Sinful Ever After (Romance Collection)

by Vivian Wood

  My angst threatens to swarm up from inside me, snaking its way up from my throat to choke me. I shove it down.

  But I’ve been shoving it down for three months already. It’s packed so densely inside me that I’m pretty sure it’s an explosive force. A ticking time bomb, ready to go off.

  And thus, I ended up here in this club. I bought myself a bottle of whiskey and I’m in the midst of drowning my sorrows.

  I don’t know if I want to fight or fuck next, but I have to do something. Pouring myself another drink, I close my eyes and listen to the whomp-whomp-whomp of the beat.

  “Do you mind if I stand here?”

  I open my eyes to find a petite blonde woman standing right beside me. My eyebrows go up. With her light colored eyes, graceful features, and a sparkly silver dress she looks almost too beautiful and otherworldly to be real.

  I find myself nodding, even though I planned to drink alone and brood.

  She studies me for a moment, her eyes a breathtaking blue accented by her dark makeup. Cocking her head to one side, she quirks her lips.

  “You’re handsome. You’re all tall and you have the face of a model.” She steps closer in her sky-high heels, invading my space by touching my cheek.

  That’s my first clue that she’s drunk. So am I, but I still pull away from her fingers.

  “Quit that.”

  She just gives me a daring grin. “No.”

  I try to intimidate her with my size, stepping forward again with a scowl on my face. But to my surprise, she doesn’t back away.

  She just gives me a funny look and then takes my hand. “Dance with me, stranger.”

  She tugs me toward the stairs, heading for the dance floor. I allow her to pull me along, riding on a particular wave of drunkenness.

  I’m in Vegas.

  I’m being led by an attractive blonde.

  I’m not tied down anymore.

  Before I can feel sulky about that last thought, my partner has led me down the stairs and pulled me into the crowd. She turns suddenly, pressing herself close to my. body. She starts moving with the rhythm of the song, her arms winding around my neck, her small hips sliding against my own.

  I thank God that there is plenty of alcohol in my system and slip my arm around her lower back.

  Dancing is usually anathema to me. But I think tonight must be my night. The stranger makes it easy for me, setting an easy pace, doing most of the work.

  I get a whiff of her perfume, something floral with an undertone of musk. My arms encircle her, my hips pressing against her.

  She drops her head back, a smile on her lips as she gazes up into my face. Her eyes make me think she can see right into my soul. I swear she is weaving some spell around me.

  And I love it, every second of it.

  She raises up on her tiptoes, shouting in my ear to be heard over the music. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  My body hardens. My grip on her tightens. My gaze drops down to her perfectly pink lips.

  I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.

  Bending her back a little, I brush my lips against hers. Then I kiss her again, harder this time. Her mouth is warm and it tastes as sweet as she looks.

  Her hands curl in my shirt collar, pulling me closer. The kiss turns demanding and breathless with effort on my part.

  I explore her mouth, my hips digging against hers in time with the music. I fist a hand in the back of her hair and tug her head back, exposing her throat to my lips.

  Kissing my way down the smooth column, I pause over her pulse point.

  Her heart beats as frantically as a rabbit’s. She needs this as much as I do.

  When my lips leave her skin, she pulls my ear to her lips.

  “I have a room upstairs,” she whispers. “You should come up with me.”

  I freeze, considering her words. Am I ready to have my first fling since Michelle’s death?

  My first instinct is to say no, to deny myself the comfort I could find in this little blonde’s arms. But then I realize that Michelle wasn’t faithful to me. She slept with that fucking douche at the yacht club. She slept with multiple people when she was filming the porn to pay her creditors back.

  And who knows who else she fucked. My grip tightens on the blonde’s waist. Her lips curve upwards into an expectant smile.

  “You want to,” she says. “Come with me.”

  She grabs my hand again and starts pushing through the crowd. And I let her tow me along, my anticipation already building.

