My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  I scoffed. “No. You’re not paying for my dress.” Funny, how I consented so easily to his orders during sex, but the rest of the time I had no problem holding my own.

  “But I made it dirty,” he said, then took a bite of his burger.

  “You didn’t make it dirty,” I said, correcting him. “Fucking you made it dirty.”

  He set his burger down on the plate and narrowed his eyes, giving me a purposeful stare. “Sweetheart, I fucked you. You didn’t fuck me.”

  I grinned wickedly, loving teasing him like this. “I know.” I leaned closer to him across the table. “And I loved it. I loved how you fucked me,” I said, and even just saying that word—fuck—turned me on. Holden had never been one for fucking. Bless his heart, but Holden was a let’s make love type of guy. Then there was my college boyfriend, Zach, my one and only other lover. There was no finesse. No attention to detail. And no more than two minutes, tops.

  I couldn’t even compare Ryan to those guys. He was in a class by himself. Everything about him—that soft brown hair, those dark-blue eyes, his hard body, the way he took me—he was fantasy material.

  But real.

  Add in the easy way we were able to talk, toss in the intensity of the connection, and mix in the sweet little gestures, and I was dangerously close to feeling something more.

  Ryan reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve never met a woman like you, one who’s so strong and direct everywhere else, but able to turn over the reins in bed. It’s addictive,” he said, his eyes fixed on me the whole time, the look in them earnest and truthful. My heart swooped in a daredevil loop the loop.

  Correction: I was already feeling something more.

  Which meant I wanted him to know more about me. I brought the straw in my milkshake to my lips and swallowed some of the delicious chocolate ice cream concoction. “Confession: I’ve never had the chance to be like this.”

  He arched an eyebrow in question.

  I put the shake glass down, keenly aware of the sounds of the diner—the cooks frying up bacon for patrons ordering breakfast for their late-night dinners, the twang of a country tune playing softly overhead, a waitress taking an order a few booths away. “This isn’t some big secret. I know you looked me up before the gala, so you might have learned this, but I was married for five years.” At this point it would be odd not to tell him this fact about my romantic past. Now, on the third date, after hot sex on my car, seemed the right time to mention my former marital status.

  The surprise in his eyes told me he hadn’t known this. “No, I wasn’t aware. How long have you been divorced?”

  “A little over two years. I was twenty-four when I married Holden,” I said, sharing the details matter-of-factly, because there was nothing to hide.

  “That’s young. Did you go to college together?”

  I shook my head. “We were best friends in high school, and we stayed close. He went to Berkeley and I was at Stanford, so we weren’t far apart. I didn’t date much in college, except this one guy, Zach, who was a computer geek too. Truth be told, Zach was kind of a competitive ass who thought his tech start-up would blow mine out of the water, and he told me as much every day.”

  “Did it? Blow yours out of the water?”

  “As if.” I was pleased, and not a bit guilty, to share this next tidbit. “He never even got funded. He actually applied for an engineering job at my company two years after graduation.”

  “Did you hire him?”

  “No. But it had nothing to do with our past relationship. It had to do with him rushing through things, including his work. He was always cutting corners.” His work ethic was similar to his sex ethic. “Anyway, we only went out for a few months during college, and even though it wasn’t a tough decision to end things, he was quite insulting at the time. Holden was there for me when I broke up with Zach. And soon enough after college, marrying each other just seemed to make sense.”

  He furrowed his brow, as if marriage didn’t truly compute for him. Perhaps it didn’t. “Make sense?”

  He reached for a french fry as I nodded. “We were great friends. And we actually still are. He’s probably my best friend.”

  He dropped the fry. “I don’t get it. How can you be best friends with your ex-husband? If you’re that close, why aren’t you with him?”

  I inhaled deeply. Okay, telling Ryan I’d been married wasn’t hard in the least. But explaining why we’d split up was a bit tougher. I lowered my voice. “We weren’t compatible in the bedroom.”

