Sinful Desire Read online

  “Is it?” she echoed. “Only you know the answer to that. But Ryan, you think you have to manage everything perfectly because your life spun out of control when you were younger. All our lives did. Here’s the thing you need to see—you can’t control everything, and you also don’t have to. The only things you can take charge of are the choices you make, and if Miss Peach Pie is a choice you want to make, then you should let her in.” She paused then added, “Besides, you’ve never shown up at my house at ten p.m. to talk about a woman. So think about that, my love.”

  He wasn’t sure he agreed with her.

  Hell, he wasn’t sure about anything. Except tonight seemed to prove it was a good thing he generally didn’t make it beyond a third date.

  Just look at the mess he’d made of the fourth one.

  * * *

  Sophie scrubbed the island for a third time. She would likely go for a fourth, perhaps even a fifth. John finished loading the last plate in the dishwasher. “Look, men are pigs,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  She shot him a sharp-eyed stare. “That makes you a pig, too, then.”

  He nodded vigorously. “Takes one to know one. Men are horrible.”

  She grabbed a dishtowel and swatted him on the shoulder with it. “Stop. You’re being ridiculous. Men aren’t pigs. Not all of them at least,” she said softly. “You’re not. Dad wasn’t. I don’t really think Ryan is either.”

  John said nothing, and Sophie returned to cleaning the marble countertop of the island, making sure she scoured each section to a spit shine. She wasn’t trying to erase the evening, or the man. She was merely trying to keep her mind busy, so she’d be less apt to rely on her heart.

  Her heart was a puppy, happily trotting in a field of poppies.

  That was the problem.

  “Does your silence mean you think he’s bad news?” she asked John. She didn’t know anybody else who’d even met Ryan. At least her brother had spoken to him.

  “I don’t know enough about him to say if he’s bad news or not,” John said carefully as he poured dishwasher soap into the machine.

  “You don’t trust him, though.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone.”

  She shoved the sponge roughly back and forth, back and forth. The repetitive motion was strangely soothing. “But is your distrust of Ryan more or less than your baseline level of distrust?” she asked in a clinical manner.

  “It’s higher, but that’s because we’re talking about you, now. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “You think I’m foolish.”

  “No,” he corrected as he shut the dishwasher. “I think you love easily. Maybe too easily for your own good.”

  “I’m not in love with him,” she said quickly, dropping the sponge and meeting his eyes.

  He arched a brow, questioning her with his steely stare. “It sure looked like that. Or like it was heading in that direction.”

  “When? When did it look like that?”

  “When I walked back out and saw you holding him.”

  She shut her eyes as she slipped back in time to those few seconds that felt like a slice of possibility. Her arms around him. His cheek on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and straightened the kitchen some more, placing the clean roasting pan in a cupboard.

  “Also, you believe in love so strongly because of Mom and Dad, and you think you’re going to have that,” John continued. “But most of the world isn’t like that. Some of the world is like Ryan’s parents.”

  “What happened with them? Beyond the news. Beyond what I could find on the Internet,” she asked as she put more pans away. She was dying to know. Curiosity had her in its grip.

  “Soph,” he said in a chiding tone. “You know I can’t say.”

  “But you think he knows something that will help you in the investigation? You said that. You said that the night I went to the gala. I know you had to have been talking about him then.”

  He huffed. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

  “I’m just a good listener. So what do you think he knows? You don’t think he’s a suspect, do you?”

  He laughed and shook his head, leaning his hip against the counter. “No. Absolutely not. But everyone has an agenda, and I think Ryan Sloan has his own, which for some reason involves protecting his mother.”

  “But she’s in prison. How can he be protecting her?”

  “I think he’s protecting things she won’t tell us. But the good news is he told me something that I think will be helpful, if I can just connect all the dots.”

  “Can you?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question. And you know I can’t say anymore. If I do I’ll compromise the investigation, and all investigations matter, but this one is a big one, Sophie.”

  She had a sneaking suspicion John wasn’t merely looking into an eighteen-year-old murder. She had a feeling he was hunting for something that went much wider and bigger.

  “And if you do? You can keep the streets safe?”

  “That’s always my goal.” He nodded to the door. “I should go. Unless you want me to stay.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just tell me—is there anything about him that you think I need to know? Would I be a fool to see him again?”

  He tucked his finger under her chin. “Sophie, I can’t make those sorts of promises or guarantees about anyone. Let alone someone I barely know. What I do know is this—he is focused, and intense, and his mother adores him, and he loved her, too.”

  Was that such a bad thing? Was there some law that said you were supposed to become a hater if someone you loved killed? Sophie shuddered at the thought. Was the world that black and white? She had no clue how she would feel in Ryan’s shoes, which was why she didn’t want to judge him.

  She said goodbye to John then headed to her closet and rearranged her favorite dresses and fancy shoes.

  When she woke up the next morning, her phone bleated loudly—a reminder of her meeting in a few hours with Clyde. She groaned because the man would surely ask her about her date for the fundraiser, and she didn’t know if she had one still.

  Or if she wanted one anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pool cue in hand, Ryan stared down the eight ball and the corner pocket. He tapped the ball lightly then followed its path as it rolled across the green felt, hell-bent on its destination and impending victory.

