My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  Sophie: Know what’s really exquisite? My peach pie. So exquisite you should come over for dinner and dessert, and peaches and me. Friday night?

  Ryan: Yes and yes, and yes and yes.

  My phone rang as I turned on the engine in my car.

  “Tell me more about these peaches,” he said, his strong, sexy voice making my belly flip.

  “They’re ripe and juicy, and they taste like sin,” I said, taking my time with each word, letting them fall from my lips like sugar.

  “Mmm,” he said in a sexy growl. “So, just like you, basically?”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that.”

  “Oh, you can definitely take my word on that.”

  A robotic female voice sounded from his phone. “You are two hundred miles from your destination in Hawthorne.”

  I furrowed my brow. There wasn’t much in Hawthorne. That was a small town with a big prison. “What are you doing in Hawthorne?” I asked curiously as I pulled onto the road. “Do you do security for the prison?”

  He didn’t answer at first. “Yeah. Shit, Sophie, I need to pay attention to the road, but I can’t wait to see you Friday. I’ll be there. It’s the only thing making this drive better.”

  Then he hung up.

  28

  Ryan

  Halfway there.

  The sun glared at me as I played The National on repeat. My favorite band. Dark and moody. It suited me after seeing Luke, then lying to Sophie.

  I gripped the wheel tighter. What choice did I have? Was I supposed to tell her about my mom over the goddamn phone? I was flying blind when it came to sharing this emotional stuff about my family history. I’d had no training in how to open my heart, or my life, or my past. And I’d never been a practitioner of closeness or commitment.

  But I couldn’t seem to stay away from Sophie.

  So I’d need to do it right. Tell her when we were sitting down, face-to-face, not over the phone.

  As the road echoed its sameness for miles, I dialed my sister’s number. After a quick hello, I put her on speakerphone and jumped right into the matter at hand, because I had a special request.

  “Where do I find a dress like the kind movie stars in the fifties wore? Like a pinup dress?”

  Shannon laughed. “What’s going on?”

  “I want to get one as a gift. For a woman.”

  She whistled, then I hear her rustle around, and she said to someone, “Ryan is shopping for a dress.”

  A woman chuckled.

  When Shannon returned to the phone I said, “Who are you with?”

  “Mindy. Brent’s friend. We’re having lunch and she’s telling me funny stories about what he was like in high school. Say hi to Mindy. I’ll put you on speaker.”

  “Hi Mindy,” I said, suspecting I was about to get a double dose of woman advice.

  “Hi Ryan. Tell us more about this dress,” Mindy said.

  “Yes, Is Mr. Always Single dating someone? Details,” Shannon demanded.

  “I can’t get into them now. I’m sure it’s fascinating and all, but I’m driving. Just tell me where I can buy one. Is there a store on the Strip that sells them? She told me they’re kind of specialty items.”

  “Well, they are very boutique-type dresses. You don’t really find them at the department store. But maybe Rockin’ Bette or Viva Las Vegas might have them. Do you want me to call around for you?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be awesome. But I want one with peaches on it.”

  “Ooh, peaches,” Mindy said as if peaches were a dirty word.

  Shannon chimed in. “You’re not going to find that off the rack, even at a boutique. You need to go to Etsy and hunt online for something that specific. I’ll look for you. Tell me what size to get.”

  “Um . . . I don’t know what size she is,” I said.

  “Well, what’s her figure like?”

  “Perfect. Curvy. Sexy.”

  “Hmm . . . pinup, you said? Like Marilyn Monroe?”

  I snapped my fingers as I drove. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can track down for your pretty lady. How’s her personality?”

  I smiled, a grin that seemed to come out of nowhere, one that I had no control over when I thought of Sophie. “Brilliant, clever, sweet, fun.”

  “That makes me very happy to hear.”

  “Ditto,” Mindy said. “And you better treat her well.”

  “Of course I will.”

