Sinful Seduction (Mayet Justice #18)

Minka

“It’s so fuckin’ hot.” Sweat dribbles along Cato’s forehead and into dark green eyes, almost the same shade—but not the same shape—as my husband’s.

He plops a heavy box on a pile of two others, then, bringing his arm up, he swipes his brow with the short sleeve of his shirt and hisses as sweat transfers into his eyes.

“Remind me again why we’re the idiots frying our brains in the heat when there are people we could hire for it? ”

“Something about helping family.” I drop my box—not as large or heavy as Cato’s—on the floor beside his pile and straighten out again.

Even if I wanted to pretend the heat doesn’t bother me, I bring my hands up anyway and brush the hair off my face.

“Something about having all this spare time, and how volunteering our efforts for those we love makes us better people… allegedly.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck that. I don’t want to be a better person.

” He stomps across the expansive living room, this single room larger than my entire apartment twice over, and, tugging the cover down on the thermostat, he cranks the air conditioning until icy air blows through the vents and onto my moist skin.

The fact that every door and window sits wide open is a problem for someone else.

“I have never once in my entire life said I wanted to be a better person.” He smacks the cover back into place and spins on a pair of expensive Jordan high-tops.

“In fact, I enjoy being a depraved, unkind, bastard son of a murderer. That kinda reputation keeps expectations low. So on the off chance I do something somewhat normal, I’m celebrated.

And when I’m a prick, everyone shrugs. Because that’s what they expect of me. ”

“Never thought I’d see the day my little brother complained less than someone else’s little brother.

” Aubree strolls into the room with a box, a playful smirk teasing her lips and dancing eyes flickering between me and Cato.

She sets her load down and hooks a thumb over her shoulder.

“He tried the low expectations thing, too. How do you think that worked out for him?”

Duane Emeri is a prick, too, I guess. That’s what I’ve gathered from my observations over the last several months.

But he follows his sister into the house and deposits his box with a grunt, deep lines marking his forehead and sweat dribbling over his temples.

He firms his lips into straight lines, unspeaking, as he looks from one person to the next.

He narrows his eyes and studies each of us, then he huffs and turns on his heels. “Whatever.”

“He’s getting grumpy.” Giggling, Aubree bounces her shoulders and scoots out of the way, making room for Tim and Archer as they carry a couch in. “The heat makes everyone cranky. It’s the same every single year.”

“Oh. My. Gosh!” Mia—sweet, pigtailed, overalled, flip-flops-wearing, five-year-old Mia—hugs a lamp to her chest and dances her way into Auntie Aubree’s new house, groaning, and yet, beaming.

“It’s so hot!” She sets the lamp on top of Cato’s pile, right on the edge, and turns to Archer.

“So, so hot, Uncle Arch! This is too much.”

Fast as a viper, Cato catches the wobbling lamp and nudges it back to safety.

“I think we should blow this popsicle stand and go find actual popsicles.” He sweeps the girl into his arms and buries his lips against her neck.

Blowing noisily, he turns her unhappiness to peeling laughter, and her lazy, sweaty form into bucking legs and flailing arms. She kicks out and honk-snorts, her feet missing Tim’s jaw by mere inches.

“Ice cream and a water park,” Cato continues.

“They can’t make you work anyway, McStinkerson.

There are labor laws in place that protect youngins from this torture. ”

“You moved a box,” Aubree drawls. “One single box.”

“I moved four boxes.” He plops a bright red Mia on his hip and shuffles left to give Fletch space to pass with a television: the remote, glued to the screen. “Four boxes are more than Felix moved. Or Micah.”

“Felix is in New York,” I counter. “Dealing with his three-minute-old baby.”

“Free minutes?” Mia swings around, loose brown curls slapping the side of her face. “It’s been more than free minutes since baby Darling got here! You’re being silly, Auntie Minka.”

“It’s been five weeks,” Aubree adds. “Auntie Minka was definitely being silly. And sweet baby Zora is already getting so much bigger.”

“Zora.” Mia rolls the name over her tongue. “Baby Zora. Zora kinda rhymes with Mia, huh?”

“Yup!” Cato breaks away from our group and starts toward the kitchen.

