Page 94 of A Taste like Sin
“Despite my…sacrifice, my mother died not long after,” he says. “I knew that, without her, my
brothers and I needed to come to America—any way we could.”
I fill in what the rumors about him claim. “Even via the drug trade.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. Part laugh. Part groan. “Perhaps. Those desperate boys may have
built a life using whatever skills they could. Pardon my evasiveness, but I am not used to baring my
secrets in front of the daughter of a judge.”
“You can trust me.” I’m surprised by how earnest I sound. “I have my own share of secrets.”
“Oh?” His fingers still over my hip.
“I told you that Diane gave me my father’s will?”
He nods, leaning into me with every motion of his head. “Sí.”
“She wanted me to find whatever he left for me in a safety deposit box. I went alone.”
“And?” If he’s angry about the deception, I can’t tell.
“I found an old note written from someone in the city’s police department.”
“Really?”
I stiffen at the sudden grit in his tone. Maybe he is angry after all.
“What did it say?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” I whisper. “The point is: It just proved something I didn’t want to face.”
“And what was that?” His tone softens just enough for the tension to leave my limbs.
In his arms, I feel brave enough to admit the truth I haven’t faced. “When I read it, I…I hated him. Just
for a second, but I felt it.” Tears spill down my cheeks, but I don’t bother to brush them away. “I hated
him. Do you remember how Diane begged me to represent him at a benefit gala?”
He nods.
“Well, I haven’t even picked out a dress or made arrangements. I’m not sure I can show my face to
those people and pretend that everything is fine.”
“And you don’t have to. Trust your emotions. Do only what feels right.”
“That’s the problem,” I admit. “I don’t know what’s real or not. I don’t know what I should do—”
“I will tell you,” Damien says, sweeping his hand along my thigh. “All you need to do now is sleep.
In the morning, if you change your mind, I’ll be there for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I mean it. Lately…it’s like I can’t feel anything anymore.”
“Oh?” His fingers slip to graze my inner thigh. “I’m insulted, Ms. Thorne. You must be a damn good
