Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(14)

She practically held her breath at the possibility unfurling before her—that she might see this man another time. “What should I be doing Sunday at seven p.m.?”

“Be at Caesars. Outside the Fizz Bar. I want to see you again.” He paused then added, “Badly.”

She smiled. She wanted to see him, too. “I’ll be there.”

She ran her hand along her skirt once more then gently touched her hair, making sure it was still in place. Her heart sped up in worry. She grabbed Ryan’s strong arm. “Wait. Is my lipstick smeared?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s all gone.” He brushed the pad of his thumb along her cheek. Softly. “But you look perfect. Every single thing about you looks perfect.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a deep breath as she left.

She walked on the stage, flashing a big, bright smile to the crowd. She thanked Heaven Leigh for singing and then talked about how talented the woman was. As she spoke, she scanned the crowd and caught a last glimpse of the man in the suit, the man who’d made her come backstage. He was on his way out, but he stopped briefly and watched her. He didn’t wave. He didn’t chuckle. He didn’t make a single gesture to say they had a secret.

But the way he stared made her tingle all over, and the way his lips curved up in a grin said he knew he had that effect on her, and that he had every intention of doing it again.





Chapter Six


Ryan gripped the large tree trunk that had fallen on the roof, as his brother finished slicing through the last section of the wood. The chainsaw buzzed loudly in the midday air, then Michael turned it off.

Ryan let go of the wood. Grabbing the waist of his faded gray T-shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow. His skin was baking under his shirt.

“You think it feels hotter since we’re closer to the sun? Being on the roof and all,” he asked his brother.

“Absolutely. It’s a proven scientific fact that working on someone’s roof equates to a ten-degree increase in temperature,” Michael said as he set the chainsaw on the tiles, resting it by his feet so it wouldn’t topple into the yard.

Ryan rapped his knuckles against the pile of wood they’d chopped from a large tree branch that had fallen on their friend Sanders’s roof during a recent windy night. “Now we just need to get this over to green recycling and we’re good.”

Sanders Foxton was a friend of their father’s from long ago. Nearing retirement and damn ready for it, Sanders was a mechanic at the limo company where their father had worked the last few years of his life. Thomas Paige had been on the job the night he was killed, chauffeuring a group of teenagers around town for their prom, first delivering them safely to the dance, then to their homes. Then he’d returned to his house in his own car and was shot four times in the back in his driveway after midnight.

“Did you meet with Winston?” Ryan asked, as they walked to the edge of the roof, stopping when they reached the ladder resting against the house.

“Yeah. But I’m not supposed to tell you a word about what was said,” Michael said, miming zipping his lips.

Ryan laughed. “He said that to me, too. But what are the chances that we aren’t going to tell each other?” he said, though sometimes he wondered if his siblings had kept secrets from him, as he had from them. Would John Winston be privy to those secrets if they had them? “So what did he ask you?”

With his sunglasses shielding his light blue eyes, Michael answered matter-of-factly. “Same as before. Any new friends. Anything I remember,” he said, repeating what the detective had said to Ryan. “But he also asked about Luke.”

The hair on Ryan’s neck prickled at the mention of their mother’s lover, a local piano teacher. “What about him?”

Michael sneered. “Wanted to know what I knew about their relationship. Like I had a clue about the affair. I mean, what the hell? Isn’t that the point of an affair? It was all in secret.” He made a gesture with his fingers as if he were digging and hiding something.

“Did Winston say he thinks Luke was involved?”

Michael shook his head. “Nah. That man just asks questions. Didn’t share any details. And I have no idea if Luke was part of it. They cleared him at the time, so who the heck knows?”

“Got any new theories on why they reopened the case?” They’d already speculated for hours after the detective showed up at Shannon and Brent’s wedding celebration at their grandmother’s house a week ago and dropped the bomb about the investigation’s new life. “It’s frustrating that they know something but won’t tell us.”

Michael pushed down his sunglasses, meeting Ryan’s eyes. “Here’s the thing. I watch enough police dramas to make a guess. And it’s this—I bet they think someone else helped plan the murder.”

“You think Mom will get out of prison?” Ryan asked, his voice rising with a touch of hope that he knew would piss off his brother. Michael had cut off their mom. He didn’t visit her. Didn’t talk to her. Wanted nothing to do with her. Her guilt was crystal clear to Michael.

Ryan understood why, but the world wasn’t black and white to him. He’d seen and heard other sides to the story. The side their mom hadn’t told anyone else. He couldn’t let go of the dream that she’d been framed. That he and his siblings weren’t born to a killer.