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “Well, he likes girls and boys.”

  “Ahh, so he’s bisexual.”

  I nodded. “Yes. And he was interested in sharing me with boys.”

  He drew a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Did you?”

  I studied his face, unsure if the uncertain look in his eyes suggested that a past ménage was a deal-breaker. I didn’t want to be judged for my past, even though I hadn’t had one. I needed to know Ryan wasn’t that kind of person. “Would it bother you if I had?”

  “No,” he said immediately, then waited for my answer.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t have a threesome. I don’t want to be shared.”

  He pushed away from his side of the booth, stood up, and moved in next to me. Draping an arm around me possessively, he pulled me close, then brushed his finger along my jawline. “If you were mine, I’d never share you,” he said, his deep, sexy voice sending goosebumps over my flesh.

  “Is that so?”

  He cupped my shoulder in his strong hand, his fingers brushing along my bare skin. “I’d never let anyone else touch you. The thought of it already drives me mad. And I’d never stop touching you,” he said, then dropped his mouth to my lips and kissed me hard, as if he were marking me.

  My mind went hazy, and sparks raced madly through my bloodstream—all from a kiss.

  He pulled away. “If you were mine, you’d only be mine. And I’d satisfy you every night. Every day. Every morning. Every single time,” he said, claiming my lips once more. Roughly.

  I felt like his. It was crazy to feel that way so soon. But tell that to my heart, which was beating furiously at his possessive words. “You would satisfy me every time. You already do,” I said in a breathy whisper, my voice feathery soft now, as he crowded me in.

  His throat rumbled. “If you were mine, I’d never let you want for anything. I’d take care of you and all your needs. Whatever you needed, I’d give you,” he said, and his words set me on fire. They made me want him again.

  They gave me confidence too. I knew this was as good a time as any. “Ryan?” I asked carefully.

  “Yes?”

  I swallowed. “There’s an event I’m organizing for the local community center. Another fundraiser next weekend. One of the donors wanted to set me up with his grandson,” I said, and he clenched his hand around me tighter as I said those words. His eyes seared me. “But I told him I was seeing someone, and I was hoping that someone would take me to the event.”

  The corner of his lips quirked up in a knowing grin. That smile settled the anxiety. “And who is this someone you want to take you to the event?” he asked playfully.

  I rolled my eyes. “You. Obviously.”

  “And do you want me to act all possessive, so everyone knows you’re taken?”

  “Would it be an act?” I asked, countering him.

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not difficult for me to feel a sense of ownership of you,” he said, brushing his hand along my bare arm. “So when I take you to this event—because I will be taking you – it will be clear to everyone that you’re with me.”

  His commanding tone lit me up, and a fresh wave of longing rolled through. “Am I? With you?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” Then he took a deep breath, becoming even more sober. “I’m not good with serious relationships, Sophie. But there’s something about you—I want more.”

  I
beamed. “I can handle that.”

  22

  Ryan

  “Tell me about this event. What should I wear?” I asked, as I turned onto the Strip to drive her home.

  “Tux. Do you own one?”

  I laughed softly. “Of course I own a tux. Where is it?”

  “The Venetian.”

  “And who are the sponsors?”

  “Well, me, for one,” she said, then rattled off a few names of local companies, including a law firm, an insurance company, and a national sporting goods chain. “And Redwood Mountain Ventures too. A venture capital firm.”

  I jerked my head to look at her as I pulled to a stop at a red light. “Redwood Mountain Ventures?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  “That’s my brother Colin’s firm.”

  “Oh, that’s great. I’ve been dealing with one of the other partners. A woman. I didn’t make the connection that your brother the venture capitalist was at this firm. But how wonderful that he’s a supporter. It’s a great cause.”

  “Interesting,” I said, wondering why Colin never mentioned anything about such a hefty donation. But then again, my youngest sibling had never been one to brag about all the ways that he gave back. “I wonder if he’ll be there.”

