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Last week, I shared the first scene from Sinful Rewards 1.
Today, I’m sharing the second scene.
I’m not in a rush to wed—I have my own career to establish—but I won’t waste my time on someone who is afraid of commitment. I won’t make my mom’s mistakes. It is forever or nothing for me.
I suspect Nicolas thinks the same way. There’s only one obstacle standing in our way—he doesn’t know I exist. I skim my fingertips over Cyndi’s latest impulse purchase, a large brass telescope. Nicolas and I have never talked. We’ve never met, never passed each other in the hallways, never shared the same elevator.
I stroke the metal tube back and forth, back and forth, the surface soothingly smooth. My name isn’t even on the condo agreement. Our luxurious, fully furnished two-bedroom suite is owned by Mr. Wynters, Cyndi’s multimillionaire father.
I lean my forehead against the cool windowpane, openly admiring the flawlessness of Nicolas’s suit-clad shoulders. The thin wall of glass between us might as well be constructed from solid concrete. There’s no busting through the barrier, no contacting the condo complex’s number-one bachelor directly.
I’ve watched in the past as other residents tried to enter the park while Nicolas sat alone on his bench. His passcard locks everyone else out of the space, giving the reclusive billionaire the privacy he values.
A twinge of guilt shoots down my spine. He won’t like that I’m looking at him. Not everyone associates being watched with being cared for.
I pivot on my six-inch heels. When I was a child, the other girls would complain about their mothers hovering by their front doors, watching, waiting for them to return home. I envied them, wishing someone waited for me. My mom was never home. She was always working, struggling to pay the rent, our tiny, rodent-infested, one-bedroom apartments changing often. Landlords would tolerate only a few missed payments before they started the eviction process.
I survey the main room of the condo unit, the open-concept space larger than any of my childhood homes. An original Andy Warhol hangs on the far wall, the bright colors popping against the white drywall. I’d dusted its narrow metallic frame last night. A comfy purple couch hugs the wall to my right. Its cushions have been plumped, the leather showing no ass indents. Not a single set of fingerprints mars the assortment of blue enamel appliances lining the left wall. The waist-high red counter separating the kitchen nook from the living room has been cleared, the matching bar stools tucked under the ledge. The massive TV screen in the corner is switched off.
No morning program is as interesting as the man outside. I glance over my shoulder, unable to resist another peek. Nicolas’s bench is empty, his arrangement of papers and devices missing. He has left the park. A wave of disappointment sweeps over me. I’m alone. Again. I’ve spent too much of my life alone, waiting for roommates to come home, for my mom to finish yet another double shift, for my dad to realize he has a daughter who needs him.
Nicolas isn’t like my dad. The billionaire will return to his park tomorrow. I stare at the green space, comforted by this fact. He’s a man I can count on.
The view is slightly different this morning. I frown. Something isn’t quite right. I lean against the window, taking a closer look. A small black rectangular object rests on the paving stone, partially hidden by the bench’s wooden slats. I can’t determine what it is.
The object could be important to Nicolas. If that’s the case, he’ll want it returned to him. I press my fingertips against the cool glass. This could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, the excuse I’ve needed to meet with him.
Or it could be a scrap of garbage, a shadow, a waste of time. I chew on the inside of my cheek. The park is out of my route. It’ll take ten minutes, maybe longer, to investigate. My fingers curl around the telescope’s brass tube.
I’d told Cyndi I’d never use it, that it was an instrument purchased by perverts to spy on their neighbors. She’d laughed and called me a prude, not knowing that I’m one of these perverts, that I secretly yearn to watch and be watched, to care and be cared for.
If I’m cautious, and I’m always cautious, she’ll never realize I used her telescope this morning. I swing the tube toward the bench and adjust the knob, bringing the mysterious object into focus.
It’s a phone, Nicolas’s phone. I bounce on the balls of my feet. This is a sign, another declaration from fate that we belong together. I’ll return Nicolas’s much-needed device to him. As a thank-you, he’ll invite me to dinner. We’ll talk. He’ll realize how perfect I am for him, fall in love with me, marry me.
Cyndi will find a fiancé also—everyone loves her—and we’ll have a double wedding, as sisters of the heart often do. It’ll be the first wedding my family has had in generations.
Everyone will watch us as we walk down the aisle. I’ll wear a strapless, white Vera Wang mermaid gown with organza and lace details, crystal and pearl embroidery accents, the bodice fitted and the skirt hemmed for my shorter height. My hair will be swept upward. My shoes—
Voices murmur outside the condo’s door, the sound piercing my delightful daydream. I swing the telescope upward, not wanting to be caught using it. The snippets of conversation drift away.
I don’t relax. If the telescope isn’t in the same spot as it was positioned last night, Cyndi will realize I’ve been using it. She’ll tease me about being a fellow pervert, sharing the story, embellished for more dramatic effect, with her stern, serious dad or, worse, with Angel, that snobby friend of hers.
I’ll die. It’ll be worse than being the butt of jokes in high school because that ridicule had been about my clothes and this will center around the part of my soul I’ve always kept hidden. It’ll also be the truth, and I won’t be able to deny it. I am a pervert.
I have to return the telescope to where it was positioned. This is the only acceptable solution. I tap the metal tube.
Last night, my man-crazy roommate had been giggling over the new guy in three eleven north. The previous occupant had been a gray-haired, bowtie-wearing tax auditor, his luxurious accommodations supplied by Nicolas. The most exciting thing he ever did was drink his tea on the balcony.
According to Cyndi, the new occupant is a delicious piece of man candy, tattooed, buff, and head-to-toe lickable. He’d been completing arm curls outside and she’d enthusiastically counted his reps, oohing and aahing over his bulging biceps, calling to me to take a look.
I’d resisted that temptation, focusing on making macaroni and cheese for the two of us, the recipe snagged from the diner my mom works in. After we scarfed down dinner with Cyndi licking her plate clean, she left for the club and hasn’t returned.
Three eleven north is the mirror condo to ours. I straighten the telescope. That position looks about right, but then, the imitation UGGs I bought in my second year of college looked about right also. The first time I wore the boots in the rain, the sheepskin fell apart, leaving me barefoot in Economics 201.
Unwilling to risk Cyndi’s friendship on “about right,” I gaze through the eyepiece. The view consists of rippling golden planes, almost like. . .
Tanned skin pulled over defined abs.
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Sinful Rewards 1
Cynthia Sax
Belinda “Bee” Carter is a good girl; at least, that’s what she tells herself. And a good girl deserves a nice guy—just like the gorgeous and moody billionaire Nicolas Rainer. He is everything she wants in a man.
Or so she thinks, until she takes a look through her telescope and sees a naked, tattooed man on the balcony across the courtyard. Hawke is mysterious, the bad boy she knows will bring only heartbreak. He has been watching her, and that makes him all the more enticing.
But when a mysterious and anonymous text message dares her to do something bad, she must decide if she is really the good girl she has always claimed to be, or if she’s willing to risk everything for her secret fantasy of being watched.
Is her mystery man the reclusive billionaire with a wild side or the darkly dangerous bad boy?
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sinful-Rewards-1-Cynthia-Sax-ebook/dp/B00I7V89H0
Barnes And Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sinful-rewards-1-cynthia-sax/1119055390
Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Cynthia_Sax_Sinful_Rewards_1?id=g08ZAwAAQBAJ
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/sinful-rewards-1/id814148703?mt=11
