My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series

by Blakely, Lauren

  After Tate left, I stood too, but James sat me back down. Concern was etched in his eyes. “Never seen you like this.” James gestured heavenward. “It wasn’t even like you weren’t here—it was like you were on another planet.”

  I rubbed my hand over my jaw, the day-old stubble reminding me that I hadn’t even bothered to shave this morning. I glanced down at my outfit, making sure I’d remembered to put on clothes. The jeans and button-down I wore were the only reassurance that I hadn’t gone completely insane. I’d remembered to dress.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  James patted me on the shoulder. “Hey, no worries. I’m here for you. This is your ship, and you steer it. But my job is to have your back. You sure you’re okay?”

  No. I wasn’t.

  Only, I had to man up. I had to deal. I had to do a better job. After all, how could I be there for Shannon if I couldn’t even assist my colleagues?

  But before I could answer, he kept going. “And how can I help?”

  Help.

  That four-letter word said so much.

  Maybe what I needed was help.

  Because hand in hand with help came honesty. Openness. Vulnerability.

  That was what I’d need with her.

  Perhaps I could start in some small way here.

  “James,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender, owning up to my issues. “I’m someplace else right now. Help me out. What do you need from me?”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  We sat down and reviewed what the hell that meeting had been about.

  I focused on him, shared my thoughts, and made decisions.

  When he was through, he clapped my shoulder. “I’m good with this plan, and I’m glad you’re on board, but why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Whatever business you have scheduled, I can attend to.”

  “I should cut out early,” I said, blinking, trying to focus again on the world around me.

  “Do that. Let me know what you need me to take care of. I’ve got some calls to make.”

  That sparked a wire in my brain.

  Call.

  I’d promised Shannon I’d call today.

  The day was young, and I was going to make sure I showed up for her.

  Like Mindy had said, I needed to prove to her I could be the man she needed.

  I might not know how to be there for her, but I would ask, I would learn, and I would listen.

  And I would do.

  I stood, a blast of necessary energy zipping through me. I went to the Wynn to find Mindy.

  19

  Shannon

  Colin high-fived me as soon as the glass doors to the network headquarters swung shut. The network had agreed to the terms, and my brother had just booked me a marquee contract for a quick, high-paying, high-profile gig.

  The deal-making momentarily took my mind off the sting of last night.

  But only momentarily.

  “You’re a rock star,” I told him as we headed down the steps to the waiting car that would whisk us back to the airport, then home to Vegas before the clock struck three.

  “No, you are,” he said.

  As soon as we slid into the air-conditioned vehicle, I checked my phone, hoping for something.

  The screen was empty. A lump rose in my throat, but I shoved it back down. I would not cry over a lack of messages. I would not lament the radio silence.

  He’d made a promise to call me today, and the day wasn’t over. I had a choice before me.

  I could believe him.

  I hadn’t believed hard enough before.

  If I wanted this to work, I would have to.

  But I didn’t have to handle this waiting alone.

  I had my brother.

  He’d been there for me. I’d been there for him. We’d helped each other through the roughest spots in our lives.

  I dropped a hand on Colin’s arm. “Hey, you know when you asked about my man trouble this morning?”

  “Ah, so that’s what it is?”

  “Yes,” I said, a knot in my throat.

  “Had a feeling. What kind?” His tone was caring, gentle.

  “It’s Brent.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa.”

  “We started seeing each other again.”

  “After the meeting at the Waldorf Astoria?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, you got it bad.”

  I slugged his arm. “Stop!”

  “I’m just saying—I’m impressed.” Then he turned serious. “Tell me what’s up.”

  Quickly, I caught him up to speed on the basics, then finished with “And the thing is, I made a mistake years ago, assuming the worst about Brent, and it keeps haunting me.”

  “That’s what you were getting at earlier when we were flying down,” he said, nodding in understanding.

  “Yes. And I want to stop assuming the worst. I want to change. You know how to change behaviors,” I said, since Colin had battled drug and alcohol addiction years ago, finding his way to the other side. “How do you do it?”

  He drew in a deep breath and smiled. “You make a choice.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  He nodded, clasping my hand. “It’s that simple, and it’s that hard.”

  I let those words register. They made all the sense in the world. I had all my options in front of me.

  I could choose to change. I could choose to have faith. I could choose to believe.

  “I can do that,” I said, keeping my voice strong. Brent and I would work it out.

  He’d promised.

  I believed.

  “And I’m here for you. Whatever you need,” Colin said.

  “I know,” I replied softly, resting my head briefly on his shoulder.

  Then I opened a new text message and sent Brent a note.

  Shannon: I am thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you. When you’re ready, I’m here.

  That was it. That was all. It was time to make a change. It was my turn to believe in hope.

  I had history. I had baggage. But I was willing to fight my way to the other side.

  20

  Brent

  Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” rang out from a nearby slot machine as coins splashed into the metal bucket. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt working the one-armed bandit shouted a triumphant “Yes!”