  She looks back at me, pulling me along. “Gabe.”

  I raise my eyebrows. She doesn’t know my name. I never gave it…

  “Gabe!”

  “Luna…” I call to her. She smiles even as she lets go of my hand. “Luna?”

  In the next second, I blink myself awake. Sunlight streams over my face. Malkia looks down at me with a frown, her dark eyes filled with concern.

  “Gabe?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

  I suck in a breath, sitting up. The gentle sway of the ocean and the feel of expensive linens beneath me tells me I’m in the main cabin of the High Hope.

  “Yeah,” I say, stretching my neck. I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes still, my plaid button up wrinkled. “I guess I fell asleep here last night.”

  She stands up, beckoning me to follow her. “Come to the kitchen. I will make coffee.”

  Groaning, I get to my feet. I must’ve slept at a weird angle or something because my neck really hurts. Ducking my head, I follow Malkia down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  She already has the kettle on the stove when I get in the tiny room. The stove and double oven are on one side of the island; on the other side I pull out on of two stools, sitting while I watch my sister find the reground coffee.

  “You looked like you were having quite the dream when I woke you,” Malkia says. She busies herself dumping a few scoops of coffee into the French press. But I know her too well to read the way she’s bustling around the kitchen as disinterest.

  She wants to know what my dream was about.

  Sitting down, I shrug. “I guess. The details of my dream are hazy.”

  She eyes me, coming around the island and pulling out the second stool. “I see.”

  She sits, canting her head at me. I stretch my legs out, which puts my crossed ankles into the hallway. We are quiet for a moment until the kettle whistles.

  Malkia gets up and pours the steaming water into the French Press, then checks the fridge under the island counter. “There is no cream.”

  I shrug. “I’ll make do.”

  She leans against the counter, giving me a look.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I am just waiting for you to tell me why you needed to talk to Luna alone the other day.” She crosses her arms, her gaze boring into me.

  I give her a tired look. “This again?”

  “Yes.” She checks the French press, then sighs. “There is a story there. I can feel it.”

  I shake my head. “I wish you would let it go.”

  Malkia shoots me a glare. “I am your sister. It is appropriate for me to worry about you, Gabe. Especially about your dating life.”

  My immediate response is a scowl. “What dating life?”

  “You need one. And Luna is perfect for you. She is extremely attractive, she is smart, she dresses well…”

  “She’s a pain in the ass, just like you. Maybe you should date her. You two could annoy each other and leave me out of it.”

  She smiles evenly. “If I thought that Luna was even the tiniest bit willing, I would take that advice to heart. But when I led her tour the other day, all she seemed interested in was you.”

  I tap the counter. “Please say that the coffee is ready, Mal.”

  She huffs, checking the French press again. Then she pulls two plastic coffee cups out and starts to pour the fragrant coffee. “Want to know how I know she is interested in you?”

  She slides my mug to me. I take it,
looking at her carefully. “Not really.”

  “Body language,” she announces. “It is very obvious, when you look at the body language. A shift of the shoulders, a turn of the legs.”

  “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” I remind her gently. “Especially not someone that works beneath me. I’m the captain of this yacht. She’s my employee. Besides, I’m still in mourning.”

  Malkia takes a tiny sip of her coffee, her brows rising. “What else?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I am just trying to let you vent all of your frustrations here and now. Let you get it all out of your system now, when it is just us alone.”

  A muscle ticks in my cheek. I take a sip of my hot coffee, considering what Malkia just said. “All right. Aside from my other objections, which I think it’s important to note are insurmountable…”

  “Pfft,” she says, waving a hand.

  “I’m not interested in dating anyone, period. But if I were, it wouldn’t be in anyone so…” I stop, drawing in a deep breath.

  “So what?” Malkia asks, grinning. “Pretty? Well educated? Sunny? Why would you avoid any of those things, eh?”

