The Sinner's Secret

by Kira Sinclair

  Eight

  One night was clearly not enough time with Blakely. Even if that one night had been the best sex of his life...and that was saying a lot.

  As closed off as Blakely was in her regular life, she was just as open and free in the bedroom. It was a surprising discovery. One he was grateful for.

  But as much as he’d love to take advantage of their surroundings by keeping her in bed all day, that wasn’t an option.

  Trailing his lips down the curve of her naked spine, Gray murmured, “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

  With a groan, Blakely buried her head farther under the pile of pillows she’d burrowed beneath. An unintelligible mumble floated up from the mound, but he got the gist of it.

  “We don’t have a few more minutes to spare.”

  He’d already let her sleep in. After grabbing the pillow shielding her face, Gray threw it onto the floor beside the bed.

  Rolling his way, she cracked open a single eye and glared at him. “Go away.”

  Who knew she could be so cute in the morning?

  Grabbing the mug of coffee he’d set on the bedside table, Gray waved it beneath her nose. “I will, if you really want me to. But I’m pretty sure you were adamant about going with me yesterday.”

  “What kind of monster sets a meeting for the butt crack of dawn?”

  Gray chuckled. “It’s almost noon.”

  Blakely bolted upright. If he hadn’t acted fast, her elbow would have connected with the mug in his hand, sending hot coffee flying across the bed.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Why’d you let me sleep this late? I never sleep this late.”

  Which was one reason he’d done it. He hadn’t needed her to tell him to know she wasn’t normally the type to sleep in. Blakely was a meet-the-day-at-dawn-and-work-until-well-into-the-evening kind of woman.

  But it was also clear she wasn’t used to staying up until almost two having sex.

  “Letting you sleep was the least I could do after last night.”

  Blakely’s gaze narrowed. Obviously, what he’d thought was a cute quip had hit her entirely wrong.

  “Sleep for sex?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Her gaze ran up and down his body, a confusing mixture of heat and disdain filling her eyes. “You obviously didn’t feel the need to sleep in.”

  He’d gotten up a couple hours ago, showered and been handling a few things. “I don’t sleep much.”

  Normally, he would have left the statement as it was, but for some reason more words followed. “Before prison I easily slept until past noon every day because I was up half the night. In prison...everything you do is regimented and controlled by the clock. They tell you when to sleep, eat and even go outside. I have a hard time sleeping in now, even when I want to.”

  The hard edge that had tightened Blakely’s features eased. She collapsed back against the pile of pillows, her mouth twisting into a self-deprecating grimace. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Waking up defensive. I’m not used to this.”

  Well, that had been obvious without the confession.

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to act or what you expect.”

  Gray set the mug on the bedside table. Shifting, he sat on the bed and settled his hip into the curve of her waist.

  “Blakely, I don’t expect anything. And the only way you’re supposed to act is whatever way feels right to you. You and I get to decide what we’re doing and what we want from each other. Nothing else matters.”

  Her head tipped sideways as she considered him. “You’re not at all what I thought.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “But I keep getting reminded.”

  Shifting higher against the headboard, she grasped the covers and tucked them beneath her arms, leaving her shoulders and collarbone bare.

  What he really wanted to do was pull them back down again, lean forward and feast on her ripe breasts. Instead, he grabbed the coffee and held it out to her again.

  Grasping the mug between her palms, she held it up to her face and pulled in a deep breath. Her eyes closed in bliss, her expression making his half-hard erection stir. She’d looked the same last night when he’d put his mouth on her.

  Clearly, she liked her coffee. The look of surprise she sent him when she finally took her first sip was totally worth the extra effort he’d taken to make it just the way she liked it.

  “How’d you know?”

  Gray didn’t pretend not to know exactly what she was asking. Shrugging, he said, “We’ve been working pretty closely together for the last week. I paid attention.”

  Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I didn’t.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No, I’m starting to realize it isn’t.”

  Leaning forward, Blakely set her mug back on the bedside table. Rolling up onto her knees, she let the covers pool at her waist. “How much time did you say we have?”

  “Not enough.”

  Her hands roamed over her naked body, kneading her breasts. The tight bud of her nipples peaked between her spread fingers. “You’re sure?”

  Gray groaned. He wanted to be the one touching her. “Unfortunately, I am.” Grasping her wrists, Gray pulled her hands away. Leaning forward, he laved one nipple, the rough scrape of his tongue across her soft flesh sending a sharp spike of need through him. “But, trust me, I have plans for you later, Ms. Whittaker.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  After a weird and unusual day, Blakely found herself back at the hotel, sitting on the couch with her feet curled up underneath her. She was reading through several emails that had come through on her Stone Surveillance account. Surprisingly enough, she was starting to feel like a real member of the team. In fact, one of the other investigators had sent her a request to review some financial documents on another case.

