Read Deliciously Sinful for Free Online Page B

crickets chirped loudly all around the cabin. Consciously, he ceased the jarring motion of his leg moving, up and down, up and down.
    Then there was nothing. No noise. No distraction. Just Nick Avalon, alone. Alone in his head.
    His palms got sweaty, and he jumped up. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out. Slamming the porch door behind him, he went to the stereo and pushed buttons until the fast, electronic beat of a techno song exploded through the room. Finally he began to relax. He let the music invade his head, his chest, his soul. With the song blasting through the house, he undressed for bed.
    But he couldn’t wind down. It was too early. And somehow, even with the music pounding through him, it was too quiet. Standing in his room, he stared at his bed with disgust. The last thing he wanted to do was sleep. But what choice did he have?
    There was really only one thing he knew that would calm his racing mind. So he went to the kitchen and started to cook.

Chapter Four
     
    A rhythmic beat slowly drew Phoebe out of sleep. “What the…?” she muttered, opening her eyes. It was music. The unmistakable fast pulse of a drum coming through her open window. Or what should have been a drum. This sounded like some sort of electronic version of the instrument.
    She glanced at the clock. “It’s one o’clock in the effing morning,” she said to herself.
    Nick Avalon. Only one person would be blasting that annoying techno music in the early hours of the morning. “Inconsiderate jerk!” She threw off the vintage quilts that she slept under, then tiptoed out her bedroom door and down the old wooden stairs, being careful to skip the creaky one. If Jesse and Steve hadn’t woken up yet, she didn’t want to disturb them. Admittedly, Phoebe was a light sleeper, but anyone would agree that Nick Avalon was showing total disregard for his neighbors.
    Still in her long nightgown and socks, she slid on the boots near the front door and stalked out into the night.
    She tromped through the trees to the guesthouse, the music becoming louder as she made her way to the cabin. How dare he? Does he think he’s in an L.A. nightclub? “Insensitive, conceited, stuck-up jerk!”
    She didn’t bother knocking on his door; he wouldn’t hear her anyway, not over all that racket. Instead she barged inside, slamming the door behind her. The loud bang produced no response from Nick, so she called his name. Still, nothing. She went to the stereo and turned the music off. And even then, Nick didn’t appear.
    Then she paused as a waft of something sweet reached her nose. He must be in the kitchen. She followed the unmistakable scent of chocolate, her traitorous mouth already beginning to water.
    She found him mixing what appeared to be batter. Dan and Sally had renovated the cabin not long ago, and the space was modern although it appeared rustic. Knotty-pine cabinetry lined one wall, and a faux-antique stove took up a large portion of the space. Despite the humble appearance, the kitchen was equipped for a chef.
    And there happened to be one at the butcher-block island, mixing a bowl of something that looked creamy, chocolaty, and delicious.
    Nick was staring into the bowl as he stirred. His expression was intent on what he was doing, and she realized he hadn’t even noticed that the music had been shut off. She paused. She’d never seen this expression on his face. Normally he was so aloof, so standoffish. So intense he seemed wired to explode. But now, here alone in his own kitchen, his own element, she saw something different. He looked serene. Why didn’t he ever look that way in the café?
    Also, he never went without a shirt in the café, which, she had to admit, was a crying shame. Because just look at him.
    She bit her lip. He was wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His torso was lean but solid-looking, his arms defined. And then her gaze landed on the upper part of his chest. He had a large tattoo spanning the