Though, this isn’t some small city-living apartment.

This is a mansion on the hills. A house made for families of fifteen, with three floors—might be four?

—six bedrooms, I don’t even know how many bathrooms, and a room off the kitchen that used to be for the maid and paid help.

“Zora and Mia do sound kind of the same, because Uncle Felix named his baby girl after you.”

Mia gasps. “Really?”

“He sure did. He said he loves you soooo much, and he thinks you’re the coolest kid on this side of the country.

And he knows you’ve been working so hard at school and stuff, and now you’re reading grade two books and everything.

So he thought, hmm, how can I reward that cool kid? I know! I’ll name my baby after her.”

“Oh my gosh,” she trembles, her voice audibly bouncing with emotion. “That’s so cool, huh?”

“He’s gonna be the reason she accepts nothing but total adoration when she’s older.

” Tired, Fletch sets the TV down and swipes the sweat from his brow.

“Not that I have a problem with that. But humans are inherently flawed, so even if she finds someone nice in…” He sets his hands on his hips and scowls, “twenty-five years, even if the dude is pretty awesome, she’s gonna demand nothing short of perfection.

And then she’ll call in a fuckin’ mafia favor to take the trash out when he doesn’t live up to the hype. ”

“Better she aim high than low.” Aubree walks to the far wall and snags a bottle of water, then, straightening out, she unscrews the lid and chugs half before wandering to Tim and pressing the bottle to his palm.

Like the good husband he is, he guzzles what’s left.

“She’s got a dad who would burn the world for her.

One who would kill for her.” Her lips curl into a taunting smirk.

No need to say he has… literally. “Add in the confidence Cato shoves down her throat until she’s bursting at the seams, and she’s gonna do amazing things when she’s older.

It’s about damn time women are celebrated for being strong, instead of held down for fear they might be too happy.

” She leans against Tim’s side and rests her ear over his heart. “I’m here to watch the show.”

“Personally, I’m here to get this shit moved so we can go home.

” Archer drags his shirt up, exposing his ridged stomach, the ink he placed on his skin long before we met, and with it, the scars he collected over a long, hard lifetime spent with a father who, for reasons no rational person will ever understand, hated his sons.

Wiping his face, he shoots a sneaky wink my way.

“I need a shower and a cold beer. I intend to have both, while naked, with my wife.”

“We’re almost done.” Aubree pulls away from Tim, but she takes his hand and starts back the way they came. “Only half a truck left, then we can rest.”

“Half a truck.” Archer drops his shirt and crosses the room, blinding me with a beautiful smile and eyes that warm my face more than the blistering July sun. “Still half a truck, Minnnka.” He grabs my hips and tugs me forward. “Half a truck is still a lot.”

“Remind me again why we didn’t hire movers to transfer Aubree’s shit to her fancy new mansion?”

“It’s not a mansion!” Aubree shouts from the front door. “It’s just a house. A regular, housy-house that regular people live in.”

“It’s a mansion,” I snicker, staring up into Archer’s eyes. “She’s just insecure about it.”

“It’s a large house,” he nods. “One with more rooms than they’ll ever need and more space than they’ll ever use.”

“But it doesn’t have a pool!” Aubree yells. “And definitely no golf course.”

“Her hearing is scarily good.” I tilt my head forward and press my face to Archer’s chest. His heart pounds a heavy, steady rhythm.

Strong. Constant. My favorite sound in the world, because without it, I’m not sure the world would continue to exist for me.

“We should sneak out to that other house and go for a swim.”

“That other house?” He slips his hands beneath my shirt and drags his palms over my bare back. “You mean our house? The one we’ll live in someday, once you’re finally sick of the apartment?”

“Joke’s on you, because I’m never gonna get sick of my apartment. It’s the perfect size. It’s small enough, no one will want to stay for more than an hour—”

“Except Cato.”

I sigh and allow him to hold most of my weight. I’m too damn hot and tired to do it on my own. “Except Cato, despite my daily efforts to scare him away. So far, he’s sticking.”

“Sticking, ‘cos I love you.” Cato strides through the living room with Mia on his back and two icy cold cans of soda tucked into his pockets. “I’ll move when you move. Until then, I’m staying in your living room.”

