My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  More time.

  More space.

  More chances to retreat.

  Hunting for information, I sank down on a kitchen stool and called my brother. “I know you can’t give me any details on the case, and I’m not asking for them, but I need to know—is this going to end anytime soon?”

  John exhaled loudly. “Sophie, you know I don’t have an answer. Even if this were an open-and-shut case, I wouldn’t have the answer. These things can go on forever. Oddly enough, this case was something of a rarity in the first place when his mother was arrested and tried in a matter of months. Most cases go on for a long time, especially when they’re reopened and involve gangs and crimes committed over the years.”

  Years.

  That word clung heavily to the air, like thick smog.

  What would that be like? Every time there was a new wrinkle, would Ryan retreat? Would I always be the one who had to step closer to him? To offer the shoulder to lean on?

  I’d offered it tonight, and he hadn’t taken it.

  Would he ever want it or need it? And would I be satisfied if he always turned elsewhere for comfort? Compared to him, I’d had an easy life. As he reeled over his mother’s guilt, here I was jetting off to Frankfurt to check out my new car. But that was all the more reason why I wanted to be the supportive one—because I could. I could be there to hold his hand when he needed me. But he didn’t seem to want that.

  To keep myself busy, I called Holden and met him for a drink at The Mirage.

  “I have news,” he said, his eyes lighting up after he’d ordered his white wine.

  “Do tell,” I said, glad to focus on something else.

  He leaned in to whisper. “I met someone.”

  I clapped twice. “Tell me everything. What’s he like?”

  Holden wiggled his eyebrows. “Actually, he’s a she.”

  “A she?” I blinked.

  He laughed. “I’m seeing a woman.”

  “You are?”

  “Indeed I am.” The answer seemed so strange, even though this had always been a possibility. Somehow it had been easier to think of him with men than with women.

  “What’s she like, then?”

  “Oh, she’s lovely. Natalie is very sweet and friendly.” As he waxed on about the new woman in his life, I tried to ignore the strange new sting in my heart from this conversation. Seeing Holden through the lens of a preference for men had been far more manageable for my ego, it turned out. Now, my confidence was suffering another blow, unexpectedly, with this realization that I hadn’t been the right woman for Holden either.

  But there was more to this hollow ache in my heart. A new worry took root—the fear that Holden would slip away from me too, as he cozied up to Natalie. Because I couldn’t help but wonder how this new lady would feel about him being so friendly with his ex-wife, and if this most predictable relationship in my life was about to become unpredictable too.

  I loathed instability.

  68

  Ryan

  Colin arrived first, with two six-packs. I side-eyed the beers. “Corona?”

  My younger brother shrugged. “That’s not what you drink?”

  I shook my head, grabbed the beers, and shut the door. “Haven’t had a Corona since I was in college.”

  Colin shrugged. “What do I know about beer?”

  “Nothing. As you fucking should. I’m all out of that near-beer shit. Want a soda?”

  “Always,” Colin said, and we headed for the kitchen. I handed him a can of Diet Coke, then opened a Corona and took a long swallow. It tasted like spring break.

  “Guess you don’t hate it that much,” Colin said pointedly.

  “Guess I needed a drink after my day.”

  “So what’s the deal? Shan said Mom confessed to you?” Colin made a keep rolling motion with his hand. “What the hell?”

  “Yup,” I said, taking another drink, then setting the bottle on the counter and telling him everything that went down in the visiting room.

  Colin scoffed. “Made her do it. See? Even now, she holds on to the notion that she somehow isn’t to blame.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, well. That’s not what this is really about. That’s not why I feel like I’m pretty much having the second-worst day of my life.”

  Colin yanked me in for a hug. “Yeah, I know,” he said softly. “I know, man. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold on to the possibility. You wanted that hope that maybe she hadn’t done it.”

  “Can you blame me? Wouldn’t you want that too?”

  “Sure,” Colin said with a nod as he broke the hug, stopping to pet my dog, who’d wandered into the kitchen. “Of course it would be really fucking fantastic if she didn’t do it, Ry. It would be, like, the greatest thing in the world if our mother didn’t have our father killed, right?”

  Though there was a touch of sarcasm in Colin’s remark, there was also the bare truth. It would be the greatest thing.

  “But you see, I came to peace long ago with the fact that she did,” Colin continued. “Maybe details are still coming to light. Maybe the detective is looking for accomplices. And maybe he’ll find them and they can join Jerry fucking Stefano in the big house where they all belong. The fact is, our mother was into some fucked-up shit, from associating with the likes of Stefano, to the ass she was cheating with. She was a messed-up, desperate woman who wanted money, and wanted out so badly she killed for it.”

  Colin dropped the volume on his voice and draped an arm over my shoulder. “This shit happens. Just look at the New York prison escapees and how that woman was going to have one of them kill her husband. It’s awful, and it seems shocking from a distance, but up close, when it happens to you, you can’t believe it. You wish it didn’t happen.” Colin tapped his chest with his free hand. “I wish that too. But it did. This is our story. This isn’t the news. This isn’t the papers. This isn’t someone else’s tragedy. It happened to us, and deep down somewhere inside you”—Colin moved his hand to my chest, tapping my breastbone, close to my heart—“you know it’s true.”

