My Sinful Longing (Sinful Men Book 3) Read online

  Maybe tonight we’d become more.

  Especially since she launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around me now in a triumphant hug, exhaling big sighs of relief.

  “Whoa,” I said, not expecting the force of her embrace.

  “Sorry. I’m just so happy.”

  “No apologies necessary,” I said, clasping her tighter. I was not going to let her go.

  She laughed, a buoyant sound, like bells. “I can’t believe this happened,” she said, breathless. “It feels like a dream.”

  “I didn’t doubt it for a second. We’re all behind you,” I said, stealing a quick inhalation of the vanilla-honey scent of her hair.

  She broke the embrace, but not the contact. She parked her hands on my shoulders, her fingers curling into my suit jacket. Her hazel eyes shone with happiness and the hint of more joyful tears. “I know, and I’m so grateful. But you just don’t know till it happens if you’re going to raise enough money, and I’ve been working on this project for two years. Two solid years to finally get the funds to expand the center. It needs it so badly. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for the last month, hoping we’d hit our number. I have so many plans.”

  “And now you can take a breath because you made it happen,” I said, beaming. She’d been driven in her mission to rebuild the broken-down community center.

  She wiped her fingertip under her eye, erasing the evidence of that tear. “Colin,” she whispered, as if we had a secret, “we have to celebrate tonight.”

  I could think of a few ways.

  Unknotting that hair.

  Roping my fingers through it.

  Kissing her neck till she fell apart in my arms.

  “Are you angling for a little poker?” I asked, since I wasn’t going to assume we shared the same idea of what constituted a celebration. No need to make an ass of me, thank you very much.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes glinting.

  And so it was poker.

  I wasn’t sure why I’d thought it would be something more.

  Wait. That wasn’t true. I always wanted something more. And tonight—tonight I was going to let her know. Damn straight.

  It had been a year after all, and the woman was as happy as a thousand clams. What better time? Besides, I knew how to read people, and we had a vibe, a connection, a flirtation.

  No time like the present to see what might come of it.

  “Do you want to play? After the event?” she added in a conspiratorial tone. By no means was Elle a high roller—the baby tables, as she called them, were her idea of a good time. But she was a Vegas girl at heart and loved to gamble now and then. “I don’t have much time before I need to get home, but we can finagle a few hands.”

  I scoffed. “What kind of question is that? Do you take me for a man who doesn’t want to celebrate with you?” I was a man who knew how to sniff out an opportunity. I wasn’t letting this chance, cloaked in this giddy exuberance of hers, slip away.

  “Not at all. You look like a man who wants to lay down some bets,” she said with a sexy arch of her eyebrow.

  Did I ever want to take a chance. “The chips are on me.”

  “In that case, let’s make big bets,” she said in a flirty voice. God, I loved that tone. I ate it up.

  “The biggest,” I added, then gestured to the exit. “I’m ready when you are, big spender.”

  She tipped her head to the stage. “After the concert. I can’t skip out early on an event for the center I run.”

  “Okay, we’ll be good a little while longer.” I raised a hand to brush a loose strand of that chestnut hair over her ear, watching her shiver as I touched her.

  Yup. Another sign.

  Tonight was it.

  We returned to our seats, where she gathered up the silky material of her dress, adjusting it as she crossed her legs. “By the way,” she whispered, “I want to hear more about your new tattoo.”

  I grinned. I’d mentioned earlier in the night that I’d acquired fresh ink, and Elle, being a tattoo aficionado too, wanted details on the new one on my hip.

  “I’ll tell you when we play poker.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  I couldn’t either.

  As the opening notes of a Beethoven Concerto floated through the ballroom at The Venetian, I settled in beside the woman I’d wanted for the last year, since the first day I’d met her.

  I hoped I was getting lucky tonight.

  And I didn’t mean in the bedroom, although I wouldn’t say no to that either.

  I’d settle for a kiss.

  I longed for one.

  5

  Elle

  His hip.

  I was dying to see the new tattoo on his hip. I couldn’t stop wondering what it looked like.

  Because . . . his body.

  His gorgeous inked body was my kryptonite.

  Except that barely covered the half of it.

  He was my kryptonite.

  This man I shouldn’t want.

  Men were dangerous. Relationships were trouble. And love didn’t just break your heart. It abused it, stomped on it, wrecking it beyond recognition.

  But that didn’t stop my wandering thoughts. As the music played, my mind kept returning to what Colin had told me earlier about his new ink. Did this tattoo match my favorite one on him? The one I’d seen when he took off his shirt to play basketball? The simple black lotus design on his right pec—the fine lines and details, the interlocking leaves of the lotus flower. I loved the meaning of it for him—change. Life changes. Rolling with them. Embracing change was as sexy to me as a six-pack. Hell, it was hotter.

  As I pictured his ink, a ribbon of heat unfurled in my chest, tracing a dangerous path from my breasts to my belly and down, down, down.

  Warming me up.

  Turning me on.

  What the hell? I was turned on by a tattoo?

  But I knew better.

  It wasn’t the ink.

  It was the man.

  Our friendship. His heart. His humor. The easy way we talked to each other. The teasing.

