My Sinful Longing (Sinful Men Book 3)

by Lauren Blakely

  1

  Elle

  A few weeks ago

  Resist.

  That was what I told myself every time I’d seen Colin Sloan in the last year.

  On the basketball court. At picnics. During events. In the tutoring rooms. At the vending machines. Everywhere.

  That was what I told myself today when I spotted him turning the corner in the hallway at the community center.

  Looking all broody and sexy and ridiculously charming as he walked toward me. That grin, that smile, all kinds of crooked charm. I could live off the high that smile gave me.

  He was as tempting as he’d been the day he strode in here a year ago, having just plunked down a big donation to the center, and introduced himself to me. The donor who also volunteered. That was a rare combination and a whole lot of heart.

  Colin smiled as I tucked the mountains of folders tighter under my arm. So much paperwork to finish before the benefit this weekend. But I would never complain, because one of the city’s leading philanthropists was hosting a huge fundraiser for the center. I’d fill out paperwork all night and day if I had to.

  “Need a forklift for those?”

  “Do you have one?”

  He hooked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “Absolutely. Want me to bring it in now?”

  “Oh sure. Let me just go open the back door,” I said, deadpan.

  “Excellent. I’ll put on my hard hat.” He took a beat. “I’d ask if you need help, but I feel like you’d roll your eyes and say no.”

  I rolled my eyes, slowing my pace as I reached him. He’d offered to help me carry my papers a few times, but I’d always declined. Do it yourself—that was my motto. “Don’t you worry about me and my papers. I consider them bicep curls.” I demonstrated with the folders, curling them like weights. “And triceps too.”

  “No need for a gym membership, then,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “And on that note, I have exciting news for you.”

  “You had the net fixed on the basketball court?” I asked.

  “Please. That was done last week.”

  “I know,” I said with a smile. “And I am damn grateful.”

  “This is bigger.” He drew in a deep breath, as if prepping to say something important. “Did you know there’s a new flavor of potato chips at Trader Joe’s? I know you and Alex are big fans.”

  “My kiddo and I do indeed worship at the altar of potato chips. But I’m going to need more details. What is this new flavor?” My fourteen-year-old son and I were dedicated connoisseurs, lovers of the strangest flavors. Lime, avocado, pepper—bring them on.

  “Pickle,” he declared.

  I arched a skeptical brow. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’ll prove it.”

  I pretended to hunt behind him, looking to one side, then the other. “Got a bag of chips there behind your back?”

  He pointed to the doors, and presumably beyond to the parking lot. “No, but I have access to a car, and the GPS that’ll take us to the store. I can show you in an hour, o ye of little faith,” he said, a playful tone in his voice.

  I was off in an hour. I looked at my watch, considering his offer of a chip mission. That fit with our world order—friendship. “I could go, but I need to stop by the library after work. A book I reserved is in, and I’ve been dying to read it,” I said.

  “Let me guess. Dragons, shape-shifters, swords, and battles?”

  I pretended to be offended. “Way to pigeonhole me.”

  “Nah, you just have good taste. By the way, did you try that one I mentioned?” he asked.

  “Yes, I started it, and it kept me up late on Sunday night. Too late. So thanks a lot for making me yawn through a board meeting on Monday.”

  He shrugged, a cocky glint in his eyes. “I’d say I’m sorry, but one should never apologize for recommending good books.”

  I laughed and tapped his shoulder with my free hand. Because, well, because it was there. “Words to live by.” I eyed the stack of papers in my arm. “I need to chat with my donations manager. See you in an hour.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “And I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “How did you know I didn’t bring my car today?” My mom had needed to borrow mine, so I snagged a ride from a friend. I’d planned to take the bus back, but I’d happily ride with Colin.

  Colin shrugged. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I was just hopeful.” He gestured to the basketball courts. “Now, stop trying to distract me from my shift. I have basketball games to coach.”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “Who was distracting who? Mr. Potato Chip Tempter.”

  He winked. “Potato chips. Swords. Battles. Books. See you in an hour.”

  He took off, and a few times during the meeting, I snuck glances at the basketball courts. Watched as he tugged off his shirt, tossed it on the bench, and shot hoops with the teenage boys.

  Those boys needed a place like this center.

  And they needed a man like Colin to look up to. Someone who cared, someone who’d changed his life for the better, like the tattoos on his body alluded to. Ink I admired for so many reasons.

  But me?

  No. I didn’t need a man. Didn’t want a man. Men had brought nothing but trouble into my life. Men were off-limits.

  I’d put Colin in the friend camp for a good reason. I’d needed a friend. He’d become one. A terrific friend.

  Fine, sometimes I thought about what it would be like to be more than friends with the man.

  But those were only thoughts. I didn’t act on them.

  When the meeting ended early, I returned to my office to find one of the boys waiting for me.

  Marcus, with his dark eyes, curious heart, and soft-spoken voice. “Hey, Marcus. What’s going on?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “Do you have a second?”

