Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4) Read online

  He traced her palm lightly with the pad of his thumb, and her heart sped up. That barest touch was bursting with heat. Electricity flared between them. They could power the lights at this club, the billboards down the street. She barely understood how it was possible to be like this with someone she hadn’t seen since that unexpected and heartbreaking day when they were both twenty-four. She’d been going one way in life; he’d been heading in another. Seeing him then had been as close as she’d ever come to the fire of temptation. She hadn’t given in.

  Now, they were both thirty-four, and her heart stuttered just from being near him. This torch might have flickered to a soft, ashen glow in years past, but it could be turned fiery and bright in an instant. “I’m glad you were free tonight,” she said. “I’m glad you asked me to the show. I’ve had an amazing time. Most of all, I’m glad you said yes. I’ve been thinking of you.”

  “You have?” His voice sounded stretched full of hope, like he was holding all the world in that two-word question.

  Like her answer to it had more power than she would have ever suspected.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  This was what he’d wanted, but knowing she’d been thinking of him barely scratched the surface of his curiosity. His throat was parched, and he was so damn thirsty for more.

  His voice was low, rough. “What do you think about?”

  “How you are,” she said, her gaze locked on his. “What you’re doing. What your life is like now.”

  He licked his lips. “And that’s why you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  His skin was hot. His bones vibrated. Want sounded damn good to him. After feeling like she’d slipped through his fingers in Marseilles—his head had understood, but his heart had fucking rebelled when she’d walked away from him—he liked being wanted by her.

  “So, were you wondering if I’d gone gray? Or bald, maybe?” he teased, running his hand through his thick hair. Now that she’d revealed a modicum of truth about tonight, he could return to this zone, where the terrain wasn’t rocky and fraught with so many jagged ridges.

  She laughed with her mouth wide open, her white teeth straight and gleaming. How he’d adored that smile of hers, the way she quirked up the corner of her lips when something was particularly funny. “I see you’ve held onto it all,” she said.

  “And you’re redder.” He gestured to her long, lush locks. Then he figured, fuck it. She’d said the words he most wanted to hear—she was thinking of him. He touched the end of a wave of hair—it had been auburn before. Now it was almost a dark cherry red, and so soft.

  He let go.

  “So is that what you wanted? To check out my hair color? Maybe to see if I grew a paunch?” he said, patting his flat stomach.

  “Seems you’ve maintained your boyish figure,” she said.

  He was worn thin with wanting something, anything from her, and he wasn’t even sure why. This was only one night, only drinks. He was the one who was investing this moment with too much importance. Hunting for a deep, meaningful reason—one like Michael, I had to tell you I never stopped loving you.

  He scoffed. She wasn’t here to say that, even if she had been thinking of him. Thinking was nothing. She was here for the class reunion effect. To say hello, to check him out, and to breeze back out of town when she was done shooting skinny models in skimpy clothes. He needed to get the fuck over her. More importantly, he needed to get out of his own head, and stop thinking that a letter that smelled like rain meant Annalise Delacroix wanted to curl up on his lap and tell him she hadn’t forgotten him, either.

  They’d been torn apart by time and distance, not by hurt, or anger, or falling out of love. No one had cheated. No one had said unforgivable words. No invectives were lobbed, and no terrible secret had come between them. Their biggest foe when they were younger was miles. Thousands and thousands of uncrossable miles. They’d tried to fight it with letters, a seemingly endless stream of them. But after a few years of letters and phone calls, they were in college and too far away from each other. It wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t meant to be. He didn’t have enough money to fly to see her, nor did she have the funds or her family’s permission to return to see her beau. The flames turned to blue flickers, then to low embers in the ash.

  But the fire burned again tonight.

  He couldn’t resist. “And you look as beautiful as I remember.”

  Music from inside the club seeped out to the terrace. She lowered her forehead and whispered thanks at the same time a lock of hair slid over her eyes. His opportunity. He slipped his index finger under those strands and brushed them off her forehead.

