My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series

by Blakely, Lauren

  “Mr. and Mrs. Nichols?”

  “Yes. Those names,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “Love those names.”

  A minute later, I pulled into the farthest spot in the lot, away from other cars and lights. In a quick tango we’d practiced years ago in college, I moved to the passenger seat, lowered it, and lay back, bringing her on top of me.

  “We have ten years of lost sex to make up for.”

  “We’re going to be pretty busy,” she said, her eyes sparkling with equal parts naughtiness and love, then with heat and want, as I hiked her skirt to her waist.

  “My beautiful wife.” I brushed my fingertips along the front of her white panties. She trembled into my touch. I traveled lower, my fingers on a luxurious path to her center. Her mouth fell open in a sexy gasp as I felt the first evidence of her desire. “Hmm. Seems getting married to me turns you on.”

  “Nothing has turned me on more,” she said, her breath already coming fast.

  I unzipped my jeans, yanked her panties to the side, and lowered her onto me. Sparks spread across my skin as I savored both the intensity of sliding into her gorgeous body, and the sweet, blissful knowledge that I had a lifetime ahead of me to be with her like this.

  She took her time, rising up and down and swiveling her hips in a way that drove me wild. I watched her, raking my gaze over her face, her body, her hips. She was mine now, completely mine. I reached for her hair, threading my fingers into the strands, pulling her nearer.

  “Closer,” I said on a groan. “I need more of you.”

  She rocked faster, harder, her hands grappling with my hair, her breathing turning frantic.

  She said my name in the most desperate, ecstatic voice I’d ever heard, and it sent us both over the edge.

  After, I wrapped my arms around her, her heart beating wildly against my chest, her cheeks flushed. I stroked her cheek, amazed she was here with me. “Mrs. Nichols.”

  She smiled. “You like saying that?”

  “I’ve wanted to call you that for ten years.”

  “I’ve wanted to hear it, and it was worth waiting for.”

  When we returned to our home, I carried her over the threshold, knowing I was now truly home at last.

  44

  Shannon

  Several days later

  I kissed Brent goodbye at the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” I told him.

  “I’ll be counting down the hours till you knock on Room 1204 dressed as a sexy room-service French maid.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Just exactly what kind of hotels do you stay at, Brent?”

  He winked. “The kind where my wife shows up in the evening. The Cosmopolitan.” He’d booked a reservation at my favorite restaurant, then a room at my favorite Strip hotel tonight just for fun. I liked that kind of Friday fun with him, and I planned to make it worth his while with his favorite kind of dance.

  “But how do you know I won’t be in a sexy nurse costume?” I teased.

  He growled. “Nurse, French maid, cop. It all works for me as long as it’s you.”

  I swatted him. “It better be me.”

  “It’s always you.”

  Sliding an arm around my waist, he kissed me. “Have a great rehearsal.” He swooped in for one more kiss. “See you tonight.”

  I shooed him out the door. “Go to your meeting. I can’t wait to hear what you decide.”

  He and James were seeing their real estate attorney to regroup on the expansion plans. The New York deal had fallen apart. But it was by choice. The day after we tied the knot, Brent had called Tanner and said thanks but no thanks.

  He didn’t want to deal with those guys.

  But he did feel bad about his friend Bob, and he wanted to find a gig for him.

  I wanted to help out too, so when I went back inside, feeling safe and secure, thanks in part to the security detail he’d hired, I made some calls too, hoping I could figure something out for him.

  I didn’t know if I’d have any luck, but I had to try. More importantly, I wanted him to know his job mattered to me. That it wasn’t a source of friction as it had once been, and that we were in this together now.

  As I spoke on the phone, I finished getting ready for work, pulling on a pair of black leggings, a tunic tank top, and heels, then tossing my favorite scarf around my neck—the blush-pink silk scarf that Brent had given me. A thin, wispy thing, it was perfect for the summer heat.

  And because it reminded me of him.

  I had a final Vegas rehearsal today with the dancers who’d be working at his San Francisco club, and I wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

  Then tonight, I’d meet my man for a date night.

  We had a busy weekend too, including dinner tomorrow night with my grandma and grandpa to celebrate. We’d told them the news the day after we said I do, and my grandma had berated me for a full minute, then smothered me in hugs before sliding into post-wedding party planning mode, insisting on a barbecue in a few weeks. My grandpa had promptly welcomed Brent into the family, then asked if he knew how to grill. Now, Brent wanted to take them out someplace fabulous, so he’d snagged a reservation at a swank new eatery at the Bellagio, and then we were taking them to Cirque du Soleil.

  At the end of the weekend, Ryan would return from his business trip, and the two of us would depart at the crack of dawn on Monday for the five-hour drive to Hawthorne, a small town with a big prison.

  Whew.

  I was exhausted just thinking about everything on the agenda, though it was all good stuff. But maybe I was mentally drained too, in advance of the visit with my mother. As I finished applying mascara, I fast-forwarded to visiting day at the Stella McLaren Correctional Center. My stomach churned as I heard my mom’s voice in my head, as I imagined that desperate, manic look in her green eyes.

