My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2) Read online

  But the expression on Winston’s face was stony, his eyes hard. “New evidence about the crime,” he said, giving nothing away. “I know you were fourteen at the time, but do you remember at all any of the people your mother was associating with then?”

  A muscle in my jaw twitched. The answer was yes, and the answer was no. I knew more than I should, but not enough to make sense of what my mother had given me, and I sure as hell didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I bought myself some time. “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “We want to know who she spent time with. Beyond Stefano,” he said, dropping the name of the shooter, a former hitman with The Royal Sinners, a Vegas gang.

  “I’d just finished eighth grade.” Keenly aware of my own body language, I tried to strike a mix of casual and interested. Even though I was innocent, even though I didn’t have firsthand knowledge of the murder, I had intel about my mother I didn’t intend to share, and that made me hypervigilant. I could hear the words she’d said to me, crystal clear. Never say a word. No matter what, no matter who asks, don’t say anything. Promise me. I’d taken that directive from her to heart when I was younger, and as the years went on too. Besides, what I knew would have no bearing on my mother or her freedom. But rather than focus on the classified documents in my head, I narrowed in on the truth as I answered, “I didn’t have a great sense of the conversations she was having with that guy or any others—beyond the customers who came to our house to pick up clothes and costumes.”

  Winston nodded and rubbed a hand over his chin, slowing as he seemed to consider. “We just want to get a better understanding of everything that happened. Something that might seem innocuous to you could actually wind up being a key piece of information for us. Were there new people in her life? Did she have any new friends?”

  My senses tingled as my analytical mind played connect-the-dots. “Does this mean you think there were others involved?”

  Winston leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, the classic pose for trying to get somebody to open up. “Listen, I’m really just trying to get a better picture of what her life looked like at the time of your father’s murder. Trying to understand who she was involved with. It could be relevant to the investigation.” Winston made an encouraging gesture with his hands. “The customers you said would come over to pick up clothes—was there anyone new in the months or weeks prior?”

  I scrunched up my forehead, rewinding time. “Around that time, she was sewing leotards for a local gymnastics team. She tailored dresses for some of the girls in the neighborhood going to prom. She joked once that she had so much leftover fabric that she was going to start making dog jackets,” I said, and Winston’s lips quirked up in the barest grin.

  “Big fan of dogs myself,” Winston said.

  We had that in common. “Man’s best friend for a damn good reason.”

  The dog talk ceased when he asked, “Any idea who her clients were? Beyond the gymnastics folks? Her friends?”

  “Sorry. I honestly didn’t keep track of who her friends were,” I said, speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  “Listen, if anything comes to you, I’d greatly appreciate it if you could share it with me,” Winston said, turning off the recorder then pushing back from his seat and standing up.

  I tilted my head, pressing, wanting to know what he was on the hunt for. “What is it you’re looking for, detective? It would help me if I knew what sort of info you think would be useful.”

  “Honestly, anything,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a touch of desperation. “Even if it seems like nothing—even if it seems like the smallest piece of evidence,” he said as he opened the door and escorted me through the main office, where weary cops and detectives finished phone calls, shuffled papers, and glanced at the clock.

  I couldn’t blame them. I was eager to end this workday and get on the phone to sort out my new evening plans at Aria. I said goodbye to the detective and returned to the blanket of heat outside, scanning for the Aston Martin. The car was still there, but the blonde was gone.

  Damn. I wouldn’t have minded another chance to drink her in. She would be a balm after that conversation with the detective, which had stirred up too many memories and far too many buried emotions. The past was such a thorny son of a bitch. Diving back into my younger years was not a favorite hobby of mine. Those days were messy and dangerous, and I wished I could leave them behind.

  I’d never been able to though. They had dug claws into me. Grown knotty roots inside my head and my heart.

  All the more reason to focus on the things that would take my mind off my obsession with the past.

  Like tonight, and the chance to see that woman again. As I walked down the steps, I wondered briefly what kind of business she had at the municipal offices. One thing I was fairly certain about—she probably wasn’t talking to homicide detectives about an eighteen-year-old case.

  A case I’d love to know more about. What I wouldn’t give to know what was inside John Winston’s head.

  2

  Sophie

  After I finished chatting with two of my favorite people—my friend Jenna, then my ex-husband Holden—I headed inside the building, knocking twice on the glass window of my brother’s office. John looked up and flashed a brief smile. I wasn’t surprised to find him bent over his desk, one hand pushed through his dark-blond hair, the other flipping through some papers. Probably some case he was hell-bent on solving, since that pretty much described his single-minded mission in life. Always a hard worker, he’d be burning the midnight oil tonight, either here at the station or at home.

  “Hey you,” John said, after he opened the door and dropped a quick kiss on my cheek.

  “Hey you to you,” I said, my voice bright and bubbly to my own ears because I was still in a fantastic mood thanks to Mr. Green Tie. I was hoping that handsome man—wait, make that devilishly handsome, because he’d had a wicked glint in those dark-blue eyes—would pick up the trail of breadcrumbs I’d left behind. The way he’d looked at me on the street . . . I’d never felt so deliciously naked while wearing clothes. A man like that, bold enough to walk right up and talk to a woman . . . he was exactly the kind of man who would show up tonight at Aria.