  C’mon, he said silently.

  The ball veered to the right, bumping the edge of the table, and missing the mark by an inch.

  “Damn.” Ryan let out a long, frustrated sigh.

  Brent pulled back on his stick and knocked the eight ball flawlessly.

  “You’re killing it today,” Ryan said, extending a hand to congratulate his brother-in-law on his third win of the afternoon.

  Brent shook then waved his hand as if Ryan’s utter demolishment in a game at which he usually excelled was no big deal. “Just lucky today, that’s all,” Brent said.

  There was a time when Ryan hadn’t been a fan of Brent Nichols because the man had broken his sister’s heart long ago. But that was then, and as Ryan had gotten to know Brent anew these days, he’d let the past go. Brent made Shannon immensely happy, and he loved seeing his sister like this—glowing.

  “Go again?” Ryan asked, holding up his cue.

  “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

  “Seems that way,” Ryan said. But he was determined to right this ship. He never lost three games in a row. Never ever. This was unprecedented, and he had to get his act together, because he didn’t like being so off his game.

  He racked the balls as Shannon walked into the den, holding up beer bottles for the crew. “Are we ever going to eat lunch?” she asked as she doled out bottles to Brent and Ryan. She had one left for Colin, since he’d texted that he’d be there any minute, and she set it on the edge of the table. “Or are you boys going to play all
afternoon?”

  “I’ll stop when I break my streak,” Ryan said, as Johnny Cash barked happily from the other room. He must have spotted one of his favorite lady dogs walking along the sidewalk from his perch staring out the front window.

  “Brent, please let him win. I’m hungry,” Shannon said to her husband, who simply laughed.

  Ryan shot a sharp-eyed stare at Brent. “Play fair and square.”

  “I’ll play.”

  Ryan spun around to see his brother Colin walk in, with Johnny Cash trotting by his side. “What the hell? You don’t knock?”

  “Yeah, some asshole who owns this house didn’t lock the front door. I was able to wander in and your guard dog greeted me with a big lick,” Colin said with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he petted the dog’s black furry head. Then he looked at Ryan. “You’d think a man who works in the security business would lock his door.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I know you used your key. Don’t even try to pretend that stuff would slip by me.”

  Colin grinned widely and held up his key. “Ha. Got you. Where’s Michael?” he asked, looking around.

  “He said he’ll be here soon. Just finished up some work on this new client deal we signed this week. White Box. These guys are awesome, and they fucking love us,” Ryan said as he clapped his brother on the back in greeting. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

  “Good. Busy. Been training for the Badass Triathlon next month.”

  “You are hardcore. Is that the one where you do some crazy rock climbing too?”

  Colin nodded. “Yup. Was up at sunrise on a climb. Gotta go for it after the other time I tried to do it. We all know what happened then.”

  “You’re gonna do great this time, man.”

  “I hear you’re busy too these days.” Colin wiggled his eyebrows. “Getting it on with some new lady.”

  Ryan swiveled around to face Shannon. She held up her hands. “Ryan, you had me get her a dress. It’s not a state secret that you’re seeing someone. But I don’t even know her name.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he said, cutting this conversation off at the knees. He missed Sophie like a hungry man misses food, and it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d seen her. He missed every single thing about her, from her clever banter, to her sexy winks, to her giving heart, to her beautiful body that he wanted to ravage. He’d spent the morning burying himself in work, then in Frisbee time with his dog, then in a long swim in his pool. Now he had some of his favorite people to help keep his mind off the woman who’d nabbed center seat in his brain and his heart.

  A picture of Sophie in her black cherry dress and white sunglasses, inviting him to the gala, popped into his head then, unbidden.

  Tempting and tantalizing, the image of her was like a summons. And he wanted to do nothing more than appear before her. Tell her how he felt. Tell her he wanted her in his life, not out of it. But he was no good at talking. Despite what his grandma had said, he was no more skilled at opening his heart to a woman this morning than he had been last night.

  He desperately needed the diversion of this game. “Colin, grab a cue and join us. You’re on Brent’s team. Shan, you’re on mine.”

  Shannon arched an eyebrow. “You must really want to win, Ryan. You know I can beat the two of you blindfolded.” She did have a knack for the game. Their dad had been a bit of a pool shark and had taught all of them to play at a young age. Maybe Shannon would help him regain his mojo.

  Shannon handed Colin the remaining beer bottle, the non-alcoholic kind, then she grabbed a stick, leaned over the table, narrowed her eyes, and assessed the best angle for the break shot. She pulled back the cue, snapped it seamlessly, and sent the top of the table into motion, balls scattering, with an orange one landing easily in a corner pocket.

  “Nice,” Brent said with an appreciative whistle. “Can’t even get annoyed because that was such a perfect shot.”

  Ryan pointed his beer bottle at Brent. “Sucking up to the opposing team—I approve only because it involves my sister, and you should always compliment her.”

  “And I always do,” Brent said with a laugh as he held his beer in an air toast. Ryan lined up the next shot and then proceeded to whack the purple ball neatly across the table, sinking it easily. Shannon held up a hand to high-five him, and they smacked palms. Ryan turned to Colin as Shannon set up another shot.

