My Sinful Temptation

by Lauren Blakely

  “That’s exactly how I’d describe it.” She pulled off one of her gloves, signaling she was done for the night. “So, I think it’s time to make some changes.”

  I blinked, surprised. “What kind of changes?” I was fine with change; I just liked enough warning to prevent it from happening, especially if it involved Mindy.

  “The don’t-put-all-my-eggs-in-one-basket kind, I guess.” She shrugged and turned away to put her gloves in her gym bag. “And I hate that I don’t get to see my sisters and their kids very often. I could move back to Colorado.”

  Shit. That was a terrible idea. No way could I let that happen. “But you hate the snow.”

  She shuddered, even in the heat of the gym. “True. I do. I despise the snow.”

  “There’s a lot of snow in Colorado,” I said leadingly.

  Her eyes glinted with laughter. “That’s some brilliant detective work, Winston.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I deadpanned. But she didn’t say anything else about Colorado, so I could breathe again. Breathe and think more tactically.

  Throwing the last of my gear in my gym bag, I picked it up and reached for hers too. “You want a life outside of work, right? Then you should talk to Sophie about the fundraiser she’s doing.”

  “John . . .” She started to protest my carrying her bag, but then redirected. “First of all, you live in a glass house when it comes to work-life balance. Second, charity galas are really not my scene.”

  “Hear me out,” I said. “Remember the three-legged dog from the park?”

  “Sergeant Jackson? Of course I do.”

  I opened the door and gestured her ahead of me, thinking fast. Sophie wanted to play matchmaker, and Mindy wanted a life outside of work. A satisfying project while she weighed her options might show her what Las Vegas still had to offer her. Besides me.

  “The charity that matched Sergeant Jackson with his new owner—that’s who the event will benefit. Maybe you could be a volunteer. It’s everything you like. It’s going to be outside with a picnic and, I don’t know, a dog costume contest or something.”

  “Um, is that dogs in costume or people costumed as dogs?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Says the man who’s never had to provide security during a furries convention.”

  “On the spectrum of out-of-towner shenanigans, dressing as cartoon animals for a weekend ranks pretty low.”

  She arched her brow. “Do you know how much it costs to repair a pool filter clogged with fun fur?”

  We’d reached her car. “I’m torn between laughing and wondering how the hell we ended up talking about goddamn furries.”

  “Who says you have to choose only one?” she asked with a grin that was cheeky as hell.

  And fuck it. She was right. Friendship, dating, work—I didn’t know how long this quiet spell would last, but I had the chance to choose D, all of the above. Maybe I should take it as a gift and just enjoy it.

  She unlocked her car and opened the door, holding out her hand for her gym bag. I gave her the strap but didn’t let go yet.

  Because I didn’t want her to think of Colorado. I didn’t want her to think of making big changes now. I wanted her to think of . . . well, of an us. I saw a work-around for the four-hours-after-firing rule, and I went for it. “Remember the other morning? At your car? When I said I wanted to ask you something?”

  Her eyes widened, and her beautiful mouth opened in surprise. I watched the thoughts cross her face, flashing in tiny tics of emotion, refusing to settle into just one. “Yes,” she finally said. “But you never finished the sentence.”

  Her words were soft, spoken in that vulnerable tone that was having its way with me tonight. And she was right. I hadn’t gotten far before caution got the better of me.

  Caution could go fuck itself.

  Well, in this one area.

  This area where I had nothing, and everything, to lose.

  “Here’s what I wanted to ask,” I said. “Would you have a drink with me tomorrow night?”

  After all the time I’d known her, I’d done it.

  Asked her.

  And I hoped she’d say yes.

  But first, she tilted her head and shot me a quizzical stare.

  “Is this because you feel sorry for me?”

  “No.” My swift answer left no space for doubt. “It’s because I want to have a drink with you.”

  I took back her gym bag and leaned in to toss it onto the passenger seat, brushing up against her as I did, and not by accident. The little catch in her breath promised I wasn’t alone in how I felt.

  I straightened with one hand on the door and one on top of the car, letting my eyes travel over her lovely face. “I don’t feel sorry for you, Mindy. You weren’t happy at that job, and now you’ll find a better one.”

  She shook her head. “So, the drinks—if they’re not for commiseration, then they’re for . . .?”

  Ah, hell.

  By now, it had to have been over four hours since she was fired.

  “The drinks are for this.” I leaned in and tucked a strand of hair over her ear. Then I dipped my head close to hers and brushed my lips against her cheek.

  I stayed like that for a few seconds. Closer to her than I’d ever been. Wanting to be so much closer.

  But I needed to be sure she was on the same page I was when it came to turning our friendship into something more.

  That I wasn’t taking advantage of her.

  I pulled away. “What do you say?”

  She licked her lips. “I say yes.”

  Stepping back, I waited until she’d buckled up and started the engine before heading to my own vehicle. This was good. This felt right. This was something I’d wanted for ages.

  If getting together was a disaster, at least I’d know.

  But with the way her eyes had darkened when I’d touched her hair, the way her breath came faster when I kissed her cheek?