  Mindy and I walked past the slot machines while she made her afternoon rounds through the casino.

  “I see you are in need of my royal wisdom,” Mindy began.

  I held up a finger. “Always, Queen.”

  “Then get ready for some tough love, my friend.” She stopped at an empty Cleopatra machine, parking her hand on the historical figure’s golden headband.

  I bounced on my toes like a boxer. “I’m ready. Bring it on.”

  “Here goes. You want her back? Then you don’t get to step away when shit gets hard.”

  “I didn’t walk away,” I said, trying to defend my actions. “I told her I needed time to deal with it.”

  Mindy nodded a few times, acknowledging me. “Fine, you needed time. You needed space. I understand. It was a shock. Well, you’ve had your time and you’ve had your space. Now, man up.”

  That knocked me out of my stupor of self-loathing. I had wanted so badly to be everything she needed, but when push came to shove, I’d let pride and fear and a million other things stand in the way.

  “Shit,” I said heavily. “I’ve fucked up.”

  “No. You haven’t fucked up,” she said, pressing her fingers to my cheeks and turning my frown upside down. “You just took a step back. Now, take some steps forward. This time, instead of walking away, walk back to her. Talk to her. And don’t be afraid, because you think you can’t handle it. Because you think you aren’t equipped.” She poked my chest. “Because you are. You worked your ass off to get where you are in business. You did it in comedy, and you’re doing it with your clubs. Apply that same tenacity to her.”

  But did I do
that today in the meeting? I raised a hand tentatively. “Confession—my mind was elsewhere in a meeting today. I had to ask James for a recap.”

  She smacked my shoulder. “Good.”

  “How is that good?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You asked for help. You need to do that with her. Ask her how you can be there for her. Ask her how to be the man she needs. Tell her you might not always know but you want to try.”

  Mindy’s words were ice water splashed onto me. They were the stark reminder that I might not even truly comprehend the scope of Shannon’s past and her pain. But that would be all right, if I could be there for her.

  The thing I’d failed to do before was what I had to do now. “I need to see her right away.”

  I cycled back to our last few conversations, trying to figure out where she might be. “I think she’s on her way back from LA. I’m guessing that showing up at the airport with a sign isn’t the way to go?”

  Mindy patted my shoulder. “You are learning. Such a good subject.”

  And I was learning.

  Don’t give up.

  I reached for my phone, tensing briefly when I saw a text from her. Then grinning as I read it, because her words meant so damn much.

  They meant she wasn’t assuming the worst.

  She was hoping for the best.

  I dialed her number. It went straight to voicemail.

  But this time around, I would show up.

  * * *

  I waited outside her building, with a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand.

  In some ways, flowers were just flowers. They were an ordinary, average gift. But since Shannon had photos of sunflowers in her home, they were clearly her favorite.

  They also said I’d listened. That I was trying to understand the woman I wanted back.

  After I parked my bike at the curb, I sat on the steps and answered emails.

  I called her again, and encountered her voicemail once more. But that was okay.

  There would be no missed calls, no missed emails.

  And no mixed messages.

  I would be clear.

  I stood, pacing back and forth in front of the building. I probably looked like a stalker, and I hoped her neighbors wouldn’t call the cops or neighborhood watch on me.

  Nobody seemed to care, though, that I was hovering around the entrance. A hipster with huge headphones nodded hello on his way upstairs. A brunette with a yoga mat walked past me and into the lobby.

  Some dude in a Buick parked by the curb glanced over at me a few times, giving a cursory hey there nod.

  I paced up and down the block to kill more time, my phone clutched in my hand. I reached the corner, turned around, and headed back.

  The guy was still in his car, his arm hanging out the driver’s window, watching Shannon’s building.

  A bit too closely for my taste.

  He’d been there for twenty, thirty minutes, looking like he was reading a book, but he kept glancing up, scanning the street as if he didn’t want to miss anything.

  It reminded me of a cop on a stakeout, only the guy didn’t reek of cop. He was too young.

  And something about him rubbed me the wrong way. It was hard to say what it was, but as I neared the Buick again, I held up my phone as if answering a message.

  Instead, I snapped a few pictures of the side of the car, so I could zoom in on the guy’s arm, covered in ink.

  I tucked my phone away as I reached the open window. “How’s it going?” I asked casually.

  “Good,” the guy grumbled. He had a baby face and looked young enough to be carded if he were at Edge. I continued along the block, and turned around again at the corner. As I returned, the Buick was no longer idling at the curb.

  The guy pulled out into traffic and was driving away. I took one more shot, trying to capture his license plate, getting most of the numbers but not quite all.

  Probably just some neighborhood guy. But I didn’t like the idea of anyone hanging around Shannon’s building for too long. Except for me. Call me a hypocrite, but I knew my own motives. Trusted my own motives.