  I swallowed hard. I scrubbed my hand over my jaw, trying to process the whole damn day, but making no sense of the way the floor beneath me was tilting and cracking. “What do you mean, I know it’s true?”

  Colin squeezed my shoulder. “You think this confession changes your whole life. You think it changes everything you’ve believed about Mom. But it doesn’t. Deep down, you knew she was involved. Deep down, you knew she was responsible. But you hoped, because you’re human. Because you wanted to believe in redemption, in basic goodness, in good overcoming evil. You held on to that tiny kernel of hope,” Colin said, cupping his palms together as if he were holding a precious seed. “You held it, and you wanted it to become something. You wanted to believe that maybe things were different. It’s okay to have hope. It’s okay to cling to it. We all wanted that too. Desperately. The rest of us just let go of it sooner. Now it’s your turn. Let it go,” he said, and opened his hands.

  I watched the cool, empty air in my kitchen, imagining a dandelion seed falling in the breeze, the wind blowing it away. Was Colin right? Had I truly known in my gut, in my heart, all along? Had some part of me known she was responsible, but some other part clung to the idea that she might be innocent simply because hope felt good?

  Was that why I held on to the pattern? Why I went to see her every month? Why I nursed the possibility of innocence like a gardener tending to the first buds of spring? Because hope was a precious thing, it was a gift, and when so many things had gone wrong, I’d needed an anchor?

  Hope was my anchor.

  Hope that the past could be rewritten.

  But the past didn’t have to be redone. It was still playing out in the present, unfurling new wrinkles every day, and I’d have to roll with them, to dodge, dart, and avoid the punches.

  My true anchor was right here with me. My brother. And my other brother, Michael, who’d just arrived, along with my sister, Shannon. They
were my foundation. They were the ones who’d helped me make it through the years.

  Today had floored me. But tonight had taught me that I’d been clinging to something I was ready to say goodbye to. “Anyone want to go for a late-night swim?” I asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Michael said.

  69

  Michael

  A few hours later, Ryan and I were buzzed, Shannon was tipsy, and Colin was hyper on caffeine. We’d also lost track of who was winning the water volleyball match, but who cared?

  This was a momentous night.

  One I’d hoped would happen for nearly two decades.

  My brother had turned a corner.

  Finally.

  After all these years, Ryan had moved.

  He’d let go of that tenacious grip, that desperate hope he’d held on to. The wish he’d clung to.

  And accepted.

  The truth.

  And the truth that mattered most was this one—we were still here, still together. This was our family, and the four of us were unbreakable.

  The clock was closing in on two in the morning, and we were having a blast in the turquoise water, lit up from the lights in the pool. We’d talked some, and we’d cried some, and we’d laughed some more. Through it all, we were together, just as the four of us had always been.

  Colin hit the ball to me, and I slammed the volleyball out of the water, sending it careening across the dark grass.

  “Does that mean the game’s over?” Colin asked, curious.

  “For now,” I said.

  It was time for something else. An acknowledgment. Of where we were. Of how far we’d come.

  I swam to the shallow end, and they followed.

  “Let’s drink a toast,” I said when I reached the steps and grabbed my beer.

  “You’ve been drinking all night,” Colin said, hopping out of the water to snag a towel and dry his hair.

  “No need to stop now,” Ryan chimed in as he reached for his bottle and rested his arm on the edge of the pool. “Besides, Col, you brought us the beer. Your fault.”

  Colin pushed a hand through his damp hair, then tossed his towel on a lounge chair. “I’m sure you had plenty in your fridge. I was just trying to be nice to my sad sack of a brother.”

  I raised my Corona. “Never let the nondrinker pick beer again, please. Can that just be a rule?”

  Colin rolled his eyes and dipped his foot in the water to splash me.

  I cleared my throat, tone turning serious as I zeroed in on what I wanted to say, what I wanted them to focus on. “Listen. We’ve spent enough time talking about her. She had Ryan in her clutches for far too long. Tonight, he’s letting go of all that stuff, so let’s drink a toast to the man we all love and miss.” My eyes started to water, and my throat hitched as I pictured my father. He deserved to be here now. But at least we could honor his memory. “To Dad. I still remember the little things, like how he didn’t freak out when I was learning to drive. He was strong and steady, and he bought me a donut the first time I nailed a three-point turn. Said he was proud of me for that small accomplishment. He was always saying that about the things we did, and always ready to celebrate with a donut,” I said, taking a moment to collect myself. “They were just donuts, but they were, in some ways, so much more. He celebrated us. He celebrated life. That was who he was.”

  “That was Dad,” Shannon said softly.

  The water lolled gently in the pool. Somewhere in the yard, crickets chirped.

  My sister took her turn. “I remember when he taught me to play pool. He was patient and determined. He told me he wanted his only girl to be able to beat all his sons, and he coached me until I was able to.”

  “And she does. She schools us all,” I said, with a tip of the cap to Shannon.