  “Of course. I’m always up for talking to you,” I said with a smile as I walked into my office with the teenager close behind.

  Marcus had started coming around the center a few months ago when he’d graduated from high school and moved out of his family’s house. He’d been a quiet one at first, but lately he’d been opening up more. He’d been raised by his father and stepmother—his biological mother was out of the picture.

  Once inside, he scratched his jaw, looking around. “So, listen, it’s about my mom. My biological mom.”

  Shutting the door, I sat, motioning for him to join me. This didn’t seem like the start of an ordinary conversation. “Sure. What’s happening there?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve told you this before, but she has other children,” he said, taking a deep breath.

  Definitely not a regular chat. “I didn’t know that,” I said evenly. “Do you know them?” I waited for him, trying to read his expression.

  “No, but I want to.”

  “And why’s that?”

  I wasn’t sure he was going to answer.

  That was okay. One thing I’d learned with this job was that patience was more than a virtue.

  It was a necessity.

  2

  Marcus

  I heaved a sigh, dragging a hand through my hair.

  How could I begin to explain why I wanted to talk to my siblings?

  Because I’d felt like a part of me was missing for some time? Because I’d felt like something inside me was absent? Not empty, just borrowed.

  On loan from someone else.

  Someone, or many someones, and I wanted to know who they were once and for all.

  But how did I just say all that out loud?

  That having a parent in prison sure as hell made me feel like something was off.

  That I’d never truly felt like a part of the family with my dad, my stepmom, and their kids.

  I’d always felt like something was missing.

  And I finally knew what it was—this huge other part of me.

  The other halves. The four unknown halves in the form of the Sloans. We shared blo
od, but would that be enough?

  Would they even want to hear from me?

  I had no idea, but now that I was nearly eighteen, I felt compelled to get to know them.

  I couldn’t share my desire with my father for so many reasons.

  I didn’t even really know how to share it with Elle. So I didn’t quite reply. Instead, I repeated myself. “I want to.” Then I gestured to one of her plants, sidestepping the issue entirely. “Ella looks thirsty,” I said.

  “She’s going to cry herself a river soon,” Elle said, a little wry.

  Frowning, I sat there, not knowing what she meant.

  “It’s a song. One of Ella’s most famous ones,” she explained. Then, with a piercing look, she said, “Please tell me you know the plant is named for Ella Fitzgerald.”

  “I know that much. But her music? C’mon. You know I don’t know those oldies from another century,” I said, smirking.

  She dropped her head in her hand. “Kids today. You’re killing me.” When she raised her face, I asked her about Ella and Louis.

  We chatted about music instead, and maybe that was what I needed. Just someone to listen.

  When I rose to leave her office, I made sure that Colin wasn’t around. And I promised myself that soon I’d tell her more.

  3

  Elle

  After I saw Marcus, I gathered my purse and my phone, sent a couple of texts, and met Colin in the parking lot. Once outside, I narrowed in on my Colin mission—the book and the chips.

  He waited at his Audi, wearing aviator shades and a grin the size of the Hoover Dam. What was it about aviator shades? They just made a man look . . . devastatingly sexy.

  Be good.

  Be strong.

  You can do this.

  Those were the mantras I’d practice before we spent time together.

  They’d served me well.

  And they did now when I walked up to him, eyed his wheels sharply, and said with all kinds of sass, “That is not your forklift.”

  “True, but we can pretend it is if that makes you feel better.”

  “If we’re playing pretend, can it be a tractor?”

  He laughed, shoved a hand through his hair, and wandered around to the passenger side. “Your John Deere chariot awaits.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said, sliding into his car.

  As he returned to the driver’s seat and got in, I tugged on the seat belt. For a second, it stuck, doing that annoying thing seat belts do. Colin leaned in. “My tractor belt is pesky sometimes.” He reached for it and gave a few strong tugs, his arm wickedly close to my chest.

  My breath hitched as he pulled, and I repeated more mantras.

  A second later, he’d loosened it, then he clicked the belt in place and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “I should warn you, this bad boy doesn’t go over twenty. We’ll have to take the back roads.”

  “Can we play chicken, though, if we run into anyone we know?” I asked.

  Laughing, he nodded as he started the engine. “Of course we can play chicken.”

  And of course we did nothing of the sort. He turned on the radio, asking if I wanted pop, old standards, sports talk, or news.

  I opted for news, and as we listened, we chatted about the events of the day, tossing ideas back and forth regarding an environmental story.

  A few minutes later, we arrived at the library and popped inside. I grabbed my book from the reserve desk, noticing a zombie tale earmarked for another patron.

  “I have an idea,” I whispered, and ushered Colin along with me as I made my way to the horror section, hunting for more zombie books for my teenage son, who loved all things undead. I stopped in my tracks when I spotted a row of them.

  Colin stopped right behind me. Nearer than I expected. So near I could feel his breath. The library was quiet, as it should be, and an unexpected wave of goosebumps swept over my arms. I reached out for the books, grabbing one.

  “In the mood for something scary?” he asked.