  Standing up, I look down on my sister. “Women like that… pretty, uninhibited women… they are complicated. I had a complex relationship with the last pretty woman that I knew. And it ended poorly, obviously.”

  Malkia pulls a face. “Do you mean Michelle? Because she is a poor stick to measure every other woman by.”

  My hands curl into fists. “Of course I mean Michelle!”

  Malkia reaches out to me, her tone pacifying. “I am sorry. You know that Michelle’s secrecy was not your fault, though.”

  That stings. “Says who? She was the last woman that I’ll ever love. And she couldn’t even involve me in all the shit that she was into… she didn’t trust me!” I glance at my sister, my pain raw and real. “She didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything, Malkia. Not even the biggest parts of her life. That’s what loving a complicated person can be like.”

  “You have to know that not all women are so…” She pauses, searching for the word. “Duplicitous. You know that, right?”

  A frown presses my mouth down. “I’m not ready for another relationship yet. Maybe not ever. I wasn’t kidding about that part. And having you making assumptions about how a woman feels about me…” I draw in a quick breath, taming my words. “It’s not helping, Malkia.”

  Guilt flashes across her face. “I am sorry, Gabe. I am just trying to help. I thought perhaps if you could stop thinking about Michelle— “

  I raise my hand. “I’m fine. You worry about me too much.” Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. “I think I should head home for a shower.”

  Malkia sighs. “I’ll see you later at the yacht club’s fundraiser for the regatta though, right?”

  I give my sister a small smile. “You couldn’t keep me from going if you tried.”

  Turning and heading down the hall, I catch my sister’s parting words.

  “Make sure you dress up!” she calls to me.

  Raising a hand to let Malkia know that I heard her, I hit the stairs.

  As I climb onto the main deck though, my mind returns to Luna. To the dream I had earlier about her. To her dazzling smile.

  God, how am I supposed to have her work on the ship beneath me and not lust after her?

  Repressing a sigh, I head for the gangplank.

  Chapter Eight

  Luna

  I see Harper waiting on the corner before she sees me. She’s staring off into space just like a fashion model in a magazine spread; her upswept red curls looking elegant and her strappy white gown’s tulle skirts reminding me of a cold breath of air suspended in the air in winter.

  “Harper!” I call to her as I climb out of my Uber.

  She blinks and turns her head, her eyes widening. She looks unbearably lovely as she starts walking toward me.

  “Wow! You really pulled out all the stops, huh?” she says, her gaze skating from my blonde updo down to my strappy baby pink organza dress.

  I grin at her, twirling in my high heels. The movement makes the top layer my dress whirl out. She laughs as I link arms with her.

  “You’re in good spirits today,” she says.

  “Are you kidding me? When you called this morning and begged me to come to this event, I went into wardrobe overdrive. Usually for a to-do like this I have my outfit planned out way in advance… but I decided to see this as a challenge.” I smooth my hands over my dress. “And a reason to wear this Elie Saab dress. Isn’t it just spectacular?”

  Harper smiles. “It really is. God, my dress is from Nordstrom Rack. We might as well be on different planets.”

  I put my arm through hers as start pulling her toward the dark colored stone entrance of the Seattle Museum of Art. “I’m sure you don’t mean that as a negative. That dress is perfection and you look like the most glamorous woman ever in it. I’m glad to be your date to… well, whatever event this is.”

  She scrunches up her face. “Thanks, Luna. And this is a benefit for a regatta, I think? Something like that.” She flushes. “Smith mentioned that he was going to be here so… I figured it couldn’t hurt to show up.”

  I bite my tongue, but I have several questions. The first being whether or not Smith is actually expecting to see us. Harper and Smith were each other’s first kiss, first love, first… well, everything.

  But their breakup was seriously rocky and then Smith moved to New York.

  It’s sort of my impression that Harper is still in love with him, but she’s so vague and secretive about the whole thing that I don’t want to ask.

  Not now, anyway.