  This wasn’t going to be a disaster at all.

  8

  Mindy

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so excited for a date.

  Okay, actually, I couldn’t remember my last date, period.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  The point was that John was taking me out for drinks—not for coffee, not for beers at a sports bar—but drinks and everything that implied. Drinks with my gorgeous, smart, sexy friend who was no longer locked in the friend zone.

  If I’d had any doubts, John had put the remaining ones to rest with the way he’d said good night, his breath warm on my neck, his mouth skimming my jaw, leaving me wanting more, more, more.

  As P!nk blasted in my condo—my Sexy Getting Ready Playlist, I’d dubbed it—I zipped up my jeans, slid on a silky top, and clasped on a slim silver pendant with a dog on it, a gift from my niece. Well, a dog was my Patronus, so it seemed fitting. Maybe it was also a sign that I should get involved with the dog rescue event. I’d worked with plenty of dogs in security.

  I played out the possibilities as I swiped on some mascara, touched up my lip gloss, and sung my heart out to “Just Give Me a Reason.”

  I should not be this buoyant the day after getting canned.

  But I was. Because . . . that man.

  As the song faded out, my phone rang, and I jumped. I stared at the cell lit up on the bed, and hoped against hope that it wasn’t John calling to cancel. Hoped no one had gotten murdered. Hoped tonight’s plans weren’t too good to be true.

  Only one way to find out.

  I swiveled around, marched to my bed, and grabbed the device, daring it to ruin my evening.

  But John’s name wasn’t flashing across the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize, with a New York City area code.

  Like most people, I didn’t like answering unknown numbers, but neither the hotel business nor the security industry had nine-to-five hours, so I never ruled out it being something important, no matter the time of da
y.

  “Mindy Gamble here.”

  “Hello, Ms. Gamble. This is Rosemary Adler at the Cartwright Hotel in New York.” The woman on the other end of the call had a warm, confident tone. “I know this might seem out of the blue—well, not just seem so, it is—but for some time, we have been looking to fill the position of head of security here at our Manhattan property.”

  “Oh?” My heart sped up before I’d fully processed this information. New York had always seemed to me like a city where anything could happen, but on a less tawdry level than Las Vegas. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “We’ve been selective with advertising the position, as we really want a certain kind of candidate.” I could sense the smile in the voice on the other end of the call. “Which is why I’m calling. Our CEO has a friend who works at the Jade, and he passed on the fact that you might be searching for new employment.”

  I sat on the end of my bed. That was fast. Damned fast. Scary damned fast, in the way that a roller coaster operates at racetrack speeds. The this-is-thrilling-but-what-if-it-goes-horribly-wrong way.

  “As it happens, Ms. Adler,” I told her, “I am.”

  “Terrific. You have an excellent reputation in the industry. Do you have a few minutes to answer some preliminary interview questions?”

  I blanched, checking the time on my nightstand clock. “Right now?” Ugh. I was already falling flat in the brilliant answers department.

  “Yes. If that’s okay,” she said, giving me an out. But I needed to be in if I wanted to seize this opportunity.

  And honestly, I did. I had to. It was perfect.

  The Cartwright had an excellent reputation, and such a high-profile job at the New York site would be quite the gold star on my résumé.

  Sure, the call had come out of the blue—well, so was my firing. And hadn’t I just said I wanted a change? I’d been thinking Colorado, not the East Coast, but still.

  If I was going to shake out the rug of my life, maybe I should go all in. Go for the scary roller coaster and not just the merry-go-round. I wouldn’t know anyone in New York, but there was Skype, and there were frequent-flier programs. And there, I wouldn’t be running in place while my friends forged ahead into new life stages. My whole life could be a new venture.

  Also, I did have time to chat, because I was ready early. I just needed to slip on my shoes, which I did as I moved to a more businesslike place than my bed, settling into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “This is fine, Ms. Adler,” I said with impressive—I hoped—composure. “And I’d love to answer your questions.”

  The sign beckoned in flashes of ’50s-style neon.

  The Purple Zebra was off the Strip, a bar known mostly to locals, and it wasn’t crawling with Columbos. That was how John had put it when he’d texted me the info earlier, which I took to mean it wasn’t a cop hangout, or maybe just that it was free from other detectives who would buttonhole him with “just one more thing.”

  It was a perfect spot to talk. To swap stories. Maybe to have a heart-to-heart.

  As much as I wanted to fast-forward to whispering sweet nothings—and, oh yes, I did want that—I also was bursting to share my news.

  As I opened the door to the bar, I took an inventory of my emotional state, which had been doing a good imitation of a pendulum for the last twenty-four hours. Tonight, I was excited and nervous, and nervous and excited.

  But as soon as I stepped inside, scanned the room, and spotted him, I was simply ready.

  Ready for my date with the sexiest police officer in Las Vegas.

  I’d seen him in gym clothes, in plain clothes, in a suit. Tonight, though, was my new favorite look on John Winston—dark jeans and a storm-cloud-gray Henley that hugged his chest in all the right places. Dear God, did it ever show off his biceps as he rose and walked toward me, his eyes on mine the whole damn time.