  Everything with him was so easy.

  But easy was deceptive. I knew that too well.

  I closed my eyes, tried to focus on the music. Surely Beethoven never had these problems. Wanting what he couldn’t have.

  And I couldn’t have Colin.

  I’d made promises. I’d made choices. I had my own demons to face, and I was facing them by abstaining from men.

  That was the problem. The big problem. Being with anyone would break those promises. So Colin was a line I couldn’t cross. A risk I couldn’t take.

  With a string of not just bad, but horrific relationships in my wake, I was determined to stay the single-and-loving-it course. The one I’d finally set myself on after years of tsunami-strength trouble.

  So tonight would be poker, and only poker.

  He rustled in the seat next to me, inching closer as the music crested. His sexy scent drifted under my nose. He smelled so good. Like sex in an elevator.

  That was not helpful, brain.

  “Do you like the music?” he whispered, his lips so close to my skin. Goosebumps rose on my flesh as I blinked open my eyes.

  I nodded, trying desperately to let the music guide my thoughts to a sweeter, purer shore. To let the music take me away from these primal, base notions washing over me from the dirty waves in my head.

  I sneaked a peek at him, taking in the face I knew well. Strong cheekbones. Lightly stubbled jawline. Dark hair, nearly black. It looked so damn soft. Brown eyes, like chocolate. A body built by rock climbing, hiking, white-water rafting, and Ironman Triathlons.

  “Yes, I like the music,” I said, trying to center myself.

  And music would be my strength tonight, just as it had been over the years.

  I’d leaned on Billie, Ella, Louis, Frank. I’d depended on all the crooners. They’d been my great escape during the darkest times of my life.

  Music was my rock. I
t made me strong.

  Tonight, I’d need it.

  I channeled all my resistance from Beethoven as the concert ended and we said our goodbyes to other guests, then made our way to the tables.

  Poker—that wasn’t something I needed to resist.

  Poker was just plain fun.

  But poker with a man you wanted?

  Harder than getting a full house.

  Or maybe it was harder than winning a single damn hand. Because I was losing. But Colin was ahead. He slid some green chips forward, raising the bet. A couple played next to us—a woman with curly hair and a man with a newsboy cap and graying goatee. He sighed heavily, but met Colin’s bet, sliding chips in too. The woman by his side wiggled on her stool, then cooed appreciatively. “Go get ’em, honey.”

  I folded, then glanced at Colin. “You must have a good hand.”

  His eyes danced. “Or maybe I’m feeling lucky.”

  “Are you now?” I asked, a little sassy. Maybe because I was still on borrowed time. A few more minutes, and then I’d have to go.

  As he showed his cards, the dealer gave an approving nod, indicating he’d won.

  “Man, you’re on some kind of a streak,” the guy with the cap said, shaking his head in admiration.

  Colin simply smiled. “It’s a good night.”

  The man looked to me. “You must be his lucky charm.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Hardly.”

  “Oh, c’mon, sweetie,” the woman said in a voice thick with gravel. She was probably a heavy smoker. “Don’t deny it. A man’s sweetie pie always brings good luck.”

  I flinched for a second at those words.

  Sweetie pie.

  Did we give off that vibe? I glanced at Colin, who grinned at me like we had a secret. He wiggled a brow. “Yeah, sweetie pie,” he said to me, all smooth honey in his tone.

  There was something in his voice. Something that said he liked the sound of that nickname.

  And I liked the sound of it on his tongue.

  Far too much.

  6

  Colin

  As far as openings go, it wasn’t my first choice. But the thing about openings was you didn’t get to choose them. You did, however, need to seize them if you wanted to take advantage of every opportunity.

  When my eyes met Elle’s, I read her in an instant.

  Hers said she liked what that term suggested. That we were together. And that was all I needed.

  I took my chance, sliding an arm around her waist at the poker table. Hoping she wouldn’t mind. Hoping she’d like it.

  “Sweetie pie,” I said, all flirty and playful.

  But there was nothing flirty about the way she responded. Nothing playful.

  There was only sensuality.

  Only desire.

  It was electric and instant.

  It came in the hitch of her breath.

  In the tremble of her body.

  In the flutter of her lashes.

  Holy fuck.

  We weren’t playing around.

  She was on the edge.

  Elle was into this just like I was.

  All the answers came in a rush. They came in the way she responded to my hand curling around her, my arm touching her back, my body sliding closer.

  “On that note, I think I’d better quit while I’m ahead.” I nodded to the chips, then to the couple. “They’re yours. A gift.”

  “Whoa, thank you,” the man said, and before they could shake my hand or say anything more, I whisked Elle away, my arm still around her, stealing her into a quiet corner of the casino.

  With my arm still around her waist, I tucked a finger under her chin, our gazes meeting. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said, so breathy, so sexy.

  I ran my thumb over her jawline. “Did you feel that back there?” I asked, because there was no point in being anything but honest.

  Her eyes darkened, and she swallowed roughly, then whispered, “Yes.”

  “Me too,” I said as I touched her face. I was buzzed with desire, desperate to connect with her. “Elle. You have to know . . .”

