Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

along with being a soloist in a church choir when you're that young. I was the only choir member who sported black eyes on a regular basis.”
    “Kids jumped you at the age of five?”
    Her eyes flashed. His lips twitched at the indignant expression she wore. She feels protective of me. The boy me, anyway. Progress.
    “That stinks.” One fist met the tabletop.
    “We lived in a tough neighborhood. Didn't do me any harm, Destiny.”
    “Your mother didn't do anything?”
    Destiny would be an overprotective mom. It was written all over her face.
    “She knew we had to learn to fight our own battles. ’Sides, Dad would never have let her interfere.”
    “But you continued singing?”
    “Couldn't stop, especially after my voice deepened into a basso profundo when I turned thirteen. Aside from when my chute opens and that first shock of silence reigns, singing, especially in a chorus, is the closest I ever feel to a certain level of spirituality.”
    Lincoln stifled a curse. Aside from his family and friends, he never discussed religion. Never opened up with a stranger. He'd sideswiped her with his last remark; her spoon halted its climb to her mouth, which dropped open, and astonishment shone from her great big eyes.
    She clamped her lips together, scrutinized the almost-empty bowl, and swallowed a couple of times before lifting her head and asking, “Basso profundo?”
    Lincoln stood, collected her plate and spoon, and continued as he strode to the sink. “According to my mom, I memorized songs before I learned all my colors.”
    She joined him at the sink, carrying an empty wineglass in each hand. “And the basso profundo?”
    “You're like a cat chasing a rat, aren't you?” He deposited the dishes in the sink and flashed her a broad grin. “'S okay. I like tenacity in my woman.”
    Destiny's eyes gave her away every time. He could hear the thought, “my woman?” echoing in her brain.
    Focus, Chapman. Stick to the plan.
    “A basso profundo is the lowest male voice on the scale.” He relieved her of the crystal, half turned, and leaned a hip on the counter's edge. “You've heard of a baritone, right?”
    Lincoln set the glasses on the counter on the far side of the sink; he didn't want any potential accidents.
    “Of course.”
    He heard the peeved, defensive note in her voice.
    “There's only one way to explain it, and it's more of a show-and-tell.” Giving her time to back away, he curled his fingers around her small wrist. “Place your forefinger here”—he held the digit on one side of his throat—“and your thumb here.”
    Wariness showed in how she held her lips closed and in the fluttering of her eyelashes.
    Black eyelashes tickling his belly as her mouth moved closer and closer to the head of his dick. His balls ached so hard, the loose sweats felt like skintight jeans.
    Linc released her hand and shifted a tad nearer so their big toes touched.
    Her fingers trembled, prickling his heating skin with each slight flutter.
    “This is a baritone.” He sang the scale made famous by Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music . “Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do.”
    Impossibly her black eyes widened, her pupils so dilated, he couldn't tell where the irises began or ended. For a second he couldn't remember what to do next.
    “This is a basso profundo,” he murmured, singing the scale he still practiced twice a day.
    “Oh.” A tremulous smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I think I get it. Do it again.”
    Sheer piercing desire trebled the blood flowing to his groin when she unconsciously moved closer, her hot exhales raising the hair on his chest, adding pulse beat on pulse beat to his racing heart.
    Lincoln sang the scale six times, and when he finished, curved one hand around her waist and cupped her bottom with the other.
    “That's marvelous,” she exclaimed, her voice breathy and her words rushed. “What amazing control. I wish I could do that.”
    “I'll teach you,” he promised.