My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series

by Blakely, Lauren

  “I can’t believe you’re an uncle,” I said, shaking my head in wonder.

  “My niece is adorable.” He took out his phone, clicked open the galleries, and showed me pictures, including one with the girl and a black-and-white dog. My stomach tightened for a moment as I thought of the pregnancy I’d lost, but I shoved that aside. I’d learned to live with the pain, and now it was barely a dull ache. It was a memory, one that didn’t have the same power it had years ago.

  “That’s Ace. He’s the border collie mix they adopted a few years ago.

  My heart skipped a beat because he looked like a dog I knew well. “Ryan has a dog like that,” I said. “Named him Johnny Cash. Because he’s mostly black. The Man in Black and all.”

  “Great name.”

  “Ryan treats him like a king. I think he even cooks him steak on Sundays.”

  “Lucky dog,” Brent said with a smile.

  “Have you been back in Vegas long?” I asked, before taking another drink of my martini.

  “A little over a year. I returned to start the clubs,” he said.

  We chatted about the city, work, and our new businesses. As we drained our drinks and started a second round, I realized he was staring at me, like he had a secret.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, swiping my fingers across my lips.

  “I’m still thinking about kissing you,” he said, owning the glint in his eyes.

  That kiss this morning had brought so many feelings flooding back.

  Feelings I’d locked up for years.

  I wasn’t ready to jump back into a relationship. I wasn’t prepared to put the past behind me yet. We had a long way to go. Trust wasn’t restored in a day, and faith didn’t heal with one earth-shattering kiss.

  But need was another matter. It roared back to life.

  No surprise there.

  When Brent and I had been together, he’d fucked all my troubles away. Every kiss, every touch, every taste was the antidote to a painful memory. Sex with him was exhilarating. It was the greatest rush, the sweetest high. It was ecstatic amnesia. When he fucked me, I was no longer one of the Paige-Prince kids. I was not the left behind, the whispered about, one of those kids whose mother murdered their father for money.

  With Brent, I was muscle and bone, solid and strong. I was a woman wanted by a man.

  I wanted that man too. With everything inside me. The desire burrowed into my blood. It called out insistently, like a beating drum, like a fire in my veins. I might regret this later. I might regret it in a few minutes. But in that moment, I didn’t feel regret. I felt hungry. I felt greedy.

  I felt justified.

  I reached for the collar of his shirt. “You said you know the owner, right?”

  He just grinned. “I do.”

  My meaning was clear.

  And Brent knew what to do with it. Holding up a finger, he stepped away to talk to his friend, then returned to me a minute later. He tipped his forehead to the back of the bar, guiding me to a cramped office by the restrooms.

  Cramped worked just fine for my needs.

  In seconds, we were inside, Brent shutting and locking the door behind us.

  I leaned against it.

  He inched closer. “You,” he said in a low rumble that sent goosebumps over my skin, a promise of other things he’d say in that wickedly sexy voice. “You are perfection. And like I told Mindy this morning, I can’t stand the thought of you slipping away again. I will do whatever it takes to keep you,” he said, and the words torched my heart. They started a bonfire in my belly.

  I wasn’t ready to be kept. I wasn’t making promises. But I was ready to feel.

  So I pushed back with a tease, tugging at his shirt, toying with the buttons. “But you don’t even have me.”

  His eyes darkened. “I am well aware of that. And I intend to change it.”

  He kissed me, sending me to that druggy, blissed-out state in seconds, like he’d done this morning.

  This man, he knew what I needed.

  He slipped a hand under the soft material of my top, pressing gently against my belly. I murmured my intense appreciation for his hands as he kissed and touched. And while he kept my lips occupied, his fingers danced lower, down my skirt, then up, traveling along my thighs.

  I ached for him. The kisses that morning had lingered with me all day. I was a woman on edge, operating at high levels of lust.