  “Hey Colin, I heard your firm is one of the sponsors for the big fundraiser for the community center. I knew you were a volunteer, but I had no idea you were putting your money where your mouth is too. That’s awesome. Another one of your quiet give back projects?”

  His brother nodded. “Yup. They do great work, and Elle, the director, is passionate about helping. Some of the kids there have had rough childhoods, so the center is all about giving them a place to hang out, and, man, do they ever need the help to refurbish that place.”

  Ryan tipped his chin. “Proud of you, bro.”

  “Hey,” Brent cut in, setting down his beer. “That reminds me. I heard from my friend Mindy earlier today. I already told Shan, but I wanted you both to know, too. Remember the guy I saw hanging outside her house a month ago?”

  The pool game ceased and all eyes turned to Brent. After the murder case was reopened, Brent had mentioned spotting a guy in a Buick idling outside Shannon’s old condo. He’d snapped a photo at the time, and while the guy in the car hadn’t done anything suspicious, he’d spent far too long doing a whole lot of nothing in the car while staring at her building. Turned out Shannon had seen him at another time too. Shannon was living with Brent now, so she felt safer. Still, Ryan and his siblings all wanted to know more about the guy in the Buick, in case he’d been watching Shannon for some reason.

  “Mindy talked to her friends on the force. Asked them if the ink on his arms looked familiar.” Ryan flashed back to Luke’s comments about the Royal Sinners, and the tattoos that bore their mantra, as Brent continued. “The picture I had of him wasn’t perfect, but we zoomed in as close as we could and it looks like one of the tattoos says ‘Protect.’”

  Ryan’s blood chilled. Protect our own. “That’s the ink of the Royal Sinners,” he said, dread laced through his voice.

  Shannon moved closer to Brent, visibly shivering, and he draped an arm around his wife. “Are you serious?” she asked.

  Ryan nodded. “You need to be careful, Shan. I’m going to get you a security detail right away.”

  “I can take care of her,” Brent said protectively.

  “I know you can, man. I don’t doubt it for a second. But I’m talking about when you’re not with her,” Ryan added. “And you need to make sure you’re carrying, Shan.”

  “Ryan,” she said, chiding.

  “These guys don’t fuck around. Stefano has friends on the outside. And he had a kid at the time he went to prison. I heard the kid’s been getting into some trouble. What if this guy watching us is Stefano’s son? He looks young enough. We need to be careful,” he said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, then turned to Colin. “Same goes for you.”

  “You’re getting me a bodyguard?”

  “If you want one, I will.”

  Colin shot him a look that said hell no. “Let me see the picture,” he said, and Brent called it up on his phone and passed it to Colin.

  He stroked his chin and appeared deep in thought.

  “What is it, Colin?” Shannon asked.

  “This is going to sound strange, but I think I’ve seen this guy shooting hoops at the community center.” He tapped the screen and spoke to Brent. “Send me this picture. Let me do a little more digging.”

  Brent swiped the screen a few times then said, “Done. And listen, we haven’t seen him around in a month, so my thought is maybe he was just trying to keep an eye on Shan before the case got reopened?”

  Luke’s warning rang in Ryan’s ears.

  You bump into a guy like Stefano on the
street and you run the other way.

  But he didn’t need that man’s words about the Royal Sinners to take the threat seriously. His father in the ground, courtesy of a gangland shooter, was all Ryan needed to make sure he did everything to keep his family safe. “We’re not taking any chances, because we don’t know what’s going on. That’s the issue. We don’t know everything that’s happening with the investigation. The only one who knows is the damn detective.”

  They speculated more on the case while finishing the round of pool. When Shannon landed the winning shot, she declared victory for the two of them. Then she raised her cue, tapped Ryan on the shoulder from across the table, and poked him with it. “Now, fess up. What’s the story with the woman you had me buy the dress for? I want to know.”

  “She’s pissed at me,” he said, heavily. He hadn’t heard a word from her since last night, so that was probably the end of Miss Peach Pie. A black cloud engulfed him at the prospect of never seeing her again.

  “What did you do wrong?” Brent asked as he knocked back some of his beer.

  Ryan parked his hands on his hips. “Now, why do you assume it was me who did something wrong?”

  Brent nearly spat out his beer. “Dude. You just said you did. You said she’s pissed at you.”

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered. “I don’t even know if she wants to hear from me again.”

  Shannon hung up her cue, marched over to Ryan, and stared at him, her eyes saying we’re waiting.

  Ryan gritted his teeth, pressing them hard together, locking up his words, and shutting the details in his head.

  Old habit.

  This was his way.

  This was how he dealt.

  Jam all the personal, private information into his mind vise, then crush it and let the tension live in his bones for years, like a coiled spring. The one time lately he hadn’t felt like a taut power line was when he’d given John the initials he’d gotten from his mom. Instead, he’d felt a sense of freedom from the weight of the past.

  The memory of that feeling was a soft knock on the door. A gentle reminder that he’d gotten in this predicament with Sophie by keeping his secrets airtight.