“I don’t even know why,” I groan. “He’s three feet too long for the couch. His arms and legs dangle off every single night. His neck must hurt.”

“Something about love.” Archer pinches my chin between his thumb and finger and angles my head back.

He waits for my eyes and rewards me with a charming grin.

“If we move to the house, he can have his own floor, and we won’t even have to see him.

Staying at the apartment means bathroom schedules and crappy heating and cooling.

It means a four-floor walkup and living with the sound of traffic outside. ”

“It also means being able to walk to work. And living near the bar—”

“That Aubree will no longer be staying at after today.”

I grunt at his cold, harsh reminder.

It’s not like I need my best friend to live next door. I’m not one of those people who requires—or even enjoys—constant contact with the outside world. And God knows, I hate waking up to my kitchen overflowing with people and a line forming at my coffee machine.

But also… I guess I’ve become accustomed to a certain way of living…

“I like having restaurants nearby. And the hospital. I like knowing that, when you text and say you’re heading home, I can walk outside and see you walking my way about a minute later.”

He slides his palms over my back, impossibly warm, and yet, not at all overwhelming.

“I like Steve.”

“You like Steve?”

“I love having Steve at the apartment. He was the first nice person I met when I moved to Copeland—”

“Beg to differ. I was the first nice person you met when you moved to Copeland.”

“You were the first person I met.” I firm my lips and wait for my barb to land. “I don’t recall you being nice. Besides, Steve made sure I had somewhere to stay when my ceiling was falling in. He’s the perfect security detail, and he tells us what everyone is up to when we get home from work.”

“He’s a gossip.”

“He’s sweet. He’s soft and kind and the only person alive, besides you, that doesn’t make me want to punch them in the face when they hug me.”

He drags his fingertips along my back, massaging my tense muscles and sending goosebumps sprinting to my toes. “He’s your Steve.”

“He’s my Steve. I don’t want to leave him.”

“So…” He exhales a soft breath, the breeze hitting my chin and providing a single second of cooling air. “I guess we won’t leave him.”

“But we can sneak out and swim.” I push to the tips of my toes and lay a gentle kiss on his stubbled jaw. “I have no moral issue with trespassing on Malone property, without letting the mayor see us, and taking a swim under the waterfalls that technically belong to you, anyway.”

“Us.” He pulls his hands out from under my shirt and pats the fabric down, ensuring I’m covered.

Just in the nick of time. Because Fletch’s grumbling tone and shuffling footsteps echo through the hall and head this way.

“The waterfalls belong to us, Minnnka. Seeing as how we have that wedding certificate. Two of them, actually.”

“At least you asked me,” I snicker. “Tim married Aubree without even telling her about it.”

“Shut up.” Aubree stomps through the room, hugging a box of pots and pans to her chest. “He said sorry, and now we’re planning a proper wedding. It’ll be fine.”

“You make it sound far away. Like, something that’s happening months and months from now.”

She storms into the kitchen. “I said, shut up!”

“You’re getting married in a week, Doctor Emeri!” Laughing, I turn and make my way toward the front of the house. To the truck we all loathe.

The sooner we finish, the sooner Archer and I can escape this hellhole and be somewhere blissfully cool.

Alone.

The latter being the most important.

“You have one week, Malone.” I pass Tim in the hall and say nothing of the arrogant smirk he wears. He knows what he did. “One week until you’re no longer a divorced man. How does it feel to be on your second marriage already?”

“Divorce doesn’t count if I never filed the paperwork.” He spins on his heels and walks backwards. “I fake-filed those, and I’ll fake-file the new wedding certificate. At the end of the day, our original date stands. She’ll get over it.”

Snorting, I shake my head and cross the threshold to emerge outside, from not-too-bad, to barefoot-in-hell.

The heat smacks me in the face, zapping what little energy I thought I’d recuperated inside.

“Jesus.” I use a hand to shield my eyes from the blistering sun, and dropping my gaze, I stomp down the front steps of Malone Manor—not sure the name will catch on—and head around to the back of the truck.

“Just thirty-seven million more boxes to go. It’s fine. ”