  Shannon clicked off the speaker, from the sound of it, then said in a quieter voice, “Brent and I are coming by on Saturday for lunch, so you can tell me all about her when I see you in person.” She paused before she added, “By the way, have a good visit with Mom.”

  “Thanks, Shan.”

  I hung up, and a little later I drove through the gates and into the visitor lot at my mother’s permanent residence.

  29

  Dora

  I had important things to tell Ryan.

  The breakout in New York State.

  The guy who made it out through a manhole.

  How Kelsey in the cell next to mine can’t eat bread, so now she gets gluten-free accommodations. If they could make exceptions for her, they could make them for me.

  Wasn’t that fair? After almost eighteen years in this joint, didn’t I deserve a little fairness? All I had were a few visits here and there in these concrete rooms with only a table and chairs.

  Ryan had to be able to help me. “Can’t you talk to them? Ask them to give me something better to eat?”

  He heaved a sigh. “I love you, Mom. But you gotta fucking focus.”

  At that word, my gaze snapped up. My eyes narrowed. He was still my baby, and I’d taught him better. “Watch your mouth,” I chided him.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll try to do better.” He tapped his watch. “But time is running out, and I want some details.”

  Glancing at the clock, I noticed he’d been here for a while.

  Time.

  It slipped by me. It fell through my fingers.

  Time was all I had. Endless time.

  Time to think. Time to plan. Time to wonder.

  And now I was wasting time with my baby.

  I had all the time, and I had no time.

  “What? What is it?” I asked, trying to focus. Telling myself I could focus on him.

  He reached for my hand, squeezed it. “I’ve held on to your secrets. Can’t you tell me a damn thing? The cops won’t say a word about the evidence they have. You’ve got to know, Mom. I’m sure they’ve been here to see you about the case being reopened.”

  Fear raced through me. I pursed my lips together.

  He held his hands out wide, waiting for an answer. “So?”

  I shook my head.

  Don’t say a word, don’t say a word, don’t say a word.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “Mom, c’mon. I’m trying to help, but you’ve got to give me something. Does it have to do with Stefano’s kid?”

  My head jerked. What did he say? I’d never known. Never heard. No one told me. “What?”

  He squeezed my hand harder. “He had a kid. His girlfriend was pregnant at the time of the murder. Bianca Rosa is her name. Supposedly, his friends were supposed to look out for the kid, but they apparently haven’t followed through. I think that’s why the case was reopened.”

  This was huge.

  Oh God, this was so big, bigger than I’d imagined.

  I lowered my voice to the barest whisper, my eyes fixed intently on my Ryan. “Who was supposed to look out for the kid?” That was all that mattered. Jerry was on the inside. But who was on the outside looking out for the kid? Who, who, who? Was it them? Was it those guys? “Who was supposed to look out for the kid?” I asked again, my voice shaking.

  His brow knit, and he shook his head. “I don’t know, Mom. Who do you think is looking out for the kid?”

  Don’t say a word, don’t say a word, don’t say a word.
/>
  The words though. They were in my gut, lodged in my head, locked up in trunks I couldn’t let open. But I had to know. I simply had to. I opened the trunk a smidge. “Was it TJ and K who—?”

  No! I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t say more.

  I smacked my hand over my mouth and dug my fingers into my cheekbones. Dug them so deep to remind me to shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

  “Who are TJ and K?” Ryan asked, reaching across the table to gently pry my hand from my face. I didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to have the use of my mouth again. Didn’t want to risk speaking.

  But Ryan was stronger, and soon he’d peeled my hand away.

  “Who? Who are they? Who are TJ and K? Are they Royal Sinners? Were they involved?”

  30

  Ryan

  Talking to my mom was like trying to capture a hummingbird with a thimble.

  But for the first time in ages, she’d said something.

  Something that could be valuable.

  But once I pulled her hand off her jaw, that focused look vacated her eyes. Her gaze turned glassy again, exhausted. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m so incredibly tired.”