  She raised her lashes and looked up at him. “So…”

  He ran his finger along the side of her temple. His pulse thundered in his throat. “Ask me what else I haven’t forgotten.”

  Her green eyes shone with a hint of something, a flash of desire. She tilted her head curiously, taking the bait. “What else haven’t you forgotten?”

  The music seemed to emanate from another dimension. The waitress walking past them to a nearby table operated in a parallel universe. All the world around him slowed and stilled to this moment. He threaded his fingers into her soft hair, letting it fall like silk over his skin.

  One more taste and he could stop longing for her. Stop lingering. He could finally put to rest the arguments his ex-girlfriends had waged over the years, insisting he was stuck on someone else. Michael Sloan was going to take the one thing that had strung him up over the years and get it out of his system. One kiss and he could say good-bye to his first love.

  “How you like to be kissed,” he said, his fingers curling around her head. She gasped quietly, arching her back, her gorgeous breasts pushing closer. His bones thrummed with lust for her.

  “You do?” Her voice was soft as the question ghosted across her lips. It was chased by a small smile, and that felt like an invitation.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  She swallowed, the next word so low it was merely an imprint on the air. “How?”

  “Like this.”

  Gently at first, he pressed his lips to hers. His heart stopped, and his blood stilled, as if it simply had to make sense of this new input before it could reengage. Kissing Annalise again. It was as if a new map were being written, a new route sketched out. So this was what it was like to kiss her once more.

  Sublime.

  His heart ticked again, catching up as he swept his tongue over her lower lip. She murmured. Soft, like a purr. That sound was new from her. She’d always been quiet.

  And she’d once liked lingering kisses that were like melting chocolate, like the rising sun. Their kisses had been easy and carefree. They’d turned him on, riled him up, and made him want so much more of her. They were tongues, and lips, and mouths, and heat.

  But now, there were teeth.

  Hers.

  She pressed her teeth against his lower lip and drew it into her mouth like she was trying to suck on it, and with that, whatever wisp of apprehension she’d seemed to feel moments ago must have evaporated. His thoughts spun out of control, slipping into darker, more urgent territory. He moved his hand from her hair, held her face, and angled his mouth over hers, resuming control of the kiss and devouring her lips.

  He drew the corner of her mouth into his and nipped her. Her murmurs intensified. Louder. Hotter.

  She’d never been like this before, but now she demanded more. Her own hungry lips slanted over his, saying mark me.

  “Oh God,” she gasped, her eyes squeezed closed. “Oh my God.”

  He broke the kiss, whispering, “You okay?”

  She nodded against him. “Yes. So okay.”

  “Good.” He quickly moved his mouth to her jawline, kissing a trail there as he traveled along her skin. Each press brought out a tiny little growl from Annalise, a sexy sigh, a needy gasp. It made him want to rip off her clothes, push her against the wall and see how rough she liked it. He bent his head to
her collarbone and grazed the exposed flesh with his teeth. Her hands shot up, roping through his hair as she moaned. Annalise was under some kind of spell, her body moving and flowing against his. She clutched his skull tighter, her nails digging in as he kissed her shoulder then returned to her mouth. That gorgeous red mouth. The lips he’d been obsessed with. The ones he’d memorized.

  The lips he’d missed for so many years.

  Like a persistent, aching hole in his chest, the missing had defined him. Propelled him. Given him a focus when he’d needed one. Now, the missing disintegrated, and turned into a white-hot desire to have her. To have all of her, as he’d never had before. Now. Tonight. No more goddamn waiting. He pressed his forehead to hers, and ran his thumb over her mouth. “It’s different now.”

  She nodded. “Yes. But so good,” she said, breathless.

  “Not good. It’s better.”

  “It is,” she said, her eyes wild.

  “Think everyone’s watching?”

  She shook her head against him. “It’s Vegas. No one cares.”

  “Do you care?” he whispered as he traced her lips, the sweetness of her breath on his fingertips.