  “Not for me. For Alex,” I whispered.

  “Ah, bet he’ll love that one.” He pointed to a book, and that move put his arm even closer to me. He reached past me and tapped the book till it fell out in his hand.

  “I bet he will too,” I said, trying to focus on the conversation, but with Colin in my space, I caught a hint of his soap, and it occurred to me that he’d showered after coaching basketball.

  My mouth watered as my brain inconveniently assembled a series of filthy images of Colin showering.

  Not helpful. So not helpful.

  Zombies. I’d focus on zombies. Brains. Guts. Gore.

  That’d have to do the trick.

  But my mind was on a dirty loop. My head swam with enticing thoughts.

  “By the way, that benefit this weekend,” he said offhand. “Any chance I can convince you to save a dance for me?”

  My breath escaped my lungs, and now the images flitting through my mind were of bodies swaying, hands on shoulders and waists, and the delirious possibility that came from dancing.

  I’d been the queen of high school dances once upon a time.

  I ought to stay far away from dances now.

  But I’d be at the benefit that weekend anyway, since the event was a fundraiser for the center.

  What harm would one dance do to my resolve?

  None.

  That was the answer.

  A dance was a dance was a dance.

  “You’re on the dance card,” I said, but as soon as those words came out, I realized I wanted more than a dance. I wanted time. “Let’s hang out there.”

  “Yes, let’s hang out.” It sounded tongue-in-cheek, maybe a little flirty. I didn’t try to correct him. It didn’t need correcting.

  Maybe a dance would get him out of my system. Maybe hanging out would too. I turned slightly, meeting his gaze. He was still inches from me. As if he didn’t want to move either. I certainly didn’t. The heat radiating from him was tempting.

  So tempting I had to stop thinking of dances and focus instead on pickle potato chips.

  “Let’s get those chips,” I said, my voice a little wobbly.

  Then we left, stopped at Trader Joe’s, and picked up a bag of pickle chips.

  When I reached my house, I left dances and hanging out behind and focused on the number one priority in my life—being a mom.

  Alex lounged on the couch, playing a game on his phone.

  “Hey you! Did you just get home?”

  "A few minutes ago. The bus dropped me off,” he said, setting his phone down.

  “Good day at gamer camp?”

  “The best.”

  “I snagged this for you,” I said showing him the zombie book Colin had picked for him.

  “You rock,” he said, and that brief exchange—his words—was all I’d ever need. There had been a time when I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear them again.

  Later that night, when I was the only one awake, I dipped my hand into the bag of chips, turning the pages in my new book, reading about battles and munching on chips till well past midnight.

  Afterward, I thought of Colin under the covers.

  He’s a friend, he’s a friend, he’s a friend.

  That was how I would see him this weekend, too, at the event. I didn’t have room in my complicated life for anything more.

  I’d shut the door on more, and I had no intentions of opening it again. All the troubles that came with men would stay on the other side, thank you very much.

  4

  Colin

  The Night of the Community Center Beethoven Concert Benefit . . .

  The sparrows were a treasure map, weaving a path from her right shoulder blade, along her sexy, elegant neck, then curving into her hair. Rich chestnut hair I longed to have my hands in.

  Preferably tonight.

  Because . . . well, why the hell not? We’d spent the last year building this friendship. Maybe it was finally time to see what else we could be.


  After all, Elle was in a good mood as we wandered through the crowd in The Venetian Ballroom, hanging out, as we’d agreed to do. No surprise about the mood—the haul tonight for the center had been terrific so far, and now Elle was waiting on the final number.

  Looked like it might be coming any second, since Sophie click-clacked her way across the floor, her eyes fixed on Elle. When the woman who’d organized the fundraiser reached us, she said, “I have amazing news.”

  “Tell me,” Elle said, nearly bouncing on her toes.

  “This is how much we raised tonight.” Sophie slipped Elle a piece of paper. With trembling fingers, Elle flipped open the folded piece, then gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes welled with tears, and my heart thumped, hammering hard against my chest. I was so damn happy for her.

  Elle threw her arms around Sophie. “You did this. You made it possible,” Elle said, her voice breaking.

  Sophie shook her head deferentially. “Oh, sweetie. You did. You run an amazing center. You’re doing incredible things. People simply want to help.”

  A lone tear streaked down Elle’s cheek as she broke the embrace. “Nothing is simple about what you do. Thank you. We can do so much with this.”

  Sophie grabbed Elle’s hands, squeezing them. “You’ll do good.” Then she turned to me. “And thank you for being a part of making this possible.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I said, thrilled that my venture capital firm had contributed to tonight’s fundraising.

  “And now I need to go mingle,” Sophie added.

  “Go, mingle,” I said, then whispered, “And say hi to Ryan for me.”

  She laughed it off. “Say hi to your brother yourself.”

  Sophie headed off, perhaps to find my brother after all, since they were an item. But I wasn’t thinking of the two of them when I returned my focus to the woman with me.

  I was only thinking of my friend.