  No way. That was not okay. I was not giving up so easily.

  “Mom, c’mon,” I said, begging. “I’ve done everything you asked. I can’t help you unless you tell me. You begged me to never say a word about the drugs, and I never did. I never said a thing, just like you asked. I followed your word to the letter. For eighteen goddamn years. But, Jesus Christ, I miss my dad. Okay?” My voice rose as I pleaded with her to just tell me everything. “I miss him every day. If you know something you’ve never told me, now would be a really good time to share it, since there’s a chance of justice being served.”

  Her lips curved down. She reached for my hand and clasped her bony fingers around it. “I have to protect you. I swore I’d protect you. I will till the day I die.”

  I leaned back in my chair and shoved a hand through my hair. “I can protect myself. I’m not fourteen anymore. I’m not a kid. I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. So tell me. Who are TJ and K? Did they kill Dad?”

  “I’m protecting you and your brothers and sister,” she said, sticking to her party line.

  I tried again, hoping to rattle her this time. Press her buttons. “Then did you do it? They all think you did. Everyone thinks you did. The state sure as hell does. Did you kill Dad?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No. I’ve told you I didn’t.”

  “You better not have lied to me. For years I have believed in you.”

  “Everything I’ve done is for all of you. I love you all so much.”

  I was a powder keg, about to go off. “You gave this to me—don’t you get it? You gave me this obsession over what really happened,” I said, grabbing the sides of my skull for emphasis. “It’s like a sickness in me now. You asked me to cover up the drugs when the cops were investigating my father’s murder, and the details and secrets eat away at me. It makes it hard for me to have a normal fucking life. Tell me, who are they?”

  Her eyelids started to close. “I need to sleep,” she mumbled. “I can’t sleep at night. All I do is lie awake and stare at the ceiling and wish for the light to come. Wish for time. Wish for less time. Wish for it all to make sense.” She rested her cheek against the table. In a minute, she’d fallen into slumber.

  And I was hardly any closer to knowing why.

  I sat there in silence till the hour ended, and the sturdy brown-haired corrections officer returned to the room.

  “Hey, Clara,” I said to the woman in the beige uniform.

  She smiled. “Hey, Ryan. How’s it going?”

  “Keeping busy. Trying to stay out of trouble. How about you? How’s the family?”

  “My oldest starts high school next month. Time flies, huh?”

  “I remember when you were telling me about him starting kindergarten,” I said, because it had been that long since I’d known her.

  Clara patted my sleeping mom. “C’mon, Prince. Visiting hour is over.”

  Dora raised her head an inch. A line from the table’s edge was pressed into her cheek. Her mouth was open and saliva had pooled in the corner of her lips. She blinked, then she rose and held out her arms.

  With a lump in my throat and a hole in my heart, I hugged her. “Bye, Mom. Get some sleep.”

  “Come by again, please. And stay safe. Stay away from the Sinners. Just stay away and you’ll be safe then.”

  “I will,” I said, and kissed her forehead. The Sinners, it was always about the Sinners.

  I gave a quick wave to Clara. “Take care of yourself, Clara.”

  “You too. Will we see you later this month? She earned some more visiting hours. She started volunteering in the library.”

  "That’s good. The library and the hours.”

  “It is good. Reading helps them. So much more than TV.”

  “That’s the truth. When are her hours?”

  “End of next week, I believe.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best. Can’t seem to stay away from this place,” I said with a wry smile, and Clara patted me on the shoulder.

  As I left, I wished I could simply google “TJ and K” and know what the hell my mother had been talking about. Spend the night searching for them. Track them down. Confront them. But who the hell were they? I didn’t know, and I didn’t know how to find out.

  But as I closed the door to my truck, it occurred to me that I could do something else with the information. I was grasping at straws, but maybe someone else could make sense of this. Maybe it was time for me to ask for help, to turn to another person who was trying to solve this case.

