Sinful (Undone)

by Jennifer Dawson

  The truth is, I’m not sure how much more I can take.

  These have been some of the worst days of my life and it’s taking all my willpower to stop from going to his condo and forcing his hand. But the logical part of me knows I can’t do that. This is something Leo has to do on his own. So I’ve done everything I can to keep busy.

  I’ve studied for my test, working through all the apps until I was forced to send Michael to get my books. I’ve picked up extra shifts at work, haven’t eaten or slept. I look horrid.

  My mom and sister captured me for a spa day but it gave me too much time to think and I started crying.

  I’m a wreck.

  It occurred to me that in my twenty-eight years this is the first time I’ve ever really been in love. The first time I’ve experienced true heartache.

  Brandon had called and apologized, saying that he’d known he shouldn’t have agreed, but Leo had insisted. I’d assured him that it wasn’t his fault, nor was the night the issue.

  After a lot of thought, and careful analysis with Gwen, who I told every sordid detail, I’d determined that this is all about Leo’s fear.

  Something about that night had just pushed it to the surface.

  “I think he’s going to come back.” Michael picked up a can of soda and took a drink. “I’m pretty sure he can’t live without you.”

  Hope surges and swells inside me, but I shrug. “I don’t know. He can be stubborn when he sets his mind to it.”

  “He can, but I’m right.” He put the can on the counter. “I can’t decide if you should give him hell or cut him slack.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting that he hasn’t come back yet?”

  He smiles. “Nope. But he’s not going to last. I did punch him in the jaw for you.”

  I laugh. I love my brother. He’s the best. “Thanks. Why do you think I should cut him slack?”

  Michael’s gaze narrows as if deep in thought for a couple moments before he regains focus on me. “He doesn’t talk about his twin but it has to affect him. Losing a sibling is bad enough, but I think losing a twin is somehow worse.”

  I nod. In the time I’d spent with him, the only time Tony came up was when I mentioned him. And even then, Leo would answer my question and close the topic.

  Michael continues, pulling me from my own troubled thoughts. “We had a case once, a twin that died. It was similar enough Leo asked to be removed from the case because he couldn’t be objective. But when I interviewed the surviving brother—he was like a shell. He said he felt like half of him was missing. That he was like an amputee still looking for his phantom limb.” Michael’s face twisted into a grimace. “He killed himself a month later. Every time I think of that case I think of Leo. How it must have been for him. How he’s probably never talked about it to anyone. And even if he did, how could anyone really understand? I think it damaged him in a way he’s never discussed and he’s built all these emotional walls to keep anyone from getting too close. He’s always been so clear to any woman he’s been involved with that he was temporary. And I think that worked really well until you came along.”

  Eyes bright, my throat so constricted, I have to clear it. “You think he’s still grieving?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. After the case, I did some research. They say twins that are separated at birth feel like they’re missing something they can’t explain.” He shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I just think maybe Leo’s suffered in a way none of us can possibly understand. And sometimes that makes us do stupid, irrational things like give up the love of your life so you don’t have to lose them.”

  I bite my lower, trembling lip. “Do you think I should go to him?”

  Michael shakes his head. “No. But when he comes to you, maybe you could let him in.”

  “If he comes.” I have my doubts. And my hopes.

  “He will.”

  I can only pray he’s right.

  Leo

  After Michael’s visit it took me four more days for me to realize I could not live without Jillian. That not living with her was worse than the fear of losing her. That not being with her didn’t save me anything other than time lost, because I was already helplessly in love with her.

  What can I say? Sometimes I’m a stubborn idiot.

  Over the course of those endless days I’d received calls from my sisters, telling me how stupid I was. Even my father tried to talk some sense into me. My mom was the worst call. She cried and talked to me about Tony and how Jillian was the answer to being whole. After none of them got through to me, my grandmother called, swearing she’d crafted an ancient Italian curse to hex me.