  “That you’re kissing me like crazy on the terrace of a nightclub in a hotel?”

  “Yes.” He dragged his thumb along her teeth.

  “No. I don’t care where we are,” she said, darting out the tip of her tongue to meet his thumb. She bit down. “I want more.”

  His mouth twitched in a knowing grin. “No, you don’t care at all,” he said, then crushed his lips to hers, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her with everything he had. Greedy kisses that promised red, swollen lips tomorrow.

  This kiss was dizzying. It was a rush of blood to the head, then everywhere else. When they were younger, they’d held back because they were sixteen and foolish romantics. They’d done plenty below the belt with hands, but hadn’t come close to going all the way. Tonight, they seemed to be charging in that direction. Good. He was no fool anymore, and he was hardly romantic. He had the distinct impression life had hardened her, too.

  And that tonight she wanted hardness from him.

  The sound of clinking glasses echoed from many feet away. The noise jarred him, and he pulled apart from her briefly. He swept her hair away from her face then bent his head to her ear. “Where are you staying?”

  “Across the street. The Cosmopolitan,” she said, her voice like a torch song.

  “Do you want to leave? With me?”

  Her lips parted, and he felt her soft breath on his neck. He pulled back to look into her green eyes. In them, he saw a lust that matched his, but a fear, too.

  “Yes,” she said, but in a second she shook her head. Then she nodded and said, “No.”

  Opposites. Okay, maybe she didn’t want the same thing.

  She sighed. “I mean…”

  He pressed his finger to her lips. No way was he pushing her into this. He wanted Annalise with a fierceness he hadn’t felt in ages, but she was either in it all the way or not at all. “It’s okay. It’s good to see you.”

  “Is that it? You’re just leaving?” she said, her voice angry.

  He pretended to look around. “Did I say I was leaving? Did I get up to go? I’m still here.”

  “I’m sorry. This is just…”

  “You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “I know. But I don’t want you to think I don’t want to.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes, but it’s been a…” She didn’t finish her thought, and he didn’t push. Changing gears, she said, “It’s late. I’m shooting tomorrow. Do you want to come by?”

  “Visit you at a lingerie shoot?”

  “You always used to come by my shoots.”

  “You shot bands. The soccer team. The pep rallies,” he said, reminding her of her days as a yearbook photographer.

  “And now I shoot beautiful women. Do you like beautiful women?”

  His lips twitched, and he eyed her from head to toe. “Very much.”

  “Come by,” she said, her fingers darting out quickly to touch his cheek for a moment. “I want to see you again before I go.”

  He swallowed dryly, but didn’t ask when she was leaving. He’d rather linger on the feeling of her hand on his face instead.

  “Give me the time and place.”

  She told him where, then added, “Tomorrow at one. You can see the end of the shoot, and maybe we can…”

  Her words went unfinished.

  Whatever she meant, he wasn’t in the business of filling in her thoughts. All he knew was one taste wasn’t nearly enough to forget her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The elevator was too loud, too bright, too full of people.

  As the couple in the far corner waxed on about their dinner of small plates and the fratty guys by the number pad debated how many more shots they could plow through, Annalise asked herself how long she could wait.

  She’d been on ice, cryogenically frozen in a state of suspended animation for two years. Her body was still working, going through the motions. One foot in front of the other.

  But inside? Beneath her skin?

  All those parts had been dormant.

  Turned off.

  Now, she was turned all the way on. She was like one of those blow-up balloons in an old cartoon, shooting through the air, ready to pop. She was sure everyone in the elevator saw the desire written all over her skin. But as the car shot up past the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth floors, they continued in their own worlds.

  She wanted her own world now. She wanted to live in the bubble of lust.

  The elevator stopped on the fourteenth floor, and the couple exited. The trio of guys remained, and the tall one in the crew once again stabbed the silver button for the penthouse. “They’ll be here soon. C’mon.”

  Hookers?

  She almost breathed it aloud.