  The case was simple and it had taken her less than an hour to look at what he’d sent...but it was interesting. And when she’d been able to send back a message with her insight, she’d felt like she’d contributed to something important.

  That hadn’t happened in a very long time.

  She was just shutting down her computer when a loud knock on the door startled her. The sound reverberated through the huge suite, reminding her just how alone she was right now. After they’d returned from the meeting with Surkov—which had been unproductive, to say the least—Gray had left her in the suite to “run a couple errands,” whatever that meant.

  Unfolding from the sofa, Blakely padded across the room, the marble floor cool against the soles of her feet.

  “Who is it?” she asked, looking through the peephole. Unfortunately, all she could see was a cart full of bags and boxes and a pair of shiny shoes sticking out from the bottom.

  “Ms. Whittaker? Mr. Lockwood sent up some clothes for you from the boutiques downstairs.”

  Why would he do that? She had a suitcase filled with perfectly good clothes.

  Opening the door, Blakely was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but I don’t need anything.”

  A petite woman stuck her head around the side of the cart and gave her a disarming smile. “He said you’d say that.”

  “Did he now?” Blakely wasn’t certain what to think about that.

  The woman nodded, her bangs flopping into her eyes. With a puff of breath, she blew the hair back out again, uncaring where the strands landed or how they looked. “He also said I wasn’t allowed to leave until you let me inside. And he promised me a huge tip. Like a-week-of-salary huge, which I really need. So, please? Let me in?”

  Blakely eyed the other woman. She couldn’t be more than five-two, a hundred
and ten pounds. Her face was round, but skinny. Her features were petite and yet somehow inviting. Maybe it was the disarming, begging smile that stretched her wide mouth. Or the contagious sparkle of excitement in her brown eyes. Either way, she was hardly threatening.

  And there were logos from the shops Blakely had seen downstairs stamped on all the bags.

  With a huff, Blakely pulled back and swept her arm wide, indicating the other woman should come in. Far be it for her to deny anyone a chance to make some money.

  The other woman was practically bouncing as she wheeled the cart past Blakely. “I’m Desiree.” With a grimace and a roll of her eyes, she continued, “Yeah, I know. It’s awful. My mom was an eighties showgirl, convinced I was going to carry on the family legacy. To her utter shame, I have two left feet and about as much grace as a cactus.”

  Desiree pushed the cart into the center of the living room, stopped and took a quick turn around. “Nice.” With a clap of her hands, she dismissed the opulence of the space and the amazing view outside the windows in favor of the loaded-down cart.

  Tapping a finger against her lips, her eyes narrowed as she studied the things. Occasionally, she’d flip a considering glance over at Blakely.

  “Not much to go on—”

  “Hey!”

  Desiree dismissed her indignation with a flip of her hand. “That’s not what I meant. You’re gorgeous. I meant I can’t tell much about your personal style based on the oversize sweatshirt and bare feet you’re currently wearing. I’m going to assume that’s not your norm.”

  “You assume right.”

  “Mr. Lockwood gave me a few parameters and suggestions for what he’d like to see you in, but I’d like to get your input. Sure, we dress to impress the important man in our life, but you should feel amazing in it, too.”

  Was Gray the important man in her life? Blakely wasn’t sure. Her libido definitely wanted a repeat performance of last night. And over the last week she’d come to realize, despite everything, that she might actually like the guy. But it was a huge leap from sex and mutual respect to him being the center of her universe.

  A leap she was hardly ready to make.

  “He’s not important.”

  Desiree flipped her a disbelieving glance. “Trust me, I know people. He’s important.”

  “Fine, but not to me.”

  Desiree gave her another expression that said “yeah, right,” and shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “No, really. There’s a lot you don’t know about him. It’s...complicated.”

  “Sister, it always is. Complicated makes life interesting.”

  “Interesting is dangerous.”

  Desiree shook her head. “Interesting is just interesting.” Zipping open one of the bags, she revealed a sleek black jumpsuit. “Mr. Lockwood suggested you tend to wear very tailored clothing. Pieces that convey a sense of authority and control.”

  Interesting. Who knew he’d been studying her wardrobe? And apparently forming many opinions that he’d never voiced.

  “He suggested you’d be most comfortable in something tailored and classic. But he also mentioned he’d like to give you the opportunity to try something new. To come out of your shell.”

  Come out of her shell? What did that mean? Was he passing judgment on her clothing choices? Blakely stared at the cart of things Gray had decided she needed to try.

  Embarrassment and anger began to climb up her neck. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I dress.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s what Mr. Lockwood meant.”

  “And just what did he mean?”

  “He said he didn’t think you’d had a lot of opportunity to indulge and play in your life, not even as a little girl. Which made me sad. I mean, every little girl should have a chance to play dress-up.”

  “So he wants me to dress up like a doll now?”

  Blakely was lost, uncomfortable and out of her element. But she was also surprised because Gray had pegged her pretty closely. She’d never been the type to play in her mother’s makeup or clomp around in her heels. In fact, looking back, she couldn’t remember a lot of laughter or happiness in her childhood.