  Colin raised his can. “In middle school, I went to a school dance, and when he picked me up, he spotted a hickey on my neck. He was cracking up, and I tried to deny it by making up some ridiculous story that the girl had scratched me accidentally during the dance. He went along with it, even though he said, ‘Someday you might like it.’”

  “And now you do, right?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. I love hickeys,” Colin deadpanned.

  Ryan set his bottle down on the pool’s edge, the clink signaling a shift. “I remember when he went to work that night,” he began, his eyes seeming to mist over at the memory. “He told me he was taking some kids to prom, and that someday I’d be the guy taking a girl to prom, and that I should be nice to the driver, because girls like that, and because it was the right thing to do. And then he told me he loved me. That was the last thing he said to me. That he loved me.”

  Shannon clasped her hand over her mouth, and a huge sob fell from her throat. She threw her arms around Ryan, and then grabbed all of us, yanking us hard into another group hug.

  “I remember love,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Most of all, I remember love.”

  “Me too,” I said, doing everything I could to keep my voice steady. But then, I didn’t need to.

  “I remember love,” I echoed, but it wasn’t only a memory. It was the way we were, here and now. Because of him. Living with love.

  70

  Ryan

  Later, after we cleaned up and headed inside, I nudged Colin with my elbow. “Hey, what was the deal with that woman at the benefit last night? Is there something going on with you two?”

  Colin shrugged as we gathered bottles into a paper shopping bag for recycling. “She’s just a friend.”

  “But you want more?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Go for it then.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I stopped, holding a bottle. Had I really just told my brother to go for it?

  And what was I doing?

  Sophie and I weren’t just friends. We were in love. And there was nothing complicated about our feelings.

  Sophie was always clear, always present, always giving. She put her heart on the line every day, every night. Every second.

  My loving, giving, supportive, beautiful, amazing Sophie.

  Who was leaving the country for more than a week come morning.

  I’d told her twenty-four hours ago that I had to see her tonight, no matter what. That I couldn’t stay away from her. And instead, I’d done the opposite. I’d stayed away from her. I’d told her I was fucked-up again, and hell, I felt that way.

  But that wasn’t fair to her.

  Especially when she was always fair. Always open. Always honest.

  As I carried the bag of bottles to my recycling bin in the garage, I muttered a string of curse words. I’d been sending her mixed messages. Telling her I had to see her, then telling her I couldn’t handle seeing her. Saying I desperately needed her, then not taking the time to properly say goodbye before she left the country for a trip.

  Fine, there was no rule that said we had to see each other every day.

  But this wasn’t about managing a lover’s travel schedule. This was about how I talked to her, how I cared for her, how I tended to her needs. She was so even-keeled, so reliable, so fucking wonderful, and I’d taken advantage of that. I hadn’t been attentive to the woman I loved. Understandable, some might say, given the way my day had gone.

  But it wasn’t acceptable to me.

  Sophie had given me something I thought I’d never have. I had never trusted in love. I’d always believed love could be gunned down. Then she came into my life and turned everything I believed about myself upside down.

  That was the real change in me.

  Not my mother’s confession, but Sophie’s love.

  Falling in love with Sophie Winston was the most magical, wonderful, intense experience of my life. When everything around me wobbled, Sophie was the constant.

  I shut the top of the recycling bin and glanced at my truck. My buzz had worn off. I needed to see her. To tell her she rocked my world, then tell her again and again and again. The only problem was, it was fou
r thirty in the morning, and I was pretty damn sure her flight left in a few hours.

  But so be it.

  I’d simply have to drive over there now and see her before she got on that plane. Kiss her hard before she left. As I walked back into my house, my mind latched onto something she’d told me by my pool last weekend.

  The things I want from you don’t cost money.

  I turned to Colin, dropped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Little brother, I need a big favor.”

  I explained to Colin what I needed, and my brother said yes. Then added, “Hell yes.”

  Because that was what family did for each other.

  I slid open my phone screen and dialed Sophie’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe she’d turned her phone off? No idea. I sent her a text.

  Then I saw she’d sent me one.

  71

  Sophie

  Fifteen minutes earlier

  I was late.

  I was always late.

  I was pissed at myself too for being so damn late.

  Rolling my suitcase behind me like it was a new Olympic event, I ran out of my building at an ungodly hour in the morning, my sandals flapping against the marble-tiled lobby, my phone stuffed into my purse. The car had been waiting for me in the building driveway for a few minutes.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I told the driver as I slid into the back seat, the night still cloaking the sky.

  “Nothing to apologize for, ma’am. I will get you to the airport on time,” he said, shutting the door.

  I turned on my phone, tapping my foot as I waited for it to boot up. I needed to send Ryan a note.

  Because I’d made a decision.

  I’d spent a restless night thinking about whether or not to reach out. I’d tossed and turned, debating whether to give him the space he seemed to need, or to reassure him of how I felt. But then I’d recalled the advice my mother always gave me: Always talk. Always be honest. Never go to bed angry. Make time for kisses and meals, dance under the stars, and dream together.