  I was never big on asking for help.

  But this time, I had to.

  This time I had to reach out.

  I dialed Detective John Winston and passed on the initials TJ and K.

  “I really appreciate that,” John said.

  “I don’t know that it means anything.”

  “I don’t either. But it might, and that’s what matters. A lead is a lead, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  For the first time in a long time, I felt unburdened.

  31

  Sophie

  The scent of roasted rosemary chicken wafted through my penthouse on Friday night as I turned off the oven and set the roasting pan on top of the stove. I leaned in to the bird, cuddled by potatoes and carrots, and inhaled the delicious scent.

  “Mmm,” I said aloud, enjoying the savory aroma almost as much as I delighted in the yummy smells emanating from my second oven as the pie baked. I’d also made a summer salad, which was staying cool in the fridge.

  Since Project Termite had been officially terminated and my brother had returned to his own home last night, I wore red lace panties and a matching push-up bra, barely covered by the flirty apron I had on and finished off with black strappy pumps on my feet.

  A timer dinged, and I pulled the mouthwatering peach pie from the oven. A sultry Billie Holiday number played in the background, and now all I needed was my sexy date to arrive.

  Soon my buzzer rang, and my heart sped up in anticipation. I pressed the button to respond. “Hello there.”

  “Ryan Sloan is here. May I send him up?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, and within minutes there was a knock on my door. The sound made my chest tingly. I was so damn ready to see him.

  I opened the door, and he nearly stumbled.

  He opened his lips to speak, but no words came. His jaw simply hung open.

  I fought valiantly to contain a victorious grin. Inside, though, I wanted to pump a fist for having rendered him speechless.

  He had a bottle of white wine and a bouquet of peach tulips in one hand, so I grabbed his free hand, tugged him inside, and shut the door behind them. In seconds, he’d backed me up against the wall, set the wine and flowers down on the entryway table, and placed his hands on my face. “How is it possible that you are more stunning every time I see you
?”

  I jutted out my hip and winked. “It’s the apron,” I said, gesturing to my skimpy attire.

  He dropped a hand to my back, running it along the bare skin above the waist. “It’s not the apron. It’s how you look in it. Every time I see you, you’re wearing something that makes me rock hard,” he said, yanking me close so I could feel the evidence myself.

  “I like you hard, Ryan Sloan,” I said, meeting his gaze, and he smiled at me, then grasped my ass, grinding his erection against my belly.

  “You’re all I thought about all day,” he murmured.

  “What were you thinking about specifically? Wait. Don’t tell me.” I leaned back to tap my finger on my chin. “Was it the food? You were so damn curious to know what I was cooking for you—admit it.”

  He shook his head.

  “So it was the peaches, then?”

  Another shake as he rubbed his hard-on against me.

  “Maybe it was getting a tour of my home?” I craned my neck, gesturing with my eyes to the living room.

  “Nope,” he said with a sexy grin.

  “Oh,” I said, my lips forming an O. “Was it this?” I spun away from his grip and ran my hands along my breasts, down to my belly, letting one hand rest between my legs. Then, I took slow, measured steps into the open kitchen that looked out onto my living room.

  His eyes prowled over me as he followed, unknotting his tie and tossing it on the floor. He undid the top button on his crisp white button-down. I reached a metal stool in my kitchen, bumping it with the backs of my legs. His arms darted out, and he grabbed my waist, lifted me up, and set me on the stool. He skimmed his fingers down my bare arms. “Let me just look at you,” he whispered, raking his eyes over my figure from head to toe. His dark gaze made me feel not only naked, but dirty. Filthy. Wanton.

  His chest rose and fell as he drank me in. He wasn’t even touching me, but my skin sizzled. I felt touched. Then he brushed his fingertips along my sides. I let my legs fall open for him, spreading myself, as I hooked my heels onto the bottom rung. Pressing my palms on the back of the stool to hold on, I arched my spine, offering my body to him.