Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)

by Aubrey Irons

  Serena laughs. “Yeah, well, welcome to Texas.”

  Three drinks later, and I’m quite possibly on the best date I’ve been on in years. Okay, not a date. A non-date. A chance encounter. A run in.

  With the enemy.

  I grin as I turn towards her, and for a second, there’s a moment. There’s a moment where we freeze like that, inches apart outside that shitty little bar. And I know what happens here. I know this is where I close that distance, slide my hand across her hip and another into her hair and pull her into me. This is the part where I kiss her hard and leave her breathless before asking her to come back to my hotel room.

  The perfect way to salvage a night that started with a possible corporate acquisition walking out of dinner with me.

  Except.

  I groan inside.

  Except I have somewhere to be. There’s function at a cigar club downtown here - this stuffy, old-money meet-up of team owners and investor-types that I’ve made promises to go to since I was going to be in Houston anyways.

  Serena raises a brow at the expression on my face.

  “Look, I have to go to this…thing.”

  “A thing, huh?” She nods emphatically. “I see. Well it sounds very...verb.”

  I grin. “It’s this after-dinner meet-up thing for football team owners and investors and board directors and all that, where everyone sits around congratulating each other on athletic feats accomplished by people they pay. It’s very boring, and-”

  “And you want to know if I can come with?” She makes a face like she’s thinking hard. “Yeah, okay, I guess I could come.”

  I grin.

  “It’s going to be stuffy.”

  She shrugs. “I can do stuffy.”

  “It’s going to be boring as hell.”

  “Talk to me about the drink situation.”

  “Free? Pretty much endless?”

  “I’m in.”

  I laugh and shake her suddenly outstretched hand.

  “I’m warning you though, this is basically a bunch of rich old guys talking about how rich and old they are while their trophy girlfriends, or mistresses, or escorts smile and try not to look bored.”

  Her hand flies to mouth as she gasps, her eyes twinkling with humor. “Escorts? Seriously?”

  “Oh, with this crowd? Totally.”

  “Wow, so you’re really asking me to come to a boring old rich guy thing and be your fake mistress? You sure do know how to pamper a girl.”

  “Look, I wouldn’t presume-”

  “Can I make up a fake name?”

  My brow wrinkles as I grin at her.

  “You are a strange creature, Serena Roth.”

  She shakes her head primly. “The name is now Ruby, thank you very much.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Ruby Tuesday, actually. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she says dramatically, that southern twang suddenly much more pronounced as she curtseys.

  “Well, Ruby, I think Mick Jagger was looking for you earlier.”

  She snorts a laugh before suddenly frowning. “Wait, honestly, am I dressed for this?”

  She steps back and twirls in her thigh-length, sleeveless, scoop-necked white dress.

  Jesus Christ, she’s gorgeous.

  “Uh, yeah,” I manage to mumble out. “Yeah you’re perfect.”

  She blushes.

  “Actually,” I stroke my chin as I glance up and down the street. “It needs one thing.”

  My eyes lock on the jewelry store halfway down the block.

  “C’mon.”

  I grab her hand before she can say anything and pull her running towards the store.

  “Landon, I think they’re closing.”

  “They’ll stay open.”

  They are, in fact closing, the outside lights shutting off just as we get to the door. That is, until I slap my Amex black card against the glass.

  Yeah, they open back up for that.

  Three minutes later, Serena’s shaking her head.

  “This is…” She blinks and looks up at me with those big green eyes.

  “I can’t wear this,” she says softly, her hand coming up to the silver chain around her neck.

  “You definitely can. And by the way, we’re a bit tight on time.” I tap my watch before glancing up at the beaming store clerk and passing her the credit card. “We’ll take it.”

  “Landon, I-” Serena turns, and my breath catches. The silver and pearl teardrop pendant hangs gleaming against her tan skin, the soft teal of the stone making her eyes pop even more.

  “I don’t know-”

  “You look fantastic, and we have to run.”

  Present:

  The guilt from calling my investigative guys is basically gone by the time I pull into the airport parking lot later and shut off the car. After all, at the heart of it, this is all just business. This is me protecting the legacy of a man who’s given me more than I ever deserved. Whatever I felt with Serena Roth that one bizarre night in Houston, it means nothing in comparison to that task.

  I have a job to do here, and it can’t and will not be thrown off by unseen variables like Serena. If digging up some dirt and getting to the bottom of this mystery allows me to do my job of protecting Sam’s team, then so be it.

  I pocket my keys and step out of the car, adjusting my tie and cuffs and straightening my jacket as I head for the arrivals terminal. I haven’t dressed to impress or anything, I’ve dressed for the job at hand. This is business, and I intend to keep it that way between the two of us.

  The arrivals terminal is stuffed with people - families and friends and lovers - all eagerly waiting to see each other again. I’ve got exactly one person in my life I care about like this, and she’s currently at school most likely practicing for a spelling bee. One person who I’ve got the capacity to love, or care this much about, and that suits me just fine.

  I’m off to the side, tapping out an email on my phone and ignoring the gushy greetings and high-pitched squeals of reunions when I hear my name.

