Sinful (Undone)

by Jennifer Dawson

  “So tell me, what’s the problem?”

  “There is no problem. Yet.”

  Gwen shakes her head. “I can never understand how you can be both idealistic and impossibly romantic yet totally pessimistic at the same time.”

  “Just lucky I guess.” I have artistic, romantic sensibilities, yes, but two pragmatists raised me, and all that logic and rationality was bound to wear off.

  Gwen laces her fingers on her desk. “Tell me your worries, my child.”

  I twirl the pencil between my fingers. “Everyone knows Leo doesn’t do commitment. So I fall madly in love with him and he ruins me for all men, then what? How do I recover from that?”

  “Don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse?” Gwen’s full of logic too. I attract practical people; I need them to keep me grounded.

  “I am. But you asked me why I was worried and I told you.”

  “Point taken.” Gwen held out her hand. “Are you going to stop?”

  “Of course not.” That’s not even an option.

  “So you have no choice but to go with it and have fun.”

  I smile at my best friend. “Point taken.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I dig it out to see a text from Leo. You’re holding my blanket hostage?

  I laugh. He’d found my note.

  “Leo?” Gwen asks.

  I nod and start typing. I told you I was going to take it. I also stole your Dark Knight shirt.

  My mom gave me that.

  Poor baby. It’s mine now unless you pay my price. **Insert evil laugh**

  A minute goes by before he texts back. Let’s see who’s laughing when they’re getting their ass smacked.

  In our brief time together he’s threatened, but hasn’t delivered. I can’t deny it causes a certain tingle in my belly. Although I’m not sure it’s over the idea of a spanking or just Leo in general. Most likely both. Promises, promises.

  Almost an instant reply. What time do you get off work, girl?

  Around 11:30.

  My house after work. Bring a bag.

  This morning, the thought of not seeing him until Saturday, had filled me with an angsty, teenagerish disappointment, so I’m not remotely interested in playing hard to get. Done.

  I slip the phone back into my pocket and beam a giddy smile at Gwen. “I’m going to Leo’s tonight after work.”

  Gwen laughs. “Of course you are.”

  There’s a knock on the door and the hostess, Ashley, sticks her pretty blonde head in. “I sat you, Jillian.”

  I jump up. “There’s my cue.”

  Gwen pulls a stack of invoices in front of her. “Just remember, you’re getting everything you wanted, so have fun.”

  “I will,” I promise, meaning it.

  I’m too addicted to him to do anything else.

  Leo

  I’m sitting in the club with Michael and Brandon, vacillating between trying to figure out how to tell my best friend I screwed his little sister, and obsessively checking the time to see how long it will be until I can leave and meet Jillian.

  When she’d told me she was working, I’d determined it was best to take the night apart. To give us space and time to process the change in our relationship, the sex, everything. But, like all my plans with her, that had flown right out the window when I got home and found a ransom note written in calligraphy, with an elaborate drawn scrolling boarder, pinned in the place my blanket had been.

  I stood there, looking at it for god knew how long with a huge, goofy smile on my face. It was such a Jillian thing to do and it made me want her all the more.

  I pulled out my phone and texted her, and the second she answered, I had to see her. I couldn’t wait one more second than I had to before I got my hands on her. I wanted her in my bed, taking up my space, a hell of a lot more than I wanted to process what I was doing. Now I’m sitting here like a teenager, counting the minutes until I can see her again.

  But I still have Michael to deal with. We were sitting in a corner booth, nursing drinks, talking about nothing in particular.

  Brandon, ever helpful, kept asking me questions about my weekend, giving me an opening I wasn’t about to pick up. When I talked to Michael, I wasn’t going to have Brandon hanging over my shoulder, but so far he hadn’t stayed away for more than ten minutes.

  The waitress, a scantily clad girl in a red latex fetish dress, delivered another round of drinks, before dipping her head in her boss’s direction. “Anything else, Master?”

  Michael and I grin at each other, rolling our eyes. None of us were into the whole title thing—I’ll admit I tried it once, just because it seemed the thing to do—but the second the girl kneeled in front of me and called me master I broke out laughing and couldn’t stop. Needless to say it didn’t really set the right mood for the night.

  For whatever reason, Brandon attracts girls who are into that type of worship like crack, and he is constantly correcting them. “Thank you, luv. But remember, I’m not your master, and I insist you call me Brandon.”

  The girl, an innocent doe-like creature with big brown eyes and shining brown hair that is at complete odds with the pain slut that lives inside her, nibbles on her bottom lip and bows her head. “Yes, Sir.”

  She walks away and Brandon sighs. “No matter how many times I correct her, she refuses to call me by my given name.”

  I laugh. “She’s probably hoping you’ll correct the problem manually.”

  Brandon picks up his bourbon. “Well, she’s going to be sorely disappointed to learn I don’t fuck my employees.”

  Michael rubs his hand over his heavily stubbled jaw. “There’s always the hope she’ll be the exception to the rule.”

  “Not in a million years.” Brandon takes a sip off his drink.

  All the sudden Michael goes still, his eyes narrowing.