  His hand made its way inside the waistband of my panties, then lower and lower still, and . . . oh dear God . . . his fingers were on a fast track for my hot, wet center. When he glided them across me, my knees nearly buckled.

  “Oh, babe, was it all that kissing that got you this hot?” he whispered as he stroked.

  “Yes. It was . . . perfection,” I answered quietly as I shuddered in his arms, dying for more of his touch, for him to get me off as only he could.

  “Good. Because this wetness is fucking perfect for my fingers to slide through,” he said in my ear as he stroked. “All this fucking beautiful wetness. For me. Just for me.”

  I rocked my hips into his hand. “Yes,” I said softly, my voice trancelike, my body overcome with silver sparks of desire as he rubbed his fingers across my heat. “It’s all for you.”

  10

  Brent

  She was hotter than she’d ever been. Slippery wetness coated my fingers. Her slick heat was all over my hand.

  I was wound up, turned all the way on, but there was one thing I had to have. I moved my lips along her neck, then whispered in her ear, “You have to be quiet, but you need to say my name when you come.”

  I needed to hear it on her lips. Needed her to feel me owning her body. Needed to use the physical part of our reconnection to show her we could be as good as we were before.

  “Yes, Brent,” she said with a moan, rocking against my hand.

  Her panties were useless. I was dying to rip them off her, spread her wide, and properly worship her gorgeous body.

  But this was a high too—a quickie of sorts in an office with paper-thin walls. It was such a thrill. Her need to come was intoxicating.

  I slid my fingers across her, so wet and warm and inviting. She trembled against me as I stroked, hungry for my touch.

  I could feel the way tension tightened in her body as she neared the edge.

  “You’re so close, babe. I know you want to moan and cry out, right?”

  “Oh God, I do.”

  “And it’ll be even harder for you to hold back when I slide my fingers into you,” I said, doing just that. Her beautiful body was strung tight, stretched to the limits of her own desire, her own sexuality. I loved knowing how to play her, how to touch her, how to send her into a land of bliss.

  Some things didn’t change.

  She rode my fingers, her breath coming fast, like she was seconds away from nirvana. “Come for me, babe. Let me feel you come all over my hand,” I said, and she clenched tightly around me, her body shuddering in my arms.

  I watched her face, her gorgeous, beautiful face, as she squeezed her eyes shut and nearly sealed her lips together to zip up her cries as she came on my fingers. Right as she reached the crest, she whispered in a broken, beautiful pant, “Brent.”

  It was everything I’d ever wanted to hear from her.

  As she trembled, I kissed her lips once more, feeling like maybe, just maybe, I was starting to prove myself to her.

  But orgasms didn’t cure everything. There was so much more I needed to do.

  Later, I took her home, dropped her off, and said I wanted to see her again. “I have to go to New York tomorrow. I want to see you when I come back,” I told her.

  “Sounds promising.”

  I arched a brow. “More than promising?”

  Her lips curved up in a grin as she took the scarf off her neck, wrapped it around me once, and held the ends. She looked me square in the eyes. “I love this scarf, but I’m leaving it behind. So you can find me again.”

  The
n she left, heading into her house.

  And the scarf was so much more than a scarf.

  It was a promise between the two of us.

  * * *

  The next night, I listened to the comedian working the stage at Bob’s Beer Haven and Comedy Club in Soho. The dimly lit venue off Spring Street had a been-there-for-years vibe that I dug.

  I’d be meeting my brother here shortly, then tomorrow I’d see the owner of the building where I’d leased space.

  Until then, I was enjoying the young comic. He had a Will Ferrell style, and I liked his set. When he finished, I nodded my appreciation to Bob.

  “He’s a good find,” I said.

  “Yeah, he’s not too bad,” Bob said as he wiped down some glasses.

  “The place is still bringing it.” I looked around, checking out the crowds, still sardined into the place with no signs of leaving.

  “But not for much longer.” He sighed.