  “You should ask him. It would be nice to say hello. I’m hoping John can make it so perhaps you can meet him too,” she said, lightness in her tone because, of course, she had nothing to hide.

  Unlike me.

  My chest clenched. I muttered a silent curse as I reached her building. Now would be a good time to admit I’d already met her brother, had been questioned by him at police headquarters about my father’s murder, and then received a phone call from him, hunting for more details about my mother’s affair.

  Honestly, though, telling her about the connection to her brother wasn’t the hard part. What felt insurmountable was what it meant—if I told her I knew John, I’d have to tell her about my parents. I’d have to explain how my family had been blasted to pieces one night when I was only fourteen.

  I’d never told anyone I’d dated. I’d never wanted to.

  But here in the driveway of her building, at almost midnight, after the most mind-blowing sex of my life, was not the moment to dive into the past. I needed to figure out how to tell her without fucking everything up. My experience in saying the right thing was terribly limited for many reasons—I didn’t get close to people, and I didn’t speak of matters no one else needed to know.

  Trust was a screwed-up promise.

  Intimacy was a lie.

  Love wasn’t real.

  She’d shared so much, though, and I had to figure out how to do the same.

  I said good night and headed for my home, taking my dog for a midnight run in an effort to glean some answers. But an hour of hard exercise under the stars didn’t illuminate my own path any better, so when I got into bed with my dog curled up on top of the covers, only one thing was clear.

  I was fucked.

  Because I liked her more than I’d ever intended. That first night with Sophie I’d gone in armed with every intention of keeping things only physical, because I couldn’t stay away. The second time too. Hell, I’d tried to do as much tonight. But my intentions were futile. I wanted this woman with a desire that burned away everything in its path. That consumed my brain cells. That chained up my heart. And for the first time ever, I felt the flicker of something awfully dangerous. So dangerous it’d made me start to use words.

  Words that mattered.

  Words that came from that organ inside me that had gone on lockdown many years ago.

  Words that could mean the start of something more.

  I ran a hand between Johnny Cash’s soft ears. “Where do I go from here, buddy? Tell me that.”

  23

  Ryan

  I slapped the contract on my brother’s desk on Wednesday morning. “Boom. Done. Another deal for us,” I said, parking myself in the black leather chair in Michael’s office. Guitar-heavy rock music pulsed from his laptop. My brother used to play the electric guitar and had dabbled in rock bands in high school and college. A workaholic with little time to play now, he compensated by assaulting his eardrums with his favorite tunes.

  Michael arched an eyebrow. “You don’t say. Maybe I should keep you around.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Hey, fifty-fifty, I could say the same of you,” I said, referring to our joint ownership of Sloan Protection Resources.

  “As you often do Michael cast a cursory glance at the pages on his desk. He tapped his index finger against them. “Looks good. I see White Box is getting a full suite of security services. This is the company you met with in San Francisco a few weeks ago, right?”

  “Yep, Charlie’s on board for the whole shebang.” I’d been slated to visit my mom in prison then, but she’d gotten the dates wrong, and Shannon wound up going solo, while I’d been meeting with the head of White Box. Charlie had owned some restaurants, but converted them to private clubs, the kind that catered to gentlemen with big wallets and hearty appetites—for both women and bets. That kind of business needed security, and since White Box was expanding from San Francisco to Vegas, the firm had reached out to us.

  “And you said the VP of biz dev is coming in to sign the papers?”

  “One p.m. today. Guy named Curtis,” I said, tapping my watch. “He’s local here in Vegas. It’s on you for the final signatures. I worked on that deal all day Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Aww, poor baby,” Michael said, breaking out an imaginary violin and running the bow across the strings.

  “Whatever,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Point being, I’m out of here the rest of the day.”

  “You going to see 347-921?”

  Michael didn’t even use our mom’s name, just her inmate number. At first it had rankled me, and I’d told my brother as much, but I had learned to let it go. Now, I was used to the way Dora Prince had been reduced to digits.