  I look up.

  Shit.

  She looks good.

  She looks too good actually, standing there in the arrivals doorway in a sundress with a suitcase in her hand. And for a second, I have to remind myself of the pep talk I’ve just given myself about separating work and pleasure.

  The woman is gorgeous - effortlessly sexy; enticing without being overly done up. Toned legs under that flirty dress, a body that can’t not make something growl inside of me, a perfectly curved neck, polished cheekbones, pouty lips, thick lashes, and sharp green eyes.

  I shake my head, clearing my thoughts as she steps towards me.

  “You’re here.”

  You’re here?

  I could punch myself for my choice in opening lines.

  “Reporting for duty,” she says with a shrug. “Sorry for hanging up on you last night.”

  I nod. “There’s a chance I was a little out of line.”

  “Yeah, just a small one though.”

  She winks.

  “I looked at those documents you sent on the plane.”

  “Exciting stuff, isn’t it.”

  “Oh, thrilling. I’m probably going to need you to help me play catch up, if we’re being honest. Most of that stuff was a little out of my comfort zone.”

  “It’s what I’m here for, Serena,” I say, reaching down and taking her suitcase from her and nodding towards the exit. “If we’re going to be in this together, know that I’m here to help.”

  She flashes that killer smile at me again. “Thanks, Landon.”

  I grit my teeth and try to clear the thoughts of Serena Roth’s “killer smile” out of my head as we walk towards the car. And again, I remind myself that this partnership is nothing but professional. And in thirty days, we’ll see if I ever even see her again.

  In the meantime, if I could keep my eyes off Serena Roth’s legs, ass, and full, perfect lips, things might work a bit smoother.

 
“Well, huh.”

  The test spot finishes on the laptop in front of us, and I watch as her face wrinkles.

  “Not great, is it.”

  She turns to me, her face scrunched up.

  “Not really. Not if you want to impress them.”

  ‘Them’ is the national soap company who happens to be based in Denver who we’ve been courting for sponsorship going into this season. The board wants a hail mary of a season? Well this is one way to give it to them - hooking in some big name corporate sponsors. And one way to do that, apparently, is to pitch “sponsor ads” to the companies - commercials that’ll play during half time on the big screens that show a team and product partnership.

  Think: your favorite baseball player taking a bite of a burger and gushing about how much he loves this local chain, or a soccer star kicking her feet up on a brand new tire and grinning as she casually mentions that “Johnson Tire and Body Shop is the first place I go for a new set of wheels!”

  Yeah, it’s that lame.

  It’s tacky, and it’s lowest common denominator advertising at its finest. But goddamn do sponsors eat it up, and sponsors clamoring to give you money is a very good thing when you’re about to start a season on a note like this: down a star quarterback, a wishy-washy board of directors, and an owner in a medically induced coma.

  Talk about a stacked deck.

  Except apparently what we have now sucks, if I can glean anything from that look on her face. And that’s not a good thing going into a season like this.

  “Well, shit,” I mutter, easing back in my chair and drumming my fingers on the armrest. “Any ideas? I mean, you are the marketing wiz here.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she winks at me. “Look, I can work on some ideas, but you need to do something for me first.”

  I arch my brow as I frown at her. “I wasn’t aware this was a negotiation.”

  “Well, it is now.”

  “Fine, what is it.”

  She turns to face me.

  “Lighten up.”

  I grin, and that impish smile comes back to her face. This is the same light back and forth we had back in Houston.

  I like this back and forth, even if I understand how dangerous it is.

  “See?” she says. “I knew I remembered that you were capable of smiling.”

  I chuckle in spite of myself, and my stomach grumbles. I glance at the time.

  “It’s late, let’s call it for the day. Do you-”

  Bad idea. Terrible idea.

  I ignore the voice inside my head. It’s completely fine for two work associates to go get a bite after a long day, and Emily’s at a friend’s for dinner tonight anyways.

  “Do you want to grab some food?”

  “Yes,” she groans. “I’m starving actually. Should we order in?”

  “Nah,” I stand, grabbing my jacket and jerking my head towards the door. “There’s a spot I know a few blocks from here.”

  “Perfect.”

  Serena flashes that grin at me again as she stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I open the office door for her before hitting the lights and following her towards the elevator.

  Nothing wrong with coworkers getting food.

  It would sound better even inside my own head if I wasn’t having flashbacks of that night in Houston the whole elevator ride, and the whole walk over, my cock actually throbbing slightly at the memory.

  Yeah, no, this isn’t just “two workplace friends getting something to eat,” this is more than that.

  This is me getting close.

  This is me getting closer than I should be.

  Chapter Ten

  Landon

  “Oh, hi Mr. Reece!”

  Lauren, the hostess at Tap & Vine, blushes flirtingly at me as we step through the doors. Instantly, I know it was a mistake coming here. Instantly, I have no idea why in a city full of places to eat and drink, I took Serena Roth here.

  Habit, I guess.

  Lauren bites her lip coyly. “Usual table?”

  “I- uh, sure,” I mutter.

