Make Me Sin Read Online Free Page A

counter. I give him a hug. “It’s not your fault. I just had a terrible day, and I’ve got a splitting headache. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
    He hugs me back, chuckling. “You didn’t even raise your voice, silly. And I meant it when I said you were cute. If that’s you snapping, then I’ll take it anytime. My last girlfriend used to break stuff when she was angry. She’s Italian,” he adds, as if her nationality explained her urge to destroy things.
    I rest my head on his shoulder, which strains my neck. Without his work shoes, he’s lost another inch. “Do you mind if we just order a pizza tonight? I really don’t feel up to cooking.”
    His voice registers concern. “Sure. Why don’t you go take some Advil and put something more comfortable on, and I’ll take care of it. And after dinner I’ll give you a massage. How’s that?”
    I groan in anticipation. “That sounds amazing. Thank you.”
    He nuzzles my neck. His voice drops. “After your massage, you’ll get something that will relax you even more.”
    I know he’s trying to be sexy, but the odd and unwelcome image of him slipping a roofie in my drink has me wondering what’s wrong with me. Eric would never do something like that. He’d never have to; in spite of what A.J. Edwards might think, I have a healthy appetite for sex, thank you very much.
    A.J. Why does he look at me the way he does? Why does he treat me like I’m a leper? What’s that scar above his eyebrow? And those tattoos on his neck and the backs of his fingers, what are those all about? Does he have more tattoos? Where?
    Why am I thinking about A.J. when my boyfriend is kissing my neck?
    I pull away from Eric so abruptly he looks at me oddly. “You okay?” He touches my cheek. “Your face is all red.”
    I can feel he’s right. My cheeks are suddenly so hot they burn. “I just need those Advil, that’s all. And some food.”
    “Say no more. I’m on it.” He turns to the drawer where I keep the takeout menus and rifles through them. I turn and head for the bedroom.
    “Lenzini’s?” he shouts from the kitchen. I strip off my shirt and toss it to the bed.
    “Sounds good,” I shout back. I remove the rest of my work clothes, change into a pair of black yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and get the Advil from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Washing two gel caps down with a gulp of water from the sink, I catch sight of my face in the mirror.
    I look like hell.
    My makeup wore off hours ago. My complexion is blotchy, and there are black smudges beneath my eyes where mascara has strayed from my lashes. My hair looks as if a family of rodents has built a nest in it. My eyes are red and glassy, and there’s a look in them I rarely see:
    Fury.
    Anger boils my blood, making my hands shake, my heart throb as if I’ve sprinted up a flight of stairs. I know the cause of this rage, and I’m disappointed with myself for letting him, once again, get under my skin.
    In the short time I’ve known him, A.J. Edwards has managed to make me lose my cool more than I’ve lost my cool over the course of my entire life. I’m known for my even temper, for being able to get along with most anyone, for manners and ladylike ways. I never even curse.
    Well, hardly ever; I’ve called A.J. a few choice names.
    It’s partly the way I was raised, but it’s also just my nature. I’m a naturally happy person. I’m easygoing. I was voted Most Popular my senior year of high school, for God’s sake! I’m likeable! I’m nice!
    You’re a stuck-up, frigid rich girl who wouldn’t know a dick if it hit her in the face.
    I have to stand at the mirror and breathe deeply for several minutes before I finally begin to calm down. Once I do, I realize the fury isn’t the worst of what I’m feeling.
    The hurt is the worst. For reasons unknown, A.J. hates my guts. It hurts me more than I’d like to admit.
    I meet my eyes in the mirror one last time, and shake my head. “Suck it up, Chloe,” I