  The fact that she’d met with a lawyer still gnawed at me.

  It was that little detail that twisted my gut. Surely a lawyer wouldn’t have come just to have his ear bent with my mother’s latest obsessive claims. If a lawyer had visited, something was up, and I needed to know what that something was.

  As I slung my purse over my shoulder, my phone bleated from inside the bag. I fished it out to find an incoming call from an 800 number, one I didn’t recognize.

  “This is Shay Sloan.”

  The phone was silent, and I was ready to hang up when I heard a tinny voice say, “This is the operator. Will you accept a collect call from the Federal Bureau of Prisons?”

  My stomach plummeted. I managed to say yes, and five seconds later, my mom was on the line.

  Cooing.

  My mother actually cooed when she heard me say hello.

  She launched into rapid-fire chatter. “I can’t wait to see my sweet babies. Are you and Ry-Ry on your way? Will I see you any minute? I’ve been waiting all morning for my babies. I even put on lipstick today. I can’t wait to see you. I was so excited I had to call. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I sighed, a sad, wistful sound. She couldn’t even get the date right. “Mom, it’s Monday. We’re coming on Monday. When Ryan is back in town.”

  My mother gasped. “No, no, no. It’s today. Did he tell you Monday?”

  “You did, Mom. You told him, and you told me in your letters. Last day of the month. That’s what you said. June thirtieth.”

  She gasped. A fearful sound. “I meant today. It’s today. Last Friday of the month. Friday, baby, Friday,” she said, with the speed of an express train. “Today, today, today. They gave me my final two hours today. Mondays are bad. No one likes Mondays. It’s today. By five p.m.,” she said, her voice turning into a low wail.

  “Ryan’s not even in Vegas, Mom. He’s in California right now for work.”

  “Then you need to come. Please. There’s so much to say, baby. So much to say. I have to see you. It’s urgent. You have to come, you have to come today, you have to come today. It could change everything.”

  Everything.

&n
bsp; There was no way this could change everything.

  My mouth tasted bitter. My skin felt clammy and cold.

  But that desperate, frantic tone clawed into me. I pressed my palm against the door, pushing firmly.

  What if? What if? What if?

  That question echoed in my mind, in the house, across the whole damn expanse of time. I didn’t believe for a second that anything had changed, and yet . . .

  What if it had?

  I glanced at my watch. It was eight thirty. I could rush over to Edge for fifteen minutes, since it was on the way out of town. The valet could babysit my car so I wouldn’t lose much time there. I could be on the road by nine fifteen and at the prison by one thirty, two p.m. at the latest.

  I’d be back in time to see my husband for our date. It was just a date, but even so, I didn’t intend to cancel. He’d been there for me when I’d needed him. I was going to show up for us.

  45

  Brent

  We strolled past a machine crooning “Pure Imagination” as a cartoonish Willy Wonka presided over the slots. “You feel good about the plan?” James asked as we left our meeting with the real estate attorney.

  “I do. We’ll find another venue in New York,” I said, but a small pang of guilt nagged at me as I thought of Bob. “I’d just like to do it sooner rather than later.”

  “Same here. I’ll make some calls today. See what we can figure out.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ve got some paperwork to go over and emails to power through,” I said, and I planned to be head down with work today so I could lavish attention on my wife tonight.

  When we reached the offices, I said goodbye to James right as my phone rang. I grinned like the happily married man I was, since Shannon was calling.

  “Hey, babe. Do you miss me already? Fine, fine. I’ll meet you for a quickie if you insist. Be at my desk in thirty minutes.”

  “Actually,” she said with a heavy voice, “I wanted you to know I won’t be around today.”

  Something inside of me tightened with worry. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

  “My mom called. The date was wrong. I’m going to see her today.”

  My spine straightened. “You are?”

  “Yeah. She was pretty worked up that I wasn’t there this morning with Ryan. I guess there was a mix-up with the date. She said she has something to tell me that will”—she paused and I could practically see her sketching air quotes—“change everything.”

  “Shan,” I said softly as I sat on the edge of my desk. “You can’t go alone. Ryan’s not even in town.”

  “It’s okay. I called him right after she called me to tell him about the mix-up. He’s frustrated because he wanted to go, but we talked and we’re on the same page, and I’ve got this. I can handle it,” she said in a cheery voice. “Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure it’s nothing new. Nothing I haven’t heard a million times before.”

  “Hmm,” I muttered.

  “Hmm, what?”

  “I don’t think you believe what you’re saying.”

  “Brent, it’s fine. I’ve got it all under control. I will see you as planned tonight, and I’m not going to tell you whether I’ll be a naughty nurse or a French maid or a schoolgirl. It’ll be a surprise.”

  But even the thought of her dressing up for me didn’t lighten my unease.

  I didn’t like the idea of her driving five hours through the desert on her own. To a prison. Then five hours back. That was not sitting well with me at all.

  “Shan—”

  From her phone, I heard a car horn honk in the distance.

  “Let me call you back. Traffic to Edge is getting dicey. Need to pay attention. Bye.” She hung up, and I stared at my phone with narrowed eyes, as if there were an app to reveal how she really felt, and whether she could truly handle this meeting with her mom all by herself.