  “Sorry to hear about your landlord. Who the hell needs a quadrupling in rent?” I asked, still shocked the landlord could be so grubby.

  “Things I ask myself every day,” he said. He was shutting down operations soon, and the location had been leased to a chain restaurant.

  “Don’t stress about it, man. We’ve got plans,” I said. Bob was a solid businessman, and I’d promised him a job managing my club in New York, provided we got the approval from the city to open it. With two kids in college now, the man had needed to find a new gig quickly, and I’d been glad to potentially offer him something.

  “And I’m looking forward to those plans,” he said, then tipped his forehead to the end of the bar. A man in a cap had sat down, looking in need of a beer. “I’m going to take care of some customers.”

  “Keep up the good work,” I said, then stepped away a minute later when my brother and his wife arrived.

  We ordered burgers and caught up on family and work. Then Julia studied my face. “You look particularly . . . happy.”

  “Do I?” I asked.

  Her eyes twinkled with delight. “I bet there’s a new lady in your life.”

  I shook my head, but my smile gave me away.

  “Serve it up,” Clay said, wiggling his fingers.

  I shrugged. “Not new. It’s Shannon.”

  My brother nearly dropped his glass. “The one you fucked up royally with?”

  “Thanks for not mincing words.”

  “I never mince words. But now I’m going to need the full story.”

  I gave them the basics, then figured this was a chance for me to gain further wisdom in the art of pursuing this woman. Mindy’s advice was a terrific foundation, but I could definitely add to my education with Julia. “So, I’m on this whole prove-myself-to-her kick. To show her I can be the man she needs. What do I do?”

  Julia replied immediately. “The answer is simple. You need to focus on what matters to her. How can you show her how important she is to you? Where did you fail in the past in that regard?”

  I scoffed, thinking of my canceled trips and focus on work. “That’s gonna be a long list.”

  “Then take it item by item, step by step, and follow her cues,” she said.

  When we left, I hailed a cab and headed to my Midtown hotel. As the cab ambled through traffic, I unlocked the screen on my phone and opened up a new text message to Shannon. Keep it simple, keep it direct. That was what I’d do.

  Brent: I’m in New York . . . thinking of you. I fly back late Saturday. Can I see you Sunday night?

  Shannon: I don’t know. Can you?

  Brent: May I?

  Shannon: What will you be wearing?

  Brent: What do you want me to wear?

  As the cab weaved through traffic, I clutched the phone and peered out the window, forcing myself not to simply stare at the screen and wait for a reply. As I scanned the billboards and neon signs, I spotted one up ahead with a body in motion. A dancer leaping through the air. I read the details on the sign, and something clicked.

  “Yes,” I said triumphantly, and I had the answer to the question Julia had posed to me—about what matters most to Shannon. I was about to begin a quick Google search when she replied.

  Shannon: Honestly, you’re pretty hot in nothing. But I don’t think you should parade around naked at dinner, and I keep hearing the new restaurant in The Cromwell is fantastic. There’s a four-month wait though. And I know you hate waiting. But maybe you can get us in . . .

  Like there was a chance in hell I wouldn’t.

  Brent: Consider it done.

  The cab arrived at my hotel, and several phone calls later, I’d pulled it off. I knew enough people in Vegas, so I’d called in some favors and secured the reservation for the woman I wanted most in the world. I also had something else for her, thanks to a couple of extra minutes spent googling and ordering, but I’d wait until dinner to give her that gift.

  Now I couldn’t wait for dinner.

  * * *

  Tanner Davies snapped his fingers to get the waitress’s attention the next day at McCoy’s in Midtown. The woman with the bouncy ponytail doubled back to our table. “Yes?”

  “I said I wanted sweetened iced tea. This is unsweetened. Take it back,” he barked, making a get-this-out-of-my-face gesture with his fingers.

  “Right away, sir,” she said with a deferential nod.