  According to my nana she had a dream of Jillian next to me, in the small village of Palermo where she grew up, standing in the exact spot my grandfather asked her to marry him. In the dream, Jillian wore a white dress and her belly was full and round, ripe with my child. In her rapid-fire Italian, she yelled at me for messing with nature before vehemently praying to god, the Virgin Mary, and every saint in the Roman Catholic Church that there wouldn’t be grave consequences for my stupidity.

  I can’t pretend the image didn’t stay with me. Nor can I deny that some buried, traditional part of me I hadn’t known existed, wanted my grandma’s vision more than I wanted my next breath.

  But that wasn’t what pushed me over the edge.

  Tonight is my breaking point.

  Alone in the dark, after a particularly grizzly night where I’d dealt with the dredges of humanity, cruelty and murder, is where Jillian sinks into me and won’t let go.

  Tonight I fully understand it doesn’t matter if I’m with her or not, she’s with me and she’s never going to leave. It finally settles into my bones, that she’s as much a part of me as my twin, and protecting myself from her won’t save me.

  That I’m past saving.

  It’s three in the morning and more than sex, more than her lush mouth, her wild hair, or her long legs wrapped around my waist, all I want after this miserable night is Jillian curled beside me.

  Without her my bed is empty and cold, and I haven’t felt so alone since those first few months after Tony died.

  Lying here, staring at my dark ceiling, I replay the last time I’d had a bad night.

  But then I’d come home to Jillian.

  She’d been asleep in my bed, her hair dark against the white of my sheets. Exhausted, I’d stopped and climbed in beside her. She’d immediately tangled her long limbs with mine, her sleepy voice asking what was wrong. I’d kissed her temple and told her I didn’t want to talk and she’d pressed her mouth against my neck and said, “Then don’t.”

  Then she’d slipped out of the nightgown she’d been wearing, climbed on top of me, and made me forget everything and everyone but her. After, I’d lain there, panting for breath, my mind cleansed from the ugliness I’d witness, my body no longer rigid and tense.

  I hadn’t meant to talk, I hadn’t meant to say a word, but it all came pouring out. She listened, squirming against me and kissing my skin with fluttery presses of her lips, nodding in understanding.

  When the story was over, she’d made me laugh and lying in the darkness we talked about nothing and everything. By the time I drifted off to sleep I’d felt happy and human again.

  How could I give that up?

  And why did I even want to?

  I climbed out of bed, drew on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

  It was time to get Jillian and bring her back where she belonged.

  With me.

  Jillian

  At the insistent ringing of my phone next to my nightstand I startle awake. Heart flying into hyperdrive as I look at the clock.

  It’s four in the morning. Nothing good happens at four in the morning.

  I pick up the phone terrified something happened to someone in my family, but when I look down at the screen I blink in astonishment and my heart speeds up for a whole new reason.

  It’s Leo.

  The ringing st
ops abruptly, plunging my bedroom into silence. I stare at the phone, vacillating wildly between wanting to call back immediately and ignoring him completely.

  The phone lights up again, buzzing and ringing in my hand. I suppose a strong, kick-ass, empowered female would ignore him, but I want to hear his voice too badly for that. I can decide what to do next after I hear what he has to say.

  I force my voice into grogginess and say, “Hello.”

  There’s a moment of silence before he says, “You picked up.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t stop calling.”

  “You could have turned off your phone.”

  Of course, I hadn’t even thought of that. I ignore the statement. “It’s four in the morning, Leo. What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you.” He clears his throat. “I’m outside your building but I didn’t want to wake your roommate.”

  I think of Michael’s request to let Leo up when he came calling, but I wasn’t quite ready to do that. “Call back in the morning.”

  It killed me to do it, but I hung up.

  I guess a part of me needs to see how badly he wants to talk to me.

  He calls back a second later. “Okay, I deserve that.”

  “You do.”