  Instead, she covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers touching her greedy lips. But that was stupid. Because that only made her want to touch herself more. She couldn’t help it. She dragged her index finger once across her top lip.

  Like a match to a flame, it reignited her. My God, those kisses. Her lips were bruised with Michael’s mouth. He’d imprinted himself on her, and she felt him everywhere—on her skin, inside her organs, and deep in the dark, protected corners of her heart.

  And yes, most exquisitely, between her legs.

  “Vite, vite,” she muttered to herself.

  If she’d stayed a moment longer at the club, she’d have grabbed his hand and dragged him to the restroom. Even the return to her hotel had felt terribly long, a new and cruel sort of torture as she’d walked with a wet, needy ache between her thighs.

  For so long, she hadn’t let herself feel a thing. Now, she was nothing but nerve endings rubbed raw, cells crying out for relief.

  The elevator dinged at the seventeenth floor. She practically vaulted out the open doors and quickstepped down the hall in a mad dash for her room. She reached it, fumbled for her key card from the back pocket of her jeans, slid open the door, and stepped inside.

  Her room was dark, cool, and the lights from the Strip winked through the windows. The door shut with a heavy groan.

  Her breath was hot and fast, her hands even faster. She dropped her purse to the floor, unbuttoned her jeans, and dipped her hand into her panties.

  “Oh God,” she groaned, fingertips slipping through her wetness, hot, fevered, and so fucking delirious.

  This was what happened when you banished sex, what happened when you extradited it from your life, your heart, your bed. When you told yourself you weren’t ready. You’re better off without it. She hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her, and she hadn’t even touched herself in a long time, as if the mere act of masturbation would have sullied the memories of her husband and said something to the universe about her not loving him enough. Everything had conflated in the last two grief-filled years—sex, and
love, and moving on, and hope, and even touching herself.

  She couldn’t stop now. She was a rocket, flying to the atmosphere, hell-bent on a jet-fueled trip to the stars. The floodgates were unleashed, and she stroked herself, riding her own hand urgently as a flash of images sparked before her closed eyes. Michael’s kisses. Michael’s lips. His voice in her ear. His teeth. He hadn’t kissed like that before. Like he wanted to consume her. Bite her. Fuck her hard.

  “Michael.”

  She moaned his name, feeling its familiarity yet utter newness on her tongue as her fingers flew faster between her legs. There, standing against her hotel room door, shoulders rising and falling, breath tumbling rapidly from her lungs, sex on her brain, Annalise made herself come for the first time in two years.

  Her orgasm slammed into her, fast and sharp as a hot knife. Seizing her body. Lighting her up. Racing across every inch of her skin. It was everywhere, rapid and furious, pulsing, and over far too soon. She was left panting, and not nearly sated enough.

  His name fell from her lips once more.

  She didn’t feel cold tonight.

  She was burning up.

  Her body was alive again, and she feared she would become addicted to this feeling before her heart was ready.

  * * *

  The dog’s legs flew, like a flip-book at high speed, as Michael cruised down the trail.

  No one ever beat the dog. Not even Colin, and he’d recently finished the Badass Triathlon. But today Michael was a few footfalls behind Johnny Cash, and his brothers Colin and Ryan, were eating his dust.

  Pent-up lust could do that to a man. Desire could drive him to finish faster, push harder, focus more intensely.

  With sweat slicking down his chest and his heart pounding, Michael ran as the sun peeked over the hills at Red Rock Canyon. His thoughts cycled between the bare-bones one-foot-in-front-of-the-other adrenaline and sheer, unrepentant want.

  Last night was intense, sure. But it was only physical. It had to be that way. His ex-girlfriends had simply been wrong. As he whipped around a switchback, the black and white border collie in his crosshairs, Michael felt more confident than ever that his past relationship woes were never about Annalise. He wasn’t a player. He didn’t have a string of three-and-out dates trailing behind him. He’d had plenty of serious girlfriends over the years. He hadn’t settled down with any of them because he simply hadn’t met the right woman.