  It wasn’t that she’d been miserable. Or mistreated. There were plenty of kids who’d had it worse than her, by far. But...

  “I think he just wants you to have a chance to feel beautiful.”

  Blakely blinked at Desiree. She couldn’t remember a single time in her life when she’d felt truly beautiful. The suits she preferred to wear to the office made her feel powerful and competent. Prepared to handle anything that came her way.

  She hadn’t even gone to her high-school prom. Thinking back, she’d never actually owned a ball gown. Or had a reason to want one. And she wasn’t exactly sure she wanted a fancy dress now. “I’m not big on pink puffy dresses.”

  Desiree laughed, the warm, sultry sound surprising Blakely. She’d expected the tiny thing to have a tinkly little laugh. “Good thing I don’t have any of those here, then.”

  With a twinkle in her eye, Desiree began to pull several more outfits from their protective bags. One was a dark red floor-length gown that would no doubt cling to every curve she owned. And make her feel like she was practically naked. Another emerald green gown had a trumpet skirt that kicked out with a row of ruffles.

  Nope, neither of those were going to work.

  Blakely’s eye kept going back to the black jumpsuit Desiree had unwrapped first. It had a subtle sparkle to it and it had taken her several minutes to realize the satin material had iridescent threads running through it.

  Desiree revealed a few more outfits, one off-white and another bright purple. There was no way she was wearing either of those colors. She swept her hands across the selection. “Pick your poison—which one do you want to try first?”

  “The black one,” Blakely stated without hesitation.

  “Somehow I knew that’s what you’d go for. Are you sure you don’t want to try one of the others on just for fun?”

  “Not on your life.” Nothing about the others appealed to her.

  “Okay.” After pulling the jumpsuit off the hanger, Desiree handed it to her. “Just slip it on and I’ll zip you up.”

  With a deep breath, Blakely disappeared into the bedroom. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. Turning her back to the doorway, she put one foot and then the other inside the garment. Pulling it up and over her shoulders, Blakely realized what had looked rather conservative on the hanger was actually sexy as hell. There was no back at all to the jumpsuit.

  The waist cinched in, accentuating her hourglass figure. It rode high on her shoulders, cutting shallowly across her collarbone. The edge of the material fell away dramatically in a waterfall that pooled at the small of her back. The drape of the material hugged the curve of her ass and the deceptively long length of her legs.

  Because the back was naked, she couldn’t wear a bra. Her breasts swung free, brushing tantalizingly against the soft material with each deep intake of breath. She could already feel her body responding at the thought of wearing this in front of Gray.

  Her nipples tightened and peaked, rubbing against the fabric.

  Blakely reached up, covering both breasts and massaging in an effort to relieve the pressure.

  “Well, that’s a sexy sight to walk in on.”

  Blakely jumped and gasped at the sound of Gray’s voice. She immediately dropped her hands as if she’d been caught doing something inappropriate.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. Put those hands right back where they were.”

  Blakely’s gaze tore up to the mirror on the dresser across from her. Gray’s penetrating gaze stared back at her, watching her with a predatory gleam that made the ache deep inside her ratchet higher.

  He stood in the doorway, one hip propped against the jamb, hea
d cocked to the side studying her. Both hands were tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He was deceptively calm even as his gaze ate her up. At some point he’d shed the suit jacket he’d been wearing earlier. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up his arms, revealing heavy muscle and bulging veins running up the length of his forearms.

  He shut the bedroom door. “We’re alone.” A single dark eyebrow winged up, silently demanding she do what he’d asked.

  Slowly, Blakely’s hands rose, settling back over her sensitive breasts.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “You.” The answer was simple and easy. But that’s not what he was looking for.

  “What about me? What had that look of pure pleasure crossing your beautiful face?”

  There was something freeing about having the conversation through the reflection of the mirror. An added layer of distance that allowed her to be more open than she might have otherwise been.

  “I was thinking about you taking me out of this outfit. Your mouth tugging on my swollen nipples. The scrape of the material across them was torture, so I was trying to ease the ache.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  A smile played at the corners of his lush lips. “And what is it that you want?”

  “You.”

  He shook his head. “You can do better than that.”

  “I want you to kiss me like you did last night. Like I was the air keeping you alive. I want you to run your fingers over every inch of my skin. I want your length buried deep inside me, stroking in and out until we’re both panting from the need for relief.”

  Gray pushed away from the door, but his hands stayed firmly where they were. Slowly, she watched him walk forward, closing the gap between them. Blakely’s body reacted by drawing tight with anticipation. She wanted him to give her what she’d asked for.

  Thinking that was exactly what he was going to do, she braced.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he sidled up behind her, bending his head down so he could rain kisses across the top of her shoulders. His hands settled on her hips for several seconds, holding her in place.