Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(55)
John cleared his throat. “I left my phone charger in the guest room. That’s why I stopped by. I’m going to get that right now,” he said then stopped to look at Sophie. “Unless you want me here in this room.”
She waved him down the hall. Once she heard the door to the guest room shut, she spoke. “When did you know the detective investigating your father’s case was my brother?”
He gulped. “When I looked you up before the gala,” he said, and her blood turned to ice. Now that she’d moved beyond the initial desire to comfort him she felt…used.
“Did you pursue me to get close to the investigation?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
He shook his head several times. “No. No. No.”
That was a few too many nos for her taste. “Maybe a little?”
He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “Sophie, I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s that simple. It has nothing to do with your brother.”
She held out her hands in question. “Then I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
He shot her a quizzical look. “Uh, maybe because it’s not that easy for me to say.”
She barely registered his words as the memory of her own admissions reared to the surface. She’d shared so much with him. He’d shared so little. He’d had so many opportunities to tell her. “Ryan, I just went on and on about John and his work so many times. And you knew who he was. And you even made remarks like I bet he has some stories about what he’s seen. You said that on the Ferris wheel,” she reminded him, her near-photographic memory coming in handy. “I just feel stupid.”
“Did you want me to drop this on you on the Ferris wheel?” he asked, his tone turning heated. She could practically feel the frustration burning off him. “That your brother is investigating a f*cking murder in my family? Just weave it in as we gabbed about our siblings. Oh, that’s so great that you’re so close with him. By the way, he asked me the other day if my mom happened to associate with anyone new at the time of the murder. Is that what I should have said?” But he didn’t give her time to answer. “We don’t even use the last names we had when we were growing up, Sophie. Everyone heard of us in this town. It was all over the news. Everyone f*cking knew us. Our family story was dramatized on prime-time news magazines. Our mom was the cold-blooded husband-killer. And we were the kids left behind—Mom in prison, Dad in the ground, Royal Sinners gang gunman behind bars. We were the poor Paige-Prince kids from the shitty section of town, who everyone felt sorry for,” he said harshly, and she let out a surprised squeak.
She’d heard the story when she was finishing junior high. It was one of the biggest news stories in town at the time. It was pure prime-time scandal. It had even been covered by Dateline-type shows, reenacting it. “That’s you?”
He nodded. “Yes. That’s us.”
He’d lost so much. So incredibly much. A father. A mother. A normal childhood. Everything. Her need for self-protection took a backseat to compassion, and she tried once more. She wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him. “I am so sorry for what happened to your family, Ryan. I’m sorry for what happened to your dad, and to your mom, and to you and your brothers and your sister,” she said softly. He said nothing, but he let her hold him, even leaning into her. He sighed softly, and that sound, that vulnerable sound from this strong, sometimes standoffish man infiltrated her heart and soul. Somehow, in that brief exhalation, she felt him inching toward her.
Not physically. But emotionally. She wanted to be the one for him. She ran her hands through his hair, wishing she could erase the tragedy.
John’s footsteps echoed across the hardwood, breaking the moment. He cleared his throat. “Sophie,” he said, and she separated from Ryan. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded. “It’s fine.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
She shrugged. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. Everything that had felt so certain before John knocked on her door had been uprooted in seconds. “No. Yes. I don’t know,” she said helplessly.
He pointed his thumb at the door. “I’m going to go wait in the hall. Give you some privacy, but I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
After he left, Sophie