  The hungry way he stared at me sent a shiver down my spine.

  He set a hand on my arm and brushed my cheek with a kiss.

  Who knew my cheek was an erogenous zone? It must have been, the way this man turned me on with the simplest of kisses.

  “You look amazing,” he said.

  That word.

  It was tossed about until it didn’t mean much. It could describe that sandwich, this hairstyle, that nail color.

  But from John, that word felt wholly real and powerful, and a little bit dirty too.

  Which I liked.

  “So do you.” I wasn’t prepared for how good it would feel to say that aloud. To finally give voice to all the attraction that had been bubbling for months.

  For more than a year.

  He set a hand on my back. It felt possessive as he walked me to a booth and gestured for me to sit down.

  None of this was strange to me. I understood restaurant booths and was familiar with manners, had even experienced them in similar situations.

  But not with John. This felt like a whole new side of him.

  A part of him he was letting me see at last. That he wanted me to see.

  He didn’t want to be John, the kickboxing buddy.

  He wanted to be John, the man I was going home with.

  Because I was sure that was where this night was headed.

  “Martini?” he asked.

  “That sounds perfect,” I said. “Especially since I have exciting news.”

  He lifted a brow in curiosity. “Martinis go well with news. Good news, I trust?”

  “I think so.”

  He signaled the bartender, placed our order, then turned to me and prompted, “So . . .”

  “I got the craziest call about an hour ago . . .”

  Without moving, his expression shuttered, like he was locking things down for a sudden storm. It was his work face, and I realized that “craziest call” probably meant something different to a detective, and rarely something good.

  “A surprising call,” I amended. “An opportunity.”

  He relaxed, even looked rueful at his reaction. “Now you have me curious.”

  I told him everything about my conversation, and he watched me closely as I shared. We polished off our drinks while he asked questions about the job, the hotel, and the type of work I’d be doing. The bartender brought us another round before I was done.

  And the entire time, the energy between us hummed like a live wire. The same energy that had been there since we’d met, amped up by this shift in our status quo and my own residual high from the phone interview for the job in New York.

  After so long without any changes in my life, now I had two giant ones competing for my attention.

  John and New York, each tugging at me in different ways.

  John’s invitation to drinks tonight had upended my entire view of our relationship.

  The New York phone call could upend my entire life.

  John gave me butterflies and tingles around my heart and between my thighs.

  New York made my pulse pound with possibility.

  Tonight was thrilling and terrifying, that roller-coaster ride taking another loop.

  “And then there’s the fact that I like hotels.” Hotels whisked you away from home and chores. They offered an escape. A private retreat.

  “Big fan of hotels too,” John said wryly when I took a deep breath to refuel.

  Oh. I’d been rattling on while my mind spun and whirred, working on my dilemma. No wonder I’d stated the painfully obvious. I like hotels? How profound.

  Except not.

  John sipped his drink then nodded to mine. “You’ve hardly touched your second martini.”

  I let out a giddy laugh. It was probably 80 percent relief that I had a job prospect, but I felt light-headed and floaty, especially when John let his hand rest on the table, close to mine. “Are you trying to get me drunk, John Winston?”

  “Definitely not.” His eyes darkened as he said it, those two words loaded with implication. My breath caught at the taut intensity. In his stoic face, every flicker of response
seemed magnified.

  Because I knew that look was just for me. Just for this moment. It wouldn’t be the same look tomorrow, or the next day.

  That look said he definitely didn’t want me drunk. It said he wanted me sober so he could do bad things to me.

  I wanted that too, but I needed something else. Some clue as to what he thought about everything I’d unpacked here at the bar—the unexpected opportunity, and what I thought the move and the job might mean for me.

  “Don’t you have anything to say about New York?” I asked. “About them headhunting me less than a day after I was fired?”

  He took another sip of his drink as his gaze lingered on my mouth. “What’s there to say? I’m not surprised. Your reputation is well earned.”

  Nice words, but they seemed so flat and left me feeling the same way. “You don’t seem happy for me.”

  He paused, looking at his glass, seeming to choose his words even more carefully than normal. “I’m happy that someone appreciates you.”

  Had I missed something important while I’d been going on about New York? The attraction that had flared last night, the spike of desire when he’d leaned close, crowding me in between the car and his body—all of that was still between us, but tightly leashed.

  “Yes, I like being appreciated,” I said, still trying to gauge his reaction.

  He raised his brows, slid his glass across the table, then swung around from his side to slide into the booth right next to me.

  He’d picked up the gauntlet.

  And I liked it.

  “What are you doing over here?” My voice was breathy because I knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Appreciating you,” he said, skating his hand along the back of the booth until his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

  And, oh my. One simple touch. His arm. My shoulder. That was all, and he’d sent my temperature soaring.

  My face was hot, and I knew I was flushed as I turned to face him, challenging him on purpose now. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. But if you have doubts, let me make it incredibly, abundantly clear.”