  As we walk through the museum’s front door, we are greeted by a man in a tuxedo. He bows. “Invitations, ladies?”

  I look to Harper, uncertain. She pulls an elegantly engraved invitation out of her purse, smiling at the man. He looks at the invitation briefly than bows again.

  “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” we say in unison.

  I slide Harper a look as we walk past. “Do I even want to know how you procured that invitation?”

  She purses her lips, a little smirk on her face. “I know people. You’re not the only one who is well connected, okay?”

  I crack a grin. “I love it when my friends behave badly.”

  We follow a trickle of dressed up people that are headed left, toward where I assume the gala is being held.

  “That’s why you are here and not Cate. Cate would be all like, ‘but guys! that’s wrong!’. And that’s not the kind of energy I need right now.”

  She stops, hesitating in the doorway of a huge room with lofted ceilings and a classical quartet set up in one corner. The whole room is draped in velvet and lace, looking more like an advertisement for lingerie than a gala for boats or whatever this is supposed to be. She seems to freeze up, swallowing thickly as she eyes the crowd.

  There are already a lot of people here, milling around and mixing. The bar is on the right side and I guide Harper in that direction.

  If anybody ever needed a glass of champagne, it is Harper. Before we even get into the line, a server sweeps past us carrying a tray of champagne flutes. I stop her and pluck two off of the tray, then thank her.

  “Here,” I say, pressing the wine into Harper’s hand. “Drink up.”

  She takes a sip from her flute, her eyes scanning the crowd. After a second, she turns to me. “Do you think this was a terrible idea?”

  I give her my most patient smile. “There are no terrible ideas. There’s only terrible follow through. Drink your champagne and— “

  “Oh god,” she cuts me off. “I just saw Smith enter the room.”

  Playing it cool, I turn to see Smith entering. Tall, dark, and handsome, he cuts quite a figure in his dark blue tux. When he glances our way briefly, I can see the hint of his Japanese mother in the hooded set of his eyes.

>   “Smith is hot,” I comment, tilting my head.

  Harper hits my arm. “I know that, you goof.” She smooths her hand over her dress and empties her champagne flute, handing it to me. She takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck! Break a leg!” I tell her as she turns away and vanishes into the crowd.

  With an abundance of free time on my hands, I turn to examining the few pieces of art in the room that remain uncovered by velvet. I puff out my cheeks as I examine a crudely-made sculpture of a naked woman made of marble.

  She looks to the heavens, her expression a mixture of rapture and awe. The artist was very careful when sculpting her breasts, I see. They are pert, the nipples puffy but not hard.

  That’s weird. It’s always weird when you can tell that a man made a piece of art because of his slavish attention to one piece of a woman’s anatomy.

  “Luna?”

  I look up and see Malkia walking toward me, looking like a million dollars in a white silk pantsuit. Against her dark skin, her pantsuit looks crisp and immaculately cut.

  “Hi!” I say, motioning to her outfit. “You look radiant. What are you doing here?”

  She gives me an odd look. “I could ask you the same thing. This benefit is to raise money for our yacht race.”

  My eyebrows leap up. I’m certain that my cheeks stain with color. “Oh!”

  Of course it is. Of course.

  “Does that mean your brother is here too?” I ask.

  Malkia flashes me a grin. “It does. He was right behind me…” Turning, she looks for him, finding him a second before I do. “There he is.”

  My eyes land on him, drinking him in. He looks elegant if a tiny bit undressed in a dark suit. His dark chocolate hair, two days of stubble, those unbelievable cheekbones…

  And as he notices me, all I can do is stare at his one-of-a-kind blue green eyes. He arches a brow when he sees me with Malkia. I notice a worry line appear in his forehead as he comes over to us.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice sounding unfriendly.

  “Gabriel!” Malkia says, slapping his arm. “Be nice. Luna is here to support our race just like everybody else. That’s why we are here, right?”