  “Anyway,” he said to me, “like I was saying, the neighbors are worried about you, man. They think you won’t address their concerns properly.”

  “With four clubs opened in the first year, I think I’ve shown how serious I am. We just opened St. Barts, which followed our new clubs in Miami and San Francisco, and of course our first club in Vegas,” I said, carefully detailing the progress my business had made during the first twelve months of operations.

  Tanner shrugged dismissively. I wasn’t so sure if he was the enemy or just the gatekeeper of all the problems the city kept heaping on me. Permits were shooting up in cost. The zoning commissioner threw up roadblocks. But New York was a linchpin in my plans for Edge.

  “What’s the real concern?” I asked, opting for directness. “And what can I do to help ease it?”

  Tanner scratched his jaw, then cleared his throat. “Look. I’m just the messenger here, so don’t shoot me. But the neighbors worry you’re just some former TV celebrity, living it up now in Sin City, who’s going to bring a lot of noise and crowd and trouble into their neighborhood at night. The whole Vegas thing doesn’t sit well with them. Vegas isn’t exactly a family town,” Tanner said, and I reined in the flash of anger I felt at the way he was insulting my city. Any city had its troubles, including New York. Vegas had plenty of good in it too, just like New York. “And they want to know why they should allow another club in their neighborhood.”

  “The location is zoned for a nightclub,” I said, pointing out the obvious, because that was the reality of the property. Rather than dealing with intangibles, or the Vegas disdain, I wanted to try to focus on the facts. “You had one in the building before mine, and it went out of business.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying to them,” he said. “But they want to know why you.”

  The question was entirely personal.

  But I kept my answer on business.

  “Because we don’t attract a raunchy crowd. You won’t find clubgoers puking outside these neighbors’ loft apartments at three in the morning. My clubs are upscale and classy. They have a certain mystique, a lush sensuality, but it never crosses over into trashy.”

  The waitress returned with a fresh iced tea for Tanner. “Here you go, sir. Sweetened, as you requested.”

  My lunch companion grunted, then spoke to me. “That’s what we need the neighborhood association to see.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And it wouldn’t hurt if you threw in a few thousand to have some of the Tribeca parks redone. There are a couple in need of a makeover, and that would make the residents happy.”

  I wasn’t entirely fond of the payola approac
h, but he wasn’t asking me to grease his palm—he was asking to build a park for kids. “Easy enough. I’ll be glad to do that. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, how about you peel off a little extra for me? The ex is trying to take me to court for alimony payments.” I didn’t answer, but Tanner quickly waved a hand and flashed his yellowed smile. “I’m just kidding. I won’t let the bitch have a dime of my money. And I’ll help you with all this. I want your club in my building.”

  “Great. And I want Edge there too. So let me know if there’s anything else you need from me.”

  “That’s all for now. But I’m sure there will be something else soon. That’s how it goes in New York. You gotta do whatever it takes.”

  That seemed to be the new mantra in my life, whether with a certain woman or with business.

  11

  Shannon

  I extended my arms high above my head, my palms flat together, my fingers pointing toward the sky. Solid warrior pose. Just like my grandmother beside me.

  “You’re a yoga badass,” I said to her.

  “Just like you,” she answered.

  At age seventy-three, Victoria Paige showed no signs of slowing down. She was fit, trim, muscular, and determined to keep up with anyone and everyone.

  “Even the dog is getting jealous of my yoga skills,” she said with a wink as we shifted poses on the sun porch of her ranch home in one of the nicer areas in the Vegas suburbs, a house that we four grandkids had bought for her. Her boxer mix raised his snout at us then returned to lounging in the sun.

  “As well he should be, Nana. Your downward dog is the best,” I said as we both planted our hands on our mats.

  I peered into the backyard, taking in the familiar family scene on a Sunday. Michael was fixing a fencepost with our grandfather, while Ryan and Colin tended to the grill. The homey scene was almost enough to make anyone forget why the six of us were so close.