  Anticipation knitted a path up my spine. I barely knew the guy, had uttered all of ten words to him, but I had a feeling about him. A good feeling. A sexy feeling.

  And it wasn’t as if I’d invited him to a deserted house at the end of an isolated road. I’d invited him to an event that cost a pretty penny for a ticket, where security would be top-notch.

  I crossed my fingers that he’d show.

  “You’re in a good mood,” John said, then grabbed my arm protectively. He tipped his head toward the chatter and hum of the men at the desks behind me. “And get in here. Everyone is staring at you. Don’t you own a jacket?”

  I laughed with my red-lipsticked mouth wide open, and shook my head. “It’s July. It’s close to a hundred degrees outside. Why on earth would I wear a jacket?”

  “Why on earth do you insist on wearing a dress everywhere you go? It doesn’t even have sleeves,” he countered as he tugged me into his office and shut the door.

  “Thank heavens for the lack of sleeves.” I raised my chin up high. “And you never know who you might meet. I certainly don’t want to be wearing a sweatsuit when I meet the future love of my life.”

  “Perish the thought,” he muttered.

  My eyes widened. “I might bump into Mr. Right anywhere.”

  He scoffed and waved broadly at the offices and desks behind me. “You better hope you’re not meeting the love of your life here.”

  But really, you never knew. My mother had met my father at a fruit stand in a farmers’ market on the outskirts of town when she was buying a pineapple from him. They’d locked eyes across the citrus, and the rest was history—thirty-five years of insanely happy marriage and two kids. I could recall many nights when I’d
snuck out of bed as a kid and found them slow dancing in the living room to Ella Fitzgerald, looking so in love.

  A love launched by a pineapple.

  “In any case, Captain John Buzzkill Winston,” I said, fishing around in my cherry-red purse to find what I’d come here for, “here is the transponder to get into my building.” I pressed the flat white object into his palm. “Just wave it at the gate, and you can get into the garage. I have two spots. Use one twenty-one or one twenty-two.”

  “Thank you,” he said, tapping the device. “Fucking termites. I really appreciate you letting me stay with you. I’d stay with one of the guys, but . . .”

  I cut him off. “You’ll do no such thing. Men who live alone live like pigs. Think of it as a vacation at the Ritz. Or really, the Veer,” I said, since I lived in a penthouse condo at that luxurious building on the Strip, and it was as close to the Ritz as one could get. “I’ll be leaving at six thirty sharp for the benefit. You sure you can’t come?”

  “No time for a benefit.”

  I pouted. “But you look so cute when you clean up,” I said, then squeezed his cheek.

  He hissed.

  “Oh, you don’t scare me with your hisses. You might scare all those poor little suspects you question, but I know you’re just a hush puppy underneath.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me.”

  “I know. It’s so much fun to embarrass you.”

  He held up a finger warning me not to.

  Oh, but it was too fun to needle him like this. “Don’t try on my shoes tonight while I’m out. Just promise me that,” I said as I opened the door, then pressed my fingers to my mouth in an oops gesture. He huffed, and I walked out, winking at the mustached man at the desk a few feet away. “Hi, Gavin. Don’t you work too hard.”

  “I promise I won’t, Sophie,” he said, then followed me with his puppy-dog eyes. “That is, if you’ll finally go out with me.”

  I clasped my hand on my heart. “Oh, Gavin. You know I want to. But John just won’t let his little sister date one of the guys he works with.”

  Gavin frowned, as he always did when I playfully said no, since he always asked.

  I said hello to another guy I knew. “Hey there, Jason. You look handsome today. Say hello to Evie and the boys for me.”

  Jason gave a quick salute. “I will. She said to tell you she loved your peach pie recipe.”

  “I am so pleased to hear that. My sweet mother left that one for me. It’s divine,” I said, then blew a big communal kiss off my palm to the whole lot of them. As I pictured the red lips floating through the air, I caught one last look at my brother. He scowled from behind the glass in his office.

  I winked, then walked out.

  I, Sophie Winston, was a certified flirt. I hadn’t always been one. Growing up, I was 100 percent geek. But those days were gone, and now I could be this woman. Flirting was like champagne to me—it gave me a rush, and I loved it. Besides, it let me bide my time. Until it could be more than flirting. Until it could become the real thing.

  Maybe someday I’d meet someone I’d want to do more than flirt with, who’d want me in the same way. I wasn’t entirely sure what that would feel like, but I craved that kind of connection.

  I’d had a mere two lovers in my life, but I knew what I wanted.

  I knew what turned me on.

  As I returned to my car and started the engine, an image of the man in the green tie slipped into my mind. Of the way I’d felt when he’d stared at me—as if I were being hunted. How I loved that kind of hungry gaze. How I longed to be the prey.

  A man who stared at me that way was enough to make me get down on my knees, and that was exactly where I wanted to be.