  I didn’t need to look to know who had caught his attention, there was only one person that put that expression on his face, but I look anyway.

  Yep, there she is.

  The haunting, beautiful girl, with chestnut hair, and eyes as blue as summer sky that had captured Michael’s single-minded, determined focus about three months ago.

  I glance at Michael, who watches her closely. “Is tonight the night?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  I didn’t question his instincts. Michael’s instincts are uncanny and legendary. It’s what made him such a damn good cop.

  “I told you I can find out her name,” Brandon said.

  Michael shakes his head. “No. I’ve got it.”

  Brandon throws up his hands. “Got it? You’ve never even spoken to her.”

  Michael tosses back his Glenlivet in two gulps and puts the empty glass on the table. “It’s not the right time.”

  Now it’s Brandon’s turn to roll his eyes.

  But I understand. Michael does things in his own way and follows his own rules.

  I study the girl. We’ve only seen her a couple of times, and Michael has always stayed far away from her, despite his fixation. Being a proper wingman I scoped her out up close once. She’d looked right through me, her expression lost and hopeless, matching the dark shadows under her eyes.

  I know that look. I’d worn it myself for over a year. Grief.

  I try not to think about the night my twin was murdered, knifed in between the third and fourth rib on his left side, in the stomach three times, and finally in the heart, left to bleed out on the street. A result of gang violence, drugs and Tony being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  One look into the girl’s unfocused eyes and that night had come rushing back to me. Twisting its tight fist around my heart. Grief rushed through me, fresh and new, crushing me in that cold desolation. I’d had to go outside and get some fresh air to reorient myself to the present but I’d known whatever instinct warned Michael away, he’d been right to listen.

  I didn’t know what had happened to the girl, but it was definitely s
omething.

  Brandon’s phone buzzes and after he reads the message, stands. “Time to work. I’ll be back later.” He points to Michael and then looks at me. “Tell him.”

  I grit my teeth as Brandon walks away. Fucking busybody.

  I take a sip of beer, opting out of the hard stuff tonight in preparation of seeing Jillian later.

  Michael cocks a brow. “Tell me what?”

  Okay, if he punches me, I can take it. I just need to spit it out. Then it will be in the open and we’ll be forced to deal with it. I sigh. “I was with Jillian this weekend.”

  Simple. Straight forward. Direct.

  He’d gone back to watching the girl, but his head snaps back in my direction. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  I give him my calmest, most level-eyed gaze and repeat myself. “I was with Jillian this weekend.”

  A thundercloud passes over his expression. “What do you mean ‘with’?”

  “I mean exactly what you think I mean.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. “All I’ve ever asked is that you stay away from her.”

  “I know.” How do you explain this to someone’s brother? If she were another girl, I could be honest, but Michael doesn’t want to hear those things about Jillian, and I can’t blame the guy. But it doesn’t leave me with a lot of reasons I can discuss. “I’m sorry, but that was no longer an option.”

  “Why the fuck not?” His voice is low and filled with the kind of menace that gives witnesses pause.

  In this I can be straightforward without being too descriptive. “The night of your party she told me she was through chasing me and she was going to find someone else. I tried to resist, telling myself she was bluffing, but then she started dancing with Brandon and I couldn’t take it.”

  Michael rubs the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You idiot, you know how Jillian is, that was for your benefit. She was playing you.”

  “I know that. It worked.”

  Michael studies me and I can’t tell if he’s contemplating killing me or being cool about it. I go on, giving him more things to think about even though it’s awkward. “She played me with Brandon, but she wasn’t about moving on, I don’t want to watch her with another guy.”

  “You’ve seen her date other guys.”

  I shrug. “But I knew she was hung up on me.”

  Michael looks into the crowd of people, eyes still narrowed, expression thoughtful. “Did you tell her?”

  I know what he’s asking. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No. But I’m asking anyway.”

  I imagine having this conversation with Michael about one of my sisters and pick my words very carefully. “She’s unsure, and I’m taking it very easy.” I think about last night, where I didn’t think about establishing ground rules, fixating on being in charge, or any of the normal stuff I do with a woman. I didn’t think about anything but having my fill and even now I wasn’t even close to satisfied. I take another sip of my beer. “But I’m pretty sure something’s there.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little self-serving and convenient for you?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I look him right in the eyes. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “I don’t think she’s like that.”

  “How would you know? She’s your sister.”

  “I still know her.” Clearly he’s determined to be stubborn about this.

  I pull out my phone and text Brandon, telling him to come over to the table when he can. “Time will tell.”

  “That’s a pretty big risk with my sister’s heart.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But I want him to know how serious I am, and I’m not taking this lightly. “I’ve been resisting her since the day I met her because of our friendship. You’re like a brother to me and you know what that means coming from me. I’ve been trying to let go of her for longer than I can remember, and I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Why do you have to be so reasonable and forthcoming? It makes it hard to think about punching you.”

  I laugh. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not happy about it.” He blows out a breath. “I’m pretty pissed off about it.”

  Michael has an interesting version of pissed off where he acts calm as shit.

  “I know. I don’t blame you.”

  “Don’t placate me.”