  Well, of course she could. But should she? The things her mom had been saying lately seemed to suggest the woman had a plan to be freed. What if she’d uncovered some key piece of evidence? What if it was the kind of evidence that turned on its head everything Shannon and her brothers had ever believed about the conviction?

  I headed to James’s office and rapped on the door.

  He looked up. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything is great. But I need to take off for the day. I’m going to catch up on emails and contracts over the weekend.”

  “You’re the boss,” he said with a smile. “You set your own hours.”

  “Keep me posted on your calls?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I left.

  46

  Shannon

  “Go!” Christine pushed my arm playfully. Or maybe not so playfully.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m going. I swear.”

  “I have this under control,” she said, gesturing to the final rehearsal. The dancers were glorious, moving like waterfalls, lush and sumptuous, as the music played loudly overhead.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You go take care of things,” Christine said. I hadn’t given her the details on my upended plans, and I was glad my second-in-command wasn’t nosy enough to pry.

  I took a deep breath and nodded, then waved to the scene unfolding in front of me in the empty club. “You’re right. Everything looks amazing.”

  “I will text you and keep you updated. I can even send you pictures and video,” Christine said, as she continued to shoo me away.

  “Yes, please do,” I said, and then walked out of the club.

  I race-walked past the shops of the Luxe and threaded through the slot machines and card tables on my way to the exit. Handing the ticket to the valet, I tapped my foot as I waited for my car. I lowered my shades and grabbed my phone from my purse, finding several missed calls from Brent. The music was so loud in Edge I hadn’t heard the phone.

  Quickly, so I could get out of Dodge in a jiffy, I opened the GPS app, keying in the address of the Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center in Hawthorne, Nevada. Four hours and thirty minutes away, since traffic was light, the app predicted. That was doable. Very doable. I plugged in my headset and dialed Brent.

  “You looking for me?”

  I stared at the screen. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from the phone. It was coming from . . . I looked up and saw my husband walking over to me.

  I parted my lips to speak, but he went first as another valet pulled up with my little red car.

  “I’ll take it from here,” he said to the valet. “I’ll drive.”

  “But . . .” I said, sputtering.

  “No ifs, ands, or buts about it. No wife of mine is driving five hours in the desert, then five hours back by herself when I’m here. I’m going to be by your side. That’s the promise I made to you, and I’m keeping it,” he said, his eyes fixed on me, his gaze so strong as he opened the passenger door for me.

  My heart thundered in my chest, swelling with emotion as I slid into the car, the surprise of seeing him still working its way through me.

  He walked behind the vehicle, tipped the valet, then got in on the driver’s side. After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he pulled out of the Luxe’s portico.

  “Did you just literally walk out of your office?” I asked, still trying to compute that he was here. That he’d decided in mere minutes to join me. I hadn’t even asked him to.

  But he’d done it. Just like he’d flown home from New York last weekend for me.

  This man.

  He was everything to me.

  He showed me his love every day.

  “Sure did. Turns out emails can be answered tomorrow,” he said as he flipped on the blinker to turn right.

  “Even though you can’t go in? They only let family and approved visitors in.”

  “I’m going for you, Shan. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. I’ll drive you, and wait for you, and be there for you.”

  I brought my hand to my chest, ove
rwhelmed by what he’d done. How he’d chosen me yet again.

  I squeezed his thigh. “I love you, Brent Nichols. Have I told you that lately?”

  He made a show of peering at the clock on the dash. “Earlier this morning you did. But I like hearing it.”

  “I love you,” I said again with a smile.

  “Music to my ears.” He pointed to the radio. “Speaking of, let’s crank up some tunes. You got a desert driving playlist? We need something to rock out to.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Would ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ be too ironic?”

  “Irony is my middle name.”

  I turned on Johnny Cash and held my husband’s hand the whole way through the desert as the sun rose high in the sky, blazing through the windshield, the road unfurling before us in a slate ribbon. My heart was full, in spite of where we were headed.

  * * *

  The air-conditioning hummed, blasting out sheets of coolness in the stark visiting room. I rubbed my bare arms, wishing I’d brought a sweater. I didn’t remember it being so chilly the last time I was there. Perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair at a table inside a small room, I waited.

  I tried to conjure up an image of my mother, tried to remember how she’d looked at Christmas, but the images that paraded before my eyes were older ones, so much older. Sewing my leotard, the corner of her lips screwed up in concentration as she threaded. Placing a Band-Aid on my knee when I’d skidded on my bike. Holding my hand as she walked me to school. So young, so vibrant, so blonde. Just like me. She’d had the same bright blonde hair. Absently, I raised my hand to my now-brown strands.

  Someone opened the door.

  I rose. Nerves skittered across my flesh. The corrections officer appeared first, a tall, sturdy woman with dark hair in a braid. Holding the door open, the guard nodded and grunted a curt “Hello.”

  “Hello,” I said to Clara, the word feeling strange on my tongue. Even after all these years, it still never felt normal to be conversing with a corrections officer.