  3

  Ryan

  As Johnny Cash leaped to catch the Frisbee in midair in my backyard, I scrolled through the search results. The sun inched closer to the horizon, still pelting bolts of pure summer swelter from the sky. I’d already taken a dip in my pool to cool off when I’d arrived home a few minutes ago, and the water had done the trick . . . momentarily.

  After quickly tracking down the gala details on my phone in the parking lot, and snagging a pricy ticket for a benefit to raise money for a new children’s wing at a local hospital, I had headed to the gym for a quick workout. Now, after five miles on the treadmill as I answered emails from clients and several rounds of weights, I had some time to dig deeper into my possible date tonight.

  To learn more than simply the name of the event.

  My black-and-white border collie mix raced to my side, nudging my bare leg with the purple Frisbee, etched with teeth marks around the rim. Johnny Cash was addicted to this Frisbee. I understood deeply the dog’s single-minded focus.

  “Ready for another?”

  The dog thumped his tail on the emerald-green grass. From under the big yellow umbrella on the deck of the pool, I cocked my arm and Johnny Cash took off racing, barreling to the far corner of the yard, around the water, and past a cluster of palm trees that shaded the edge of my property. I tossed the Frisbee then glanced down at the iPad again, hunting for any clue that might yield a name for the bombshell.

  She’d said something on the phone about raising money, so perhaps she worked for the hospital, heading up its fundraising maybe. I scanned the event page more closely. Tonight’s fete was a silent auction with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, as well as a performance by a well-known Vegas torch singer. All the town’s glitterati would be there. Probably even some of my clients, since the security firm my brother Michael and I ran had contracts with many of the city’s top spenders.

  Those were the only details I found.

  As I neared the bottom of the page, I came up empty-handed in the information department. But I didn’t need her name to know I wanted to see her again.

  Wait.

  There it was. In small print.

  The gala had been organized by . . . noted Las Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.

  Johnny Cash deposited the Frisbee at my feet, but I couldn’t pull my eyes off that name.

  Could she really be related?

  Nah.

  I was getting ahead of myself.

  “It’s just a common last name, right?” I asked the dog. He panted, then eyed the Frisbee. A reminder. Didn’t matter to the dog what the woman’s name was. Throw the damn Frisbee.

  I picked up the purple disc, chucked it across the yard once more, and peered again at the screen through my shades. My fingers tingled, itching with possibility.

  Winston.

  Sophie Winston.

  Showing up at the same building where John Winston worked.

  The same John Winston who knew why my father’s murder investigation had been reopened but wouldn’t pony up the details.

  Winston. Winston. Winston.

  I took a deep breath. Maybe the detective just happened to have the same last name as the woman I wanted to see.

  I popped open another browser window, plugged in her name and John’s together, and soon the all-knowing Google revealed that the woman who’d invited me to the fete was indeed the detective’s sister.

  “Huh,” I said, staring at the screen in a sort of awed silence. As my dog scurried back to me, I kneeled down and patted his head. “What kind of lucky son of a bitch am I?”

  Johnny Cash panted, and I imagined he was saying, The luckiest.

  I scratched his chin. “It doesn’t make me too much of an asshole to hope she might know something, does it?”

  The dog had no answers. Instead, he nosed the Frisbee.

  Not wanting to deny my best friend and confidant, I pointed to the pool, then threw the Frisbee into the glistening crystal-blue oval in my yard. The dog splashed in loudly and paddled to the shallow end.

  As I returned my focus to the screen, I told myself to slow down. Just because Sophie-come-hither-to-my-party-tonight-Winston was the detective’s sister didn’t mean she was going to serve up details of the case to me. Hell, she probably
didn’t know anything. I didn’t share the details of my job with my sister, so it was foolish to think John had told her the things I was desperate to know.

  Besides, I was interested in the woman because there’d been some kind of fuse lit between the two of us this afternoon, and far be it from me to deny that kind of heat. I wasn’t some fool who believed in love at first sight. I had no interest in love, nor any faith that it existed. I did, however, believe in the almighty power of lust.

  I’d been invited to spin into Sophie’s orbit, and that was precisely where I intended to be tonight. But I didn’t like to be unprepared. I vastly preferred arming myself with data and details, so I spent a little more time with Google and Sophie, learning she possessed a hell of a lot more than a beautiful body.

  Apparently, she had quite a large brain too.

  She wasn’t simply “noted Las Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.”

  Several business news articles told me what else she was, and it shocked the hell out of me.

  Never ever would I have pegged her as a goddamn tech millionaire.

  I zeroed in on a well-known tech blog and read its coverage of the sale of an internet start-up to an online search giant several years ago.

  Stanford graduate Sophie Winston sold the encoding compression start-up InCode in a deal rumored to be valued at $100 million. She launched the company while finishing her computer science degree at Stanford, and oversaw two rounds of venture capital funding for the technology, which has been used by networks and broadcasters and in enterprise applications. Her brother was the original investor, having provided the initial seed funding from his savings, she has said. Winston tells us she is “delighted” with the acquisition, and plans to step down as CEO, return to her hometown of Las Vegas, and begin charitable work. “I’m thrilled that InCode will be in good hands and am eager to return home to be with my family.”