  Before I can answer Brandon comes over to the table, and gives me a raised brow. I nod. “Since I can’t be objective, tell him what you told me about Jillian.”

  Brandon grins, claps Michael on the back and says, “Sorry, man, your sister’s submissive. Deal with it and move on.”

  I shake my head. “For fuck’s sake, show a little sensitivity.”

  “Why? I’m not the one showing her the ropes. My balls are safe.”

  Christ. What was I thinking?

  Michael raises a brow. “That’s debatable. Why do you think that?”

  “Do you really want me to give you a list?”

  Michael looks conflicted.

  I interject, not wanting to hear Brandon’s theories about Jillian any more than Michael. “That’s not necessary.”

  Brandon motions the waitress over and she scurries over. “Yes, Sir?”

  He sighs. “Another round, luv.” When she leaves he turns his attention back to Michael. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Leo when we had a similar discussion. You know the kinds of guys that are out there, isn’t it better she learn from someone you trust?”

  “No, it’s better that she get locked away in a convent and takes a vow of chastity,” Michael says.

  Brandon laughs. “With that body?”

  Both Michael and I growl, baring our teeth. At least we’ve got that solidarity between us.

  Brandon slides into the booth. “Look, I’m sure this is uncomfortable for you, and believe me, it’s highly entertaining. But as an outsider, take it from me, they are perfect for each other.”

  Michael thinks on this for a bit before shifting his attention to me. “If you hurt her, if you make her cry, you will pay.”

  I nod. I’d expect nothing less. “Understood.”

  Brandon shoots me his villainous grin. “With Leo you’d probably better define ‘hurt’.”

  Michael grimaces, looking pained.

  “Would you shut the fuck up?” I glance at my phone. Eleven. This night has been endless and it’s finally over. “I’ve got to go.”

  “To see my sister?” Michael asks.

  “Yeah.” I slip out of the booth and take my keys out of my pocket.

  Michael groans and shakes his head. “I’ve died and gone to hell.”

  One man’s hell is another man’s heaven, but I think it’s too soon to make that kind of joke. All and all, this went better than I thought it would. Neither Michael nor I are hot heads, ready to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation like a lot of guys in our profession, which is why we’re such good friends.

  I give them a mock salute and take my leave, quelling the urge to run to my car so I can get to her.

  Jillian

  I literally blew through my apartment, talking a mile a minute to Heather, filling her in on the weekend, leaving out the kinky sex part, while I gathered things into an overnight bag and she watched, amused from the couch.

  I waved, told her I’d tell her more tomorrow when I got home, and whirled back out.

  Now I stood waiting for Leo to open the door, panting after my sprint to get here as fast as possible. I haven’t stopped thinking about him for one second all day. It doesn’t help that waitressing is hardly mentally tasking or at all absorbing. It’s quite easy to think of other, more depraved things, while reciting the specials for the hundredth time that night. Although, I did get a few drinks wrong. And I spilled a water glass when a memory of Leo, pounding into me, filled my head
with such sharp, crystal focus I lost the little concentration I had left.

  He opens the door. All he’s wearing is a pair of low-slung jeans that sit on the lean cut of his hip. His chest and feet are bare, and all I see is smooth olive skin, and his dark, hungry eyes. His gaze travels the entire length of my body and my heart beats double time.

  He stands back. “Why didn’t you use the key?”

  “Did you want me to?” I’d thought he’d given it to me this morning to give me extra time to sleep, not to use whenever I came over. I actually had it tucked into my pocket to return to him.

  I walk through the door and it closes behind me. “You can.”

  I crane my neck to peer over my shoulder at him, dropping my bag and purse on the chair, and shrugging off my jacket. “Do you always hand over the key to your house after the first date?”

  He raises a brow. “What do you think?”

  I think the tension between us is off the chart, it’s like the room is waiting to explode into action. “No?”

  “Correct.” He takes a step toward me. “We weren’t on a typical first date.”

  “True.” I flash him a smile. “Did you have a good day?”

  His expression darkens and his attention settles on my mouth. “No.”

  I bat my lashes at him. “Why ever not?”

  “I couldn’t get a certain hazel-eyed witch out of my head.”

  I plop down on the couch and grin up at him. “That must have been very frustrating.”

  “Then there’s the matter of my stolen items.” He walks over, and looms over me and I feel the low kick of excitement. “You’re wearing too many clothes. Take them off.”

  I don’t hesitate because what would be the point. He’s seen everything I have to offer, in every conceivable angle. Besides, I’m already aching from wanting him. Without breaking eye contact I strip my top over my head. My hands skim down my body and I shiver as he watches me in that way he has, all stern jaw and dark eyes.

  I unbutton my jeans and slide them down my legs, kicking off my shoes as I go, leaving me in only my bra and underwear.

  He crosses his arms, still standing above me, and waits for me to finish.

  I arch my back, thrusting my breasts out to reach behind me to undo the clasp. When the fabric pulls away from my body it’s like a slow tease over my skin. It drops to the floor and joins the rest of my clothes. Hyperaware of him, I hook my thumbs and slide my panties down my legs and kick them free.