  I stopped when she shuddered, whispering my name. “Colin.”

  But I wanted to continue. Had to tell her. “How much I want to kiss you.”

  “Oh God,” she gasped, then closed her eyes, swaying toward me. When she opened her eyes, she licked her lips. “I want you to, but . . .”

  It was like a crashing sound.

  But.

  That was all.

  That was enough.

  When a woman said but, you stopped.

  Plain and simple.

  I let go of her face and dropped my hand from her hip. “Are you okay?”

  She drew a deep breath, her eyes forlorn. “Yes. I’m just not ready.”

  My heart sank.

  But those were words I understood all too well. “I get it. I absolutely get it.”

  And I did. More than I wanted to. But I had to. If she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready.

  From inside her clutch purse, an alarm sounded on her phone. Grabbing the device hastily, she stared at it, her tone heavy. “I have to go. My mom has a shift at eleven. I told her I’d be home by ten thirty.”

  “Then let’s go,” I said, doing my best to restore the friendly vibe and to erase the let’s get naked one. “Lyft or cab?”

  She cleared her throat, seemed to push out a laugh, then said, “Lyft. Always the bargain hunter.”

  I laughed too, good-naturedly. “Besides cabs aren’t what they used to be,” I said, and as soon as those words came out, my heart clutched. My father used to be a taxi driver, long ago.

  Long before the world changed and taxis became an endangered species.

  And there I was, thinking about my dad and taxis and how the world had shifted.

  But something else had shifted tonight in my world.

  The acknowledgment from Elle.

  That she felt this thing between us.

  She might not be able to act on it.

  But she felt it.

  And that gave me hope.

  I didn’t want to give up.

  I walked her to the portico, pressed my lips to her cheek, and gave her a chaste goodbye kiss that I hoped would linger in her mind the whole way home.

  7

  Elle

  I gave myself the car ride to remember how Colin was so close to me.

  To recall his scent, his words, his eyes.

  I closed mine, replaying our almost kiss as the driver cruised along the streets to my building.

  I’d nearly given in. I’d desperately wanted to be consumed by his lips, his heat, his desire.

  But if I did, I’d be lost.

  So I allowed myself another minute of meandering, then I folded up the memory and the dizzying sensations that went along with it, tucked it in a drawer in my mind, and put it away.

  I reached my house and went inside, leaving that part of the night behind me.

  My mother’s head was bent over the kitchen counter, her fingers swiping in a wild blur across her phone screen. “Gotcha, flesh-eater!”

  Home. I was home. This was my place. My safe haven. “Saving the world, Mom?” I asked as I closed the front door.

  “Somebody has to fend off the infected,” she said with a final slide before she looked up and closed the game.

  I laughed. “I thought you were giving it up. You said it was giving you gamer’s thumb or something.”

  My mother shook her head, her bouncy ponytail swinging with her. “I tried. Oh Lord, you know I tried. But your son . . . he challenged me. I couldn’t back down.”

  I cracked up at her competitive ways. This woman loved going toe to toe in games. “You’re going to need to work on the newest versions of State of Decay next. Alex and his buddies are moving on in the post-apocalyptic gaming world,” I said, dropping my keys on the counter and giving my mom a peck on the cheek. She wore green scrubs with Snoopys and Woodstocks on them. “How was he
tonight?”

  “Fine. Just fine. I plied him with pizza and schooled him with my survival skills.”

  “No easier way to the heart of a fourteen-year-old boy, is there?” While there was plenty of truth in that statement, for my son, video games weren’t just the snack-food-and-candy path to winning his teenage heart—they were essential to his emotional survival. They were the difference between him talking and not talking. Between speech and a complete breakdown. The main reason I signed him up for the summer gamer camp.

  Some parents might worry that their kids played too many video games, and while I set limits, I also knew what they meant for him. Because the time before he’d played? That was the end of the world. Black, empty, cold. A true pit of despair. In those dark days, I’d have given anything—a lung, a kidney, a limb—for him to talk to me. He’d shut down after his father died, completely withered, barely able to utter a word except for the essentials—yes, no, I don’t know.

  Understandable, given what he’d witnessed in our home on that night two years ago.

  But eventually, somehow games, zombies, and post-apocalyptic stories became a portal for him. I never would have predicted it, but on the days after school when Alex would come by the center, he was drawn to the gaming room, and to the raucous energy of the boys shouting at the screen. After a year of being so traumatized by what he saw he’d gone nearly mute, video games reconnected the voice inside him to the rest of the world. They’d unlocked the part of him that he’d kept quiet, and how I loved to hear him shouting with his friends.

  God bless the living dead.

  Zombies had rescued my son from the near-catatonic state that the death of his father had sent him into.

  My mother tucked the phone into her purse and gathered up her keys. “How was the benefit? Did you meet your goal?” She held up her hand and twisted her index finger around her middle finger. “I had ’em crossed all night for you.”

  “We did. It was amazing,” I said, bursting with excitement once more as I gave a recap of the night. Well, the pre–almost kiss portion of the night.

  Mom beamed, then pumped a fist in the air and did a victory dance in the kitchen. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”