Page 17 of Deadly Sins

His eyebrows lifted. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who looks beyond outward appearances.”

I bit my lip. “Compared to where it is I am from, this place is like palace.” Grant had a point. This could be the best sushi in the city, but I would’ve never agreed to go here when we were dating.

I’d never considered myself to be pretentious, but I admit I’d been a tad judgmental. I wondered if Grant had held himself back with me, afraid to push me to try new experiences. Why hadn’t I just been more open when I was with him?

The waitress sat us at a cramped table, stuck between the sushi bar and the restroom. Grant ordered a bunch of rolls, Asahi beer for himself, and sake for me.

He held my hand across the table. “So, how long have you been in San Diego?”

“Few months. I lived together in San Francisco with my baba. She died, and it was too much money for me there to live. I have friend here who was dancer and made good money, so I come down. The clubs in San Francisco are good, but houses are not so cheap.” My story was solid—I’d gone over it a thousand times—but gazing across at a man who regularly interrogated terrorists caused my palms to sweat.

The waitress brought us the first batch of rolls. Grant swirled a neon-green mound of wasabi in the soy sauce with such concentration, I shuddered from his intensity. “So you live with your friend?” he asked.

“No. She got boyfriend and quit the club. I live with older woman. She gives to me room in home, and I help with cleaning and cooking.” I tasted a piece of sushi—the Motion in the Oceanroll. The spicy jalapeño sauce lit my lips on fire while the sweet citrus put out the flame. I swallowed the tuna, the slithery fish sliding down my throat. Dear God, please don’t let me gag. I had been a vegan for years. But I knew there was no chance I could remain one in front of Grant.

“You could clean and cook for me.”

“Very funny.”

He popped a crunchy soft-shell crab roll into his mouth. “I’m serious, I travel all the time for my job. I could use some help.”

Was he kidding me? He had to be joking—he did not just invite a stripper he’d just met to move in with him. I dated this jackass for two years, and we hadn’t even lived together.

“No, thank you. I do not know you.”

His eyebrow lifted, and his mouth widened into a sly smile. “Well, get to know me.”

My head pounded, and it wasn’t from the cheap saké. Who was this man who sat across from me? Was it possible to change that much, or did every man reinvent himself when dating someone new? I fought the desire to kick Grant in the balls, hightail it out of there, and get back to my life.

“What is it you do for living?”

“I sell pharmaceuticals.” His nose didn’t even twitch; he’d become an expert at hiding his lies. Though this fib didn’t bother me. SEALs never told civilians what they did for a living. Joaquín told everyone he met that he drove an ice cream truck. That guy you met in a bar boasting about being a SEAL? He was a liar.

We made small talk over the rest of dinner. I kept quiet, trying not to arouse suspicion.

“Let’s get out of here. I want to take you somewhere.” He signaled to the waitress and paid the bill in cash.

We slid onto the back of his bike, and I placed my arms around him. I wanted to vanish into this moment, go back to the way we were when we had first fallen in love. Before he deployed that first time. Before I’d done something stupid. Before I didn’t have the guts to confide in him.

Grant headed down to the pier, in front of the USS Midway, a retired Naval carrier turned maritime museum. The millions of lights from the ship illuminated the ocean, as the view of Coronado’s Hotel Del beckoned in the distance. Grant might be lying to his date about his job, but he was also sharing his love of the Navy. Maybe he didn’t see Ksenya as just a conquest.

We stood under the world-famous Unconditional Surrender statue, which portrayed a sailor kissing a nurse at the end of World War II.

Grant took me into his arms, and I was sure he was going to kiss me under the moonlight. “You’re so incredibly hot. Let’s go to a hotel.”

“Nyet.”

“Come on, babe. We’ll have a great time. If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll take you home. I just want to spend some time with you.”

My first instinct was to slap him. But my panties became damp as I imagined what this new Grant would do to me.

Which way should I go—sweet, shy good girl forced into stripping? Or nasty, freaky bad girl who owned her sexuality?

I had vowed when this deception started—hell, when this date started—to never sleep with him again, fearful that he would discover my identity. Now I decided I wasn’t going to make any rules. I’d fooled him so far; maybe I could fool him in bed as well. I’d spent every night for the past two and a half years imagining making love to him. As Mia, I’d been the girl next door, a young, inexperienced virgin, petrified to ask him to act out my deepest fantasies. But I had always harbored a secret desire to play the temptress.

If Grant wanted to party, I’d be ecstatic to rock his world. This time, I wouldn’t hold back. I couldn’t. Ksenya would have to be a wildcat in bed for me to pull off this deception.

Sleeping with Grant might be the only way to truly have him let down his guard and open up to me. But this time, sex would be on my terms, on my timeline—and for once in my life, I’d be in control.