  Then I stopped thinking about anyone but Shannon when her name flashed across my screen.

  At last.

  I answered in a nanosecond.

  21

  The Guy Outside the Building

  I hadn’t seen her today.

  But still, I watched.

  It was my turn.

  And I had to take it. To do what I had to do.

  I’d seen her before, a couple of times. I’d checked out her hood too.

  Nice location, that was for sure.

  She was lucky, damn lucky, to live here.

  Today, I saw some dude pacing in front of the place, and I made mental notes. Tattoos on his arms. Dark hair. And flowers.

  I wanted to know who he was.

  What he knew.

  What he didn’t know.

  If he had answers I didn’t have.

  Someday, I’d have all the answers.

  But I didn’t need to draw attention to myself, or my mission. I started the engine, dropped my shades, and took off, leaving the guy with the sunflowers behind.

  22

  Shannon

  My thirsty phone drank its charge on the drive home, waking up near my condo. Glancing briefly at the screen, I saw a barrage of missed calls from Brent.

  I squealed.

  I called back immediately.

  “I’m at your house, waiting for you,” he said.

  Those words. They made my heart soar. “I’ll be there in one minute.”

  My heart thumped too when I pulled up to the curb. I stepped out of the car, and he was waiting outside my building.

  For me.

  Looking cool and sexy and so damn caring. Standing in the afternoon sun, holding a bouquet of flowers.

  “Hey, gorgeous. I made you a promise,” he said, striding across the sidewalk. Our eyes connected.

  “Yeah? What’s that?” I asked, trying to hide a smile but failing as I got out of the car. The smile owned me.

  “That I’d call. That I’d see you. That I’d be here for you,” he said, strong and confident.

  He stopped inches from me, flowers in hand, and I looked up at him. “I want to be here for you too,” I said.

  “We’ll be here for each other. How does that sound?”

  I sighed. Contentedly. “It sounds like . . .” I took my time, enjoying the moment, before I said, “Perfection.”

  He handed me the flowers. “These are for you.”

  My smile could not be contained. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him why, or all that they meant to me, but I told him enough, saying, “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

  He slid his arm around my waist. “Listen, I know it takes more than just appearing out of thin air at your house. I know I need to apologize yet again. Because I said some things last night I’m not proud of. I said, ‘It’s always about you.’ And that’s a terrible thing to say.” He stroked my cheek with his other hand. “You’ve been to hell and back, babe. And all I want is to be by your side. To be your man. I won’t always know what to say, I won’t always know what to do, but I want to be here. For you. For us. Do you believe me?”

  My heart thundered in my chest. “I do, Brent. And I want that too. But I also don’t want to be the baggage in your life. I want to help carry yours too. I have been through some tough times, and that means I’ve got some experience dealing with whatever trouble might come. So if you ever need me to carry your bags, I’ll do it for you.”

  He grinned, a lopsided one. “I’m strong. I’ve got it.”

  I set the flowers gently on the ground, then ran my hands along his arms, strong indeed. “I know you are. But you can lean on me if you need to.”

  He pressed his shoulder against mine, smiling. “Like this?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  He wrapped me in his arms. So strong, so warm. “Shan, I wish I were there for you ten years ago. I wish I’
d been there when you surprised me because I would have been so damn happy to hear your news,” he said, and my throat hitched at his words. “And I would have been sad with you the next day, but I would have held your hand, and brushed your hair, and brought you soup, and taken care of you.”

  Tears leaked down my face at the sentiment, the beauty of it, the heart of it. I looked up at him. “Thank you,” I whispered, barely able to speak. But I had to. I had to find my voice. “I would have wanted all that.”

  He ran the back of his fingers along my cheeks, wiping my tears away. “But I’m glad we talked about it. And I’m here if you ever want to talk about it again.”

  I smiled, shook my head. “I’m good. I want to move forward.”

  “Me too,” he said softly.

  Then I cleared my throat, because if I was going to make a change—and that was the choice I was indeed making—it had to come with truth and ownership. “But I’m not done yet. Because you were right—I do assume the worst. I do go to the negative. I’ve done that with you, and it’s not fair. I want you to know I’m going to try like hell to assume the best.”

  A grin was my reward. “I’m all for good assumptions. Like, for instance, you can assume I’ll want to see you tomorrow,” he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  I looped my arms around his neck. “Good. Assume I’ll say yes.”

  “I like when you make an ass of you and me,” he said, and I laughed, relishing that we could go from tears to laughter in the span of a few minutes. His hands gripped my waist, and he dropped the teasing. “Shan, I know we’ve both done things to each other we regret, said things we wish we hadn’t said.”

  “And we’ve both shut down. We’ve both turned away,” I added, as we laid out our mistakes in the bright light of day.

  “We have. But we can decide to stop doing that.”

  I couldn’t have agreed with him more. “Yes. Let’s have another do-over. Let’s do what you said last night. Put the past behind us. For real.”