  “You still could have turned off your phone, Jilly,” he says, his voice thick and husky and I want to curl up inside it.

  I’m miserable without him. I can only hope he’s just as miserable without me. “All right, since you keep suggesting it, I will.”

  “Wait! Don’t!” His tone is something that resembles a screech. “You don’t want me to wake up Heather, do you?”

  I don’t want to stop talking to him, I don’t want him to leave, but that’s beside the point. I sigh. “There’s nothing you can say that won’t wait a few hours.”

  As if I’ll ever be able to get to sleep after this.

  “Not true, there’s things I need to say that can’t wait one more second.”

  “Like what?” Please god, please let him realize his mistake. I don’t want to live without this man, even though he can be a total ass. But the truth is, everyone is an ass sometimes, and damn it, he’s my ass.

  And I need him.

  “I don’t want to say them over the phone.” His voice drops. “Please let me up, Jillian.”

  Letting him up is as good as conceding, and I’m not quite ready to do that. I want him to sweat for me. To worry. To make him pay for the hell he’s put me through. Not very mature, but I’m getting awfully mature about the rest of my life, and I need an outlet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please. I promise, if you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll leave, but at least let me say it to your face.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to see you, I miss looking at you. If you won’t forgive me, and if this is the last time, I need to memorize your face.”

  I’m filled with hope, but I don’t relent. “We can talk tomorrow.”

  He exhales and it’s full of frustration. I can almost see him running his hands through his hair. “Please, Jillian, I’m begging you. Let. Me. Up.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. A begging Leo, well now, isn’t this every girl’s fantasy? “I think you can do better.” Repeating words he’s said to me a thousand times when I’m worked up and crazy and mindless, ready to do anything he wants.

  A short bark of laughter. “What can I do?”

  “That’s for you to figure out, but the clock is ticking.” Okay, I admit turning his games back on him is kind of fun. He deserves it after the hell he’s put me through. Besides, I want to see the lengths he’ll go for me.

  Because isn’t that what we all want? The grand gesture that makes everything better?

  He growls. “All right. I’m going to do something I swore I’d never do again. And I’m going to do it for you. And only for you.”

  “I’m listening.” In truth, I’m on the edge of my seat.

  “Open your window.”

  Curious, I spring from the bed and rush to the side of my room that faces the street. I see him down below, and it almost breaks me. He looks terrible and so good I can barely stand it. I open my window and in my ear he says, “The screen too.”

  I slide open the screen.

  He whispers, “Now hang up the phone.”

  I do, toss it back on the bed and turn back to the window, leaning out to look at him.

  He looks up at me, his dark hair disheveled. He’s wearing jeans and a red hoodie. He shoves his hands into his pockets and he takes a deep breath.

  Is he going to do what I think he is? But he hasn’t since his brother died. No matter how many times people asked.

  The cold night air blows over me and I shiver, but make no move to turn inside.

  And then he begins to sing a slow, almost bluesy rendition of “I’ve Just Seen a Face” by the Beatles.

  My eyes immediately fill with tears. His voice rings through the night air, crisp and clear and unbelievably beautiful. So haunting it sends a chill right through me and gooseflesh over my skin.

  Everyone told me Leo had a beautiful voice. The voice of an angel his mom had said. But I hadn’t really believed them. I’d assumed he’d had a good voice for a regular person.

  But I was wrong.

  It’s the most gorgeous voice I have ever heard. It’s pure art and beauty. Poetry and love. A gift from the heavens. Shocking in its utter purity.

  As he sings, he doesn’t take his eyes off me. No, from the street he stares up at me, the words ring through the night. His voice, the song, reaches inside me and touches my very soul.

  Tears slip down my cheeks as he sings about falling, and how she keeps calling, and how he can’t forget her face.

  My face.

  From down there on the street, this hidden talent reaches up and captivates me as nothing else could have. It’s unexpected, beautiful, and on my deathbed it will be the last thing I ever remember in this life.