  “I am.”

  My brother made a scornful sound as he shook his head. “Why do you waste your time with that?”

  “Why? You’re seriously asking why?”

  Michael nodded as a guitar riff played through the speakers. I rose, planted my palms on Michael’s desk, and stared at him, wondering if he was crazy. How did he not get it? “Because I want to know why the hell the case has been reopened. Don’t you?”

  “She won’t tell you shit.”

  I stabbed my index finger against my sternum. “But I’m the only one she might tell something to. That’s why I’m going. Because I’m the only one who sees her, besides Shan. So if there is something to say, or someone else involved, I’m the one she’s going to talk to.”

  Michael softened his tone but still held his ground. “Look, man. I get it. I understand she did some kind of number on you and convinced you she might not be guilty—but she’s so damn guilty, Ryan. Day is day, and night is night, and our mother had our father killed. Maybe there was someone else involved, maybe Detective Winston is sniffing around for a middleman, or for something more between her and Stefano, but I guarantee you’re not going to exonerate inmate number 347-921.”

  I gritted my teeth as frustration seared my nervous system, running a wild course through my body. “Here’s the bottom line. Someone knows something about our family that we don’t,” I said through tight lips. “I want to know what that something is, and I’m not going to stop until I find out.”

  Michael stood up and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re a determined bastard, I’ll give you that. But don’t speed like Sanders. We need you squeaky clean here at the company. No tickets, no record, nothing.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m never dirty,” I said with a wink.

  Michael tugged me in for a quick hug. “Love you, bro.”

  “Love you too,” I grumbled.

  This. My brothers and sister. My grandparents. My dog. That was the only kind of real love I knew I could
trust for sure.

  24

  Ryan

  But first I had to see Luke. I bounded up his steps, ready to know, when an elderly woman with curly gray hair opened the faded red door of the ranch-style home and waved goodbye to the man inside. “See you at the recital.”

  “You’re going to be great. Your ‘Für Elise’ is fantastic.”

  The voice blasted me back in time, like a slingshot to the end of junior high. Luke Carlton, older, grayer, and paunchier, turned to me as the woman ambled down the steps on the way to her car.

  “Ryan Sloan,” Luke said, extending a hand. He wasn’t surprised to see me, nor should he be.

  I had made an appointment for a piano lesson. I hadn’t used the name I’d had growing up—Ryan Paige-Prince—but Luke clearly knew who I was. He obviously suspected this was a result of the reopened investigation.

  Even so, my legs felt wobbly and my stomach plummeted. It was as if I was having an out-of-body experience and someone else was grasping the palm of this brown-eyed man in khaki slacks and a sky-blue Tommy Bahama shirt.

  My mother’s ex-lover.

  “Come in,” Luke said, letting go and gesturing to the home he’d lived in for the last five years. Before this meeting, I had run a security check on Luke Carlton. He was only a few years older than my mother, and he’d bought this home with his wife, a woman named Angie. I didn't know how long Luke had been married though.

  “My kids are at camp,” Luke said as we walked through the living room. Okay, he’d been with her long enough to procreate. “Wife’s out grocery shopping. I take it you’re not really interested in a piano lesson?” His question was wry, but I didn’t need to be buddy-buddy with him.

  I answered him without a note of sarcasm. “Sometimes I think about taking it up.”

  “Lots of adults do. Half my business these days is from adults who decide they’ve always wanted to learn how to play.” He guided me through the kitchen, and my eyes gobbled up every detail. The sink was stacked with plates. Eggs had been served for breakfast. A loaf of rye bread was on the counter, a twist tie keeping it closed. An odd sense of the surreal descended on me. Everything about Luke’s home was so . . . normal. From the blinds that hung on the living room windows, to the beige couch with an indentation on it in front of a large TV screen, to scattered pictures of his wife and kids, many of them on the beach, playing in the sand and surf.