Shadow of Sin (The Martin Family) Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Parker Kincade
of the island, a sink and a grill top had been installed. Perfect for anyone who wanted to cook without having their back to the rest of the room. Barstools lined the other side, providing enough seating for the whole Martin clan and then some. Along the wall behind her, an oversized stainless steel refrigerator and dual ovens were paired with more granite countertops and ample cabinet space.
“Do you entertain a lot?” She was struck with how little she knew of his private life. She’d known him for years and yet, this was the first time she’d ever been to his place, ever gotten a glimpse of his life outside of irritating the shit out of her.
“Alec and Brandon come over. Of the three of us, I have the biggest TV, so it’s almost mandatory we watch football here. Amanda and Joe stay sometimes if they’re in town and don’t want to make the drive home.”
“The biggest … TV.” She laughed and waved her arms. “Right. And where is this monstrosity hidden? Behind the treadmill, perhaps?”
He pointed up, indicating a box mounted high above the couch. “Projection. The screen comes down over the windows.” He grabbed a towel and filled a bowl with water, placing both on the counter in front of her.
Samantha shook her head. “How did I not know this about you?”
“You know I watch football.” His irritated expression melted to one that said he wasn’t so sure she did know. “This is Texas. Of course I watch football.”
He pulled out a barstool for her. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Moving with the silent grace she’d come to expect from him, Caleb left her there, no doubt confident she’d follow his command.
Instead, Samantha searched his cabinets until she found what she was looking for. Her nose scrunched as she got a whiff of the stout whiskey. Not the cinnamon flavor she preferred, but it would work. She raised the bottle to her lips, but thought better of it at the last second. A man that kept his condo this clean wouldn’t appreciate anyone drinking directly from his bottle. Plus, he’d just made what could pass as civilized conversation with her. She figured she owed him one.
She found a glass and took it, along with the bottle, and walked in the opposite direction as Caleb had gone.
He might have wanted her to sit, but there were only so many concessions a woman could make in one night.
* * *
“Open the door, Samantha.” Caleb sounded angry.
Samantha sat on the edge of the tub and contemplated how long it would take before he busted the door in. He’d given her time to take a quick shower, but she was only delaying the inevitable. If Caleb wanted to inspect her wound, he’d do it. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. He didn’t make empty threats. Any resistance on her part would land her tied to a chair.
She didn’t want his hands on her—touching her, prodding her—even in a patch-’em-up capacity. Between the night she’d had and the whiskey, her emotions were all over the place. She didn’t need to become a blubbering mess, or worse, a horny maniac, once he put his hands on her. At this point, both were entirely possible.
“Samantha!”
She jumped at his pound on the door. Right. Time to get this over with.
She jerked the door open and pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing the giggle that squeezed out. Oh, yeah. He was really angry.
“Something amusing?”
She threw him a little honesty. “When your nostrils flare like that, you remind me of those cartoon bulls. You know, the ones all red in the face with smoke coming out of their pierced noses?”
The muscles in his neck flexed as if he were forcing himself to remain calm. “What are you doing in here? Hiding?” He pushed past her, carrying the bowl of water from the kitchen, along with an arm full of first aid supplies and what looked to be a T-shirt. His gaze landed on the whiskey bottle. “You’re drinking?”
“Yep.” She raised her glass in silent toast and took a healthy
“Do you entertain a lot?” She was struck with how little she knew of his private life. She’d known him for years and yet, this was the first time she’d ever been to his place, ever gotten a glimpse of his life outside of irritating the shit out of her.
“Alec and Brandon come over. Of the three of us, I have the biggest TV, so it’s almost mandatory we watch football here. Amanda and Joe stay sometimes if they’re in town and don’t want to make the drive home.”
“The biggest … TV.” She laughed and waved her arms. “Right. And where is this monstrosity hidden? Behind the treadmill, perhaps?”
He pointed up, indicating a box mounted high above the couch. “Projection. The screen comes down over the windows.” He grabbed a towel and filled a bowl with water, placing both on the counter in front of her.
Samantha shook her head. “How did I not know this about you?”
“You know I watch football.” His irritated expression melted to one that said he wasn’t so sure she did know. “This is Texas. Of course I watch football.”
He pulled out a barstool for her. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Moving with the silent grace she’d come to expect from him, Caleb left her there, no doubt confident she’d follow his command.
Instead, Samantha searched his cabinets until she found what she was looking for. Her nose scrunched as she got a whiff of the stout whiskey. Not the cinnamon flavor she preferred, but it would work. She raised the bottle to her lips, but thought better of it at the last second. A man that kept his condo this clean wouldn’t appreciate anyone drinking directly from his bottle. Plus, he’d just made what could pass as civilized conversation with her. She figured she owed him one.
She found a glass and took it, along with the bottle, and walked in the opposite direction as Caleb had gone.
He might have wanted her to sit, but there were only so many concessions a woman could make in one night.
* * *
“Open the door, Samantha.” Caleb sounded angry.
Samantha sat on the edge of the tub and contemplated how long it would take before he busted the door in. He’d given her time to take a quick shower, but she was only delaying the inevitable. If Caleb wanted to inspect her wound, he’d do it. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. He didn’t make empty threats. Any resistance on her part would land her tied to a chair.
She didn’t want his hands on her—touching her, prodding her—even in a patch-’em-up capacity. Between the night she’d had and the whiskey, her emotions were all over the place. She didn’t need to become a blubbering mess, or worse, a horny maniac, once he put his hands on her. At this point, both were entirely possible.
“Samantha!”
She jumped at his pound on the door. Right. Time to get this over with.
She jerked the door open and pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing the giggle that squeezed out. Oh, yeah. He was really angry.
“Something amusing?”
She threw him a little honesty. “When your nostrils flare like that, you remind me of those cartoon bulls. You know, the ones all red in the face with smoke coming out of their pierced noses?”
The muscles in his neck flexed as if he were forcing himself to remain calm. “What are you doing in here? Hiding?” He pushed past her, carrying the bowl of water from the kitchen, along with an arm full of first aid supplies and what looked to be a T-shirt. His gaze landed on the whiskey bottle. “You’re drinking?”
“Yep.” She raised her glass in silent toast and took a healthy