  For the record, no, nothing has ever happened with Lauren. Not for lack of trying on her part, but there are some lines you don’t cross. Nineteen-year-old hostesses at your tried-and-true spot would be the definition of one of those lines.

  She leads us through the place, and I groan as two of the wait staff, the bartender, and one of the busboys greet me by name in the twelve whole steps it takes us to get to the low-lit booth in the corner.

  Over the years, Tap & Vine has sort of turned into my date spot. It’s the place I bring women who I’ll only know for one night, and it’s perfect for that. It’s classy but easy, expensive enough to impress, without being so fancy that it seems like an occasion. Low lights, fantastic wine, smooth music.

  Why the hell did I bring Serena Roth here.

  I need to think of her as a coworker - a rival even. Hell, anything but a date. Seriously, it’s downtown Denver, and there are about a hundred other bars and restaurants near work we could have gone to. Out of habit, I’ve walked us right into this place.

  She’s smirking by the time we take a seat.

  “Come here often?”

  “Often enough,” I say casually, glancing over the menu as if I don’t already know what’s on there by heart at this point. “It’s near work.”

  “Right, right.”

  She’s still grinning, but she seems to drop it as we put in an order.

  Workplace banter and me filling her in on some of the office politics gets put aside as the food comes. And when we come back to conversation, it somehow changes.

  “So, what’s your story?” she asked, popping a bite of plank-grilled salmon into her mouth.

  “My story?” I frown. “No story.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Master of secrets, huh? No girlfriend?”

  A strange part of me perks up at her asking about my status, but I push it aside.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just curious. You’re not wearing a ring.”

  Looks like I’m not the only one who looks.

  “Nope.”

  I leave it at that, turning and shooting a look at the sports highlights on the screen by the bar as I take a sip of beer. She’s quiet another second, and I’m wondering if she’s decided to drop it. But when I turn back, she’s still looking at me with this expectant look.

  Damn she looks cute with that look.

  I clear my throat.

  “I date.”

  “Not going to give me an inch on this are you?”

  I smile, putting my beer down and steepling my hands in front of me. “What about you?”

  “Is that the master boardroom negotiator coming out? Turning the tables on me?”

  I laugh. “Sure.”

  “Well, what do you want to know?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She blushes at my directness, her cheeks going this adorable pink color as she drops her eyes to the table.

  Good.

  I like that my being direct trips her up. I like it, even though I know damn well I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be playing these sort of games with her. These are date games. These are “let’s have one more drink and then go make some bad decisions” games.

  These aren’t Serena Roth games, and I know better.

  “No,” she finally says, this time looking up and holding my gaze. “There was someone, but, that’s done.”

  I nod. And it seems like that’s probably all I’m going to get before she frowns and opens her mouth again.

  “He told me-” she shakes her head and takes a big sip of her drink.

  “What?”

  She shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

  “I thought we were going to work on being a team here?” I shoot her a needling grin.

  “It was this whole thing with kids and me not…” She doesn’t finish, she just looks away.

  “You don’t like kids?”

  Her h
ead jerks back. “Oh, no, I do, I just…” she trails off. “I think we just had different opinions on the subject. Anyways, he decided to cheat on me.”

  My brow furrows as I take a sip from my beer. “Sounds like a prize.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Oh, trust me, he was.” She arches her brow as she shakes her head. “He also immediately knocked the other girl up, so, opinions on kids aside, case closed.”

  She looks down into her drink as she laughs bitterly in this self-depreciating way, and before I know what the hell I’m doing, I’m sliding my hand across the table and putting it over hers.

  The contact is electric. She looks up sharply, and our eyes lock as the moment freezes in stone around us for one single second.

  “He sounds like a fucking idiot, Serena,” I say.

  And I mean it.

  And in another situation, with another girl, I’d probably make a move. In every other scenario where I’m in this place with a girl even half as gorgeous as her sitting across from me, a hand over hers leads to more. It leads to another on her jaw, which turns to pulling her forward across the table and claiming that mouth with mine. In the other version of this moment, I kiss her hard and crushingly, my hand tangling in her hair.

  In the version of this that sizzles through my mind in that frozen moment, she’s wrapped around my finger before I even lead her out the front door. And by the time I’m laying her across my bed with her ankles over my shoulders, she’s begging me with every fiber of her being.

  This is not that version though. This is not that moment, or that fantasy.

  This is reality, and this is Serena Roth.

  My co-worker.

  My co-owner and partner in possibly the most important task of my professional career.

  I have to remember that she’s the enemy here. She’s the outsider, somehow thrown into this whole thing and putting Sam’s legacy and my entire career in jeopardy. I have to ignore that spark that flashes in her eye. I have to ignore the gentle beat of her pulse, quick and hot beneath the soft skin of her hand. I have to ignore the fact that holding that gaze and feeling her skin beneath my fingers is getting me hard as stone beneath the table.

  I have to forget about how damn gorgeous she looks in the low light. I’ve had plenty of gorgeous women in my bed, and every single one of them are immediately forgettable. Women in my life fill a need, and then I’m moving on. Because with my career, and with raising Emily on my own, that’s all I’ve got time for.