  And when it’s over, and I’m crying in earnest, he holds his arms up in the air. “I never wanted to love anyone, Jillian, but god help me, I love you.”

  “I hope you’re going to forgive him,” Heather says from behind me. “That was the most gorgeous, romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “It was,” I say, not taking my eyes off him.

  “Please let me up,” Leo says.

  I turn from the window and fly through the room, past a laughing Heather.

  I run down the hall, through the living room, hitting the buzzer to let him up as I fly out of my apartment, leaving the door wide open. I sprint to the stairs, knowing that’s what he’ll take and pound down them, as below I can hear Leo storming up. We meet somewhere in the middle and then I’m in his arms and our mouths fuse with a frantic desperateness.

  His hands are everywhere.

  Out tongues meet, thrust together. Greedy and hungry.

  I wrap myself around him and he rips his mouth away to say, “Christ I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” I pant out as I work my hands under his shirt, to finally touch the bare skin I feared I’d never touch again.

  “I love you so much.” He turns and slams me up against the wall.

  I grunt with the force. God I’ve missed this. “I love you too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  He bites my neck, before licking over the spot. “Can you forgive me?”

  I hook my bare leg on his hip. “Will you do it again?”

  “Never.” He cups my breasts, running his thumbs over my aching nipples. “I can’t live without you. Don’t want to.”

  Yes, yes, yes. I need him. As he grips my waist, I cry out. “Take me.”

  He moans, shifts, and reaches between us. His knuckles brush over my clit, and I keen, raking my nails over his skin. “Now!”

  He jerks and fumbles about. I twist and turn.

  We need closer. We need everything all at once.

>   Finally he plunges inside me.

  My head falls back against the wall as the handrail presses into the small of my back. I don’t care. The small discomfort is worth it. He’s worth it. His cock strokes, thrusts, hitting that special spot only he seems to fit.

  He pulls out and slams back home. “I can’t live without you, Jilly.”

  “Good.” It’s the only word I manage to get out.

  “Please forgive me.”

  My muscles clench, singling an impending orgasm. “Yes.” A pant. “You’re forgiven.”

  “I need you.”

  “Yes.”

  He turns silent, thrusting hard and high, just like I like it.

  Just like I need it.

  Just like only Leo can give me.

  I come. Crying out as I convulse and shake around him, the orgasm fast and sudden and like heaven as it races over my skin in an explosion of pleasure.

  He curses and follows me into oblivion.

  Foreheads touching, we ride out our climaxes, grinding together, drawing out the pleasure and the connection.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, maybe an hour, maybe five minutes but I soak him in. Memorizing the feel of him under my hands, in my body.

  After endless moments he kisses me, a soft brush of his lips over mine. “The Santoro men have always had good luck serenading their women.”

  I laugh. “It’s a story.”

  He cups my chin and gazes deep into my eyes. “Are you sure I’m forgiven?”

  I nod. “Let’s go upstairs and we can talk.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after we fixed our clothes, and traded long slow kisses that almost got us distracted more than once, we finally make our way up to my apartment. Heather, being the smart girl that she is, has disappeared into her bedroom.

  We make our way into my room and once he closes the door he points to the bed. I go and sit down on it and he comes before me, kneels down on the floor and takes both my hands in his. Then says in a deep, sincere voice, “I’m so sorry, Jillian. I’m an idiot. I don’t know what I was thinking. How to explain, but I’ll do my best.”

  I lick my lips and say nothing.

  He squeezes my fingers. “That night, all I wanted was to give you the things you’d fantasized about. That’s what I always did with girls, I figured out what they wanted and gave it to them. But the whole time I struggled with it, because I didn’t want Brandon to touch you and I hated that I felt like that. I didn’t think I should feel that way because I never cared before. Out of anyone you mattered most, and you needed to get what you deserved. My jealousy was not a good excuse. Do you understand?”