Home > Sweet Temptation (The Sweet Trilogy #4)(2)

Sweet Temptation (The Sweet Trilogy #4)(2)
Author: Wendy Higgins

Kaidan’s heart pounded in the wake of his father’s words. Then he heard several sets of footsteps coming down the hall toward their sitting room—toward him. He gripped the chair’s arms tighter and set his face in a bored expression to hide the fear and excitement exploding through him like indecipherable lyrics. It was time to set himself apart from the other boys. There was no room in his life for guilt or humanistic morals. He was born for this. He was determined to embrace it and finally earn his father’s approval, despite the sourness rising up in his throat.

Pharzuph leaned back in his chair, lifting an ankle across his knee, staring darkly at Kaidan. A knock sounded on the sitting room door and his father’s lips rose in a wicked grin. “And now, son, the fun begins.”

 

 

PART ONE


Sweet Evil


“Break Me” by Kaidan Rowe

I can see you, see you, see you, seeking me out.

You can sense me, sense me, and it’s freaking you out.

I make you thirsty, hungry, but you can’t stay away.

Your eyes are on my body ’cause you want it my way.

Your mind and soul are screaming,

Saying RUN from the danger.

You know that something ain’t right

But you’re a bee to my nectar.

Your mind and soul are screaming,

Warning, “He’s gonna break us,”

But your body is begging me

To feed your emptiness. . . .

CHORUS:

I want those eyes to push me

And those hands to pull me,

Need those hips to break me,

Baby, break me, break me.

It’s gonna hurt tomorrow

When you’re sayonara,

But for now, for now, baby, break me,

Break me.

You ignored all the signs

From your heart and your mind

Now your body is spent,

Baby, broken, broken.

You had a taste of the good life,

Sweet and salt from the high dive.

Now your tongue is left craving.

Baby, craving, craving.

You and me, we were doomed.

Now you’re licking your wounds.

And I’m gone, baby, gone

On the winds of the dawn.

CHORUS

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

Before


“Like a big bad wolf I’m born to be bad and bad to the bone.

If you fall for me I’m only gonna tear you apart.”

—“Break Your Heart” by Taio Cruz

“I’m never gonna fall, but I’m never hard to catch . . .

My heart will never break, I’m just here to break a sweat.”

—“Casual Sex” by My Darkest Days

I’m the last of the band to walk into the party after our gig. I feel the eyes on me before I see them—the energy of auras blasting orange and red—excited whispers of “Oh my God, it’s Kaidan Rowe” carried along sublime waves of music at high wattage. Guardian angels float above their charges, wary when they see me.

I take my time entering the room behind our lead singer, Michael, who makes a grand entrance of throwing his arms up in the air as if to say, “These are my people!” Everyone cheers. Nobody seems to mind that he’s a cheeky bastard.

I’ve been in America less than a year this March and not much has changed from when I lived in London. My life is still a blur of drums, sex, and food—the Kaifecta—the only things worth living for in this fucked-up world.

My fingers are in the pockets of my black denim jeans and the front of my hair covers one of my eyes, but I can still see through the strands of brown. In one quick moment I scan the room and find three girls from the gig with red-hot auras, eyes glued to me. In half a minute I’m able to gather all I need from their auras, their body language, and the whispered conversations they’re having, which I hear clearly with my Nephilim senses.

“I am all over that. . . .”

“. . . heard he’s amazing . . .”

“. . . probably a jerk. He’s way too hot. . . .”

That last one is far more innocent than the others, and she is the one I choose. A cute brunette. I send her a nod. When she stares and slowly blushes, I look away. Then I turn and follow my mates into the kitchen for a drink.

The first seed has been planted. She will pursue.

In the kitchen a girl with short blond hair laughs at something some bloke is saying. He’s the nice guy, comedian type, wearing an oversized T-shirt. The moment I walk in, her attention wavers to me and her happy yellow aura turns to a fog of surprise, a flame of orange excitement, and then an uprising of red. The bloke tries to get her attention back, but I’ve friend-zoned him. Poor guy. I do feel bad for the ones who have to try so hard. If only they’d act like the sexual beings they are.

Any bloke who seems not to think about sex all day and night is a right liar. Or he’s attempting to train his mind for sainthood, which is idiotic.

Trust me on this.

When the blond chick turns to grab her drink, sending a fluttery-eyed glance my direction, the seemingly nice guy ogles her arse, as he should, and his aura goes thick as red mud. When she turns to him again, he quickly retrains his face into the quirky smile.

I know all the tricks. Don’t bother with the polite, shy bit. It’s not what most birds go for—though I have had to put on the witty, good-guy act to win over a few. I’m willing to play whatever role will put them in their comfort zone—their ease leads to their nakedness. And nakedness is my comfort zone. It is what I seek.

Something soft brushes against my arm, and I look down to see the brunette from the other room sliding purposely against me as she edges through the crowd toward the drink counter. Our eyes meet and I give her a smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances down before looking back up at me.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m just . . .” She points to the drinks on the other side of me.

“May I get you something?” I ask.

She stares for a moment, as if my voice and accent were unexpected. Her chest is pressed against my upper abs, and the crowd jostles us together. A cloud of red surrounds her, and I open my senses to let in the peachy scent of her pheromones.

Right. That’ll do. I’m ready to shag her. Thankfully I’m a pro at this next bit. Getting someone into bed is an art. A dance. It’s crucial not to misread her.

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