My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2) Read online

  My Sinful Desire

  Book Two in the Sinful Men Series

  Lauren Blakely

  Little Dog Press

  Contents

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  About

  My Sinful Desire

  1. Ryan

  2. Sophie

  3. Ryan

  4. Sophie

  5. Ryan

  6. Sophie

  7. Ryan

  8. Sophie

  9. Sophie

  10. Sophie

  11. Ryan

  12. Sophie

  13. Ryan

  14. Ryan

  15. Bianca

  16. Ryan

  17. Sophie

  18. Sophie

  19. John

  20. Ryan

  21. Sophie

  22. Ryan

  23. Ryan

  24. Ryan

  25. Dora

  26. Ryan

  27. Sophie

  28. Ryan

  29. Dora

  30. Ryan

  31. Sophie

  32. Ryan

  33. Ryan

  34. Sophie

  35. Sophie

  36. Ryan

  37. Sophie

  38. Ryan

  39. Sophie

  40. Sophie

  41. Ryan

  42. Ryan

  43. Sophie

  44. Ryan

  45. Sophie

  46. Ryan

  47. Ryan

  48. Sophie

  49. Sophie

  50. Ryan

  51. Sophie

  52. Ryan

  53. Colin

  54. Ryan

  55. Sophie

  56. Ryan

  57. John

  58. Ryan

  59. Sophie

  60. Sophie

  61. Ryan

  62. Dora

  63. Ryan

  64. Dora

  65. Ryan

  66. Ryan

  67. Sophie

  68. Ryan

  69. Michael

  70. Ryan

  71. Sophie

  72. Ryan

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Big Rock Series

  Big Rock

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  Full Package

  Joy Ride

  Hard Wood

  P.S. It's Always Been You Series

  P.S. It’s Always Been You: Part 1

  P.S. It’s Always Been You: Part 2

  P.S. It’s Always Been You: Part 3

  The Gift Series

  The Engagement Gift

  The Virgin Gift

  The Decadent Gift

  The Heartbreakers Series

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  Boyfriend Material

  Asking For a Friend

  Sex and Other Shiny Objects

  One Night Stand-In

  Lucky In Love Series

  Best Laid Plans

  The Feel Good Factor

  Nobody Does It Better

  Unzipped

  Always Satisfied Series

  Satisfaction Guaranteed

  Instant Gratification

  Overnight Service

  Never Have I Ever

  Special Delivery

  The Sexy Suit Series

  Lucky Suit

  Birthday Suit

  From Paris With Love

  Wanderlust

  Part-Time Lover

  One Love Series

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Come As You Are

  Sports Romance

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Most Likely to Score

  Standalones

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  The Break-Up Album

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Out of Bounds

  The Caught Up in Love Series:

  The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series

  The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)

  The Dating Proposal

  The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)

  The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)

  Stars In Their Eyes Duet

  My Charming Rival

  My Sexy Rival

  The No Regrets Series

  The Start of Us

  The Thrill of It

  Every Second With You

  The Seductive Nights Series

  First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)

  Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)

  After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)

  One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)

  A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)

  The Joy Delivered Duet

  Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)

  Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)

  The Sinful Men Series

  My Sinful Nights

  My Sinful Desire

  My Sinful Longing

  My Sinful Love

  The Fighting Fire Series

  Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)

  Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)

  Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)

  The Jewel Series

  A two-book sexy contemporary romance series

  The Sapphire Affair

  The Sapphire Heist

  About

  A passionate, emotional, sexy-as-sin romance novel from #1 New York Times Bestselling author Lauren Blakely…

  I live my life by a few simple rules — let no one in, trust only my family, and don’t ever spend more than three nights with a woman.

  Those are easy enough to abide by when I meet gorgeous, captivating and absolutely brilliant Sophie Winston. Who wants nothing more than to explore all her sinful desires with me after dark. Desires that put me firmly in control in the bedroom.

  That works for me — as long as I can keep the secrets I need to protect. Not only t
he ones about my family, but the ones about how she’s interwoven into my dangerous past.

  But the night she learns the truth, I’m faced with a stark new choice — let her go or give up control of my heart for the first time ever.

  Trouble is, the past is chasing both of us right now and it just caught up.

  My Sinful Desire

  By Lauren Blakely

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  1

  Ryan

  The light was playing tricks on me.

  The golden haze of the late-afternoon sun, and its halo glow around her, was some kind of illusion. No way, no how was it possible for anyone to be so gorgeous that she actually shimmered.

  Mirage was the more plausible explanation for the platinum blonde stepping out of the Aston Martin at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Thursday in July, looking as if she belonged in a gangster movie. She was the woman they all fought over. The woman who brought the men to their knees.

  From the pinup dress, to the pouty lips, to the gleaming car that stretched a city block—or so it seemed—she was . . .

  Glamorous. Sultry. Voluptuous.

  My fantasy woman.

  No question about it.

  I stared shamelessly over the top of my aviator shades as I walked along the palm-tree-lined sidewalk that framed police headquarters, cycling through the right icebreaker for a woman like that. A woman who wore a black dress with a cherry pattern and bright white sunglasses—busty and bold enough to roll up to the Las Vegas Municipal Court building at midday looking like sin come to life.

  With one hand on the car door, she glanced to the left, away from me, and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. In her other hand, she held a phone, a notepad, and a pen. She bumped her rear against the car door, shutting it with her ass.

  What a lucky car door.

  I half wished she’d drop the pen, so I could swoop in and pick it up. Bend down, grab it before it rattled to the street, and gallantly present it.

  Then I’d get her number with that pen. She’d be the type to push up the cuff of my shirtsleeve and write it on my arm.

  Checking my watch, I saw I had two minutes to spare before I met with the detective. I could do this. I could meet her in 120 seconds.

  The sun pelted its hot desert rays at me, radiating off the sidewalks, as I ran a hand along my green tie and cleared my throat. I looked up from my phone, and instantly we locked eyes. Hers were blue like the sea. As she caught my gaze, she arched an eyebrow.

  This was it. No time for lines. Just talk to the woman. “Seems I’ve been caught staring,” I said as I reached her.

  “I’m afraid I’m guilty on that count too,” she fired back, her voice laced with a torch-singer sultriness, her words telling me to keep going.

  She twirled the pen in her hand absently.

  I tipped my forehead toward it, figuring this was indeed the best entrée. “Incidentally, I’m astonishingly good at picking up pens that beautiful women drop outside our fine city’s government buildings.”

  Her lips twitched. Red. Cherry red and full. I wanted to know what they tasted like.

  She brought the pen to her lips, danced it between them, raised her eyebrows in an invitation, and then let it fall. It clattered to the sidewalk. “Is that so?”

  The pen was like a promise. Of something more. Of flirting, and then flirting back. Of phone numbers to follow. And then some.

  “That is so,” I said in a firm voice, bending down to pick up the writing implement, just as Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” crooned from her phone. I rose, and she was tapping her screen, sliding her thumb across it.

  “Must answer this. But thank you so much for rescuing my pen. By the way, I like your tie.” She reached out to trail a finger down the silky fabric, her hand terribly close to my chest. Then she held up that finger, asking me to wait.

  “So good to hear from you,” she said into the phone, keeping her eyes on me the whole time. “I can’t wait to see you tonight at the gala at Aria,” she said, arching an eyebrow at me as she emphasized that last word. “It’s going to be a fabulous event, and we’ll raise so much money. My only hope is there will be some gorgeous man there in a green tie who can afford a last-minute ticket.”

  I shot her a grin—a lopsided smile that said yes, the man in the green tie could absolutely afford a ticket.

  I nodded my RSVP to the gala. She waved goodbye and walked down the street.

  Suddenly, I had plans that night.

  Was everyone I encountered today hired from central casting? If there was a dress code for police detectives, rule number one must be “Thou shalt not tightly knot a tie.” John Winston had taken that to heart and was sporting the slightly-loosened look, as if he’d been tugging on his navy tie all day, frustration increasing as he questioned belligerent suspects. The other hallmarks of the job were straight out of Hollywood too, from the striped button-down with the cuffs rolled up to the paper cup of deli coffee on the desk in his office. Even the stubble seemed to have been custom ordered to fit the part of a homicide detective.

  Funny how people could look like their jobs. Briefly, I wondered if the blonde was a movie star. I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Winston said, shutting the door behind him. Glass windows looked out over the rest of the department and a sea of half-empty desks. I wasn’t sure if that meant business was good or bad in homicide. “Have a seat.” The man gestured to a frayed brown office chair. “Ordinarily, I’d chat with you in a witness room, but they’re all full right now.”

  So it was a busy day here.

  “This works fine for me. What can I do for you?” I asked as I sat down, eager to glean any details I could about the reopened investigation into my father’s murder eighteen years ago.

  Winston had called earlier in the week and asked me to come in to help shed any light on the case that I could, as the victim’s son and all. I was flying solo here today. There was no need to bring a lawyer along just for routine questioning—that would make it look as if I had something to hide. I did have something to hide, but not the sort of thing that would help solve the mystery of my father’s death, and the vault in my brain was going to stay locked tight. That had been sealed for eighteen years, and no crowbar would get it open, so I wasn’t worried.

  I was, however, damn curious. I wanted to know what Winston knew about my family. About my mother in prison. About my father, six feet under. I quickly scanned the detective’s desk for any clue as to who John Winston was—a family photo, pictures of the detective with his kid, maybe even some sports memorabilia. But there were no telltale signs, save for an autographed baseball in a plastic case amid a neat desk covered only with newspapers and a stack of manila folders.

  The detective grabbed the chair opposite me. “I appreciate you coming in,” Winston said, as he held up a digital recorder. “I’m going to record this. Standard procedure whenever we talk to someone.” I nodded as Winston set the recorder on his desk. “I’m hoping you might be able to answer a few questions that could help us with the investigation. We’re going to be talking to a lot of people, and I want you to feel free to speak about what you know of your parents. And I’d like to keep what’s said just between us.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, shooting him a smile. See? Nothing to hide. “You’ve got us all curious. Not gonna lie—we were pretty damn surprised when you showed up at my grandma’s house and told us the case was being reopened. Last thing I expected to hear. What have you got?”

  My mother was doing hard time for the shooting. She’d gone to trial quickly for murder for hire, along with the gunman, and both were behind bars for life. After eighteen years, why had a closed case gotten hot again?

  Winston revealed little when he said, “Some new evidence has come to light, and we’re trying to determine the validity of it.”

&nbs
p; “New evidence about my mother’s guilt, or innocence?”

  Dora Prince had steadfastly maintained her innocence. Of course, there was hardly an inmate in any prison anywhere who didn’t. Still, she was my mother, and I wanted to know if there was truth to her claim. I’d love to believe her. Hell, I’d be beside myself to learn my mother wasn’t a killer. I’d held on to the possibility for as long as she’d been locked away, grasping it tenaciously, never letting it go, waiting for a moment like this. For the chance that she might not have done it. That I wasn’t raised by a murderer. I dug my fingers into my palms in anticipation.