you, mermaid?" Sinclair asks, slowly turning to look at me, his blue eyes dark and heated.

"Yep," I say happily, leaning back in my chair to smirk at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to pick up strangers on vacation, Sinclair? You never know what you're going to get."

He stares at me levelly for a long moment and then shakes his head. "Are you done eating, Amelia?"

I glance down at my plate, think about it, and then take another big bite of my chicken. Once I chew it, I nod. "I'm done."

"Good." He reaches into his pocket and grabs his wallet. Without taking his eyes off me, he pulls out several large bills and tosses them down on the table, puts his wallet back in his pocket, and then climbs to his feet. "On your feet, mermaid. You're coming with me."

"Oh, am I under arrest, Sheriff?" I waggle my brows, unable to resist messing with him. I've never felt more at ease with anyone than I do with him. Being myself around him is effortless and easy. He isn't judging me. He doesn't expect perfection. He just wants me. I love how freeing that feels. I don't have to fit in a box. I just get to be myself.

No one except my family has ever accepted me this completely. I love it so much.

"Maybe." A ghost of a smile plays across his lips as I circle around the table toward him. He wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me up against his hard body. His lips land against my ear. "Keep fucking with me, and you'll be spending the night jailed in my bed, paying for your crimes on my cock, baby."

I moan quietly, heat roaring through me. If he were anyone else, I'd flee in the other direction. But I don't want to run. I want every single piece of him, and I don't want to wait. Maybe this is doomed to end when my vacation does. But for now—for this week—this man is mine. And I want to enjoy every single second I have with him.

"Then you better get me there fast, Sinclair," I breathe against his throat. "Because your version of jail sounds like heaven to me." I pause for effect, knowing I won't have to spell it out for him when I say what I intend to say. "And I've never been to jail, Sinclair."

He jerks against me, a growl rumbling in his chest as he instantly catches my meaning. "Fuck," he groans, practically dragging me through the restaurant. "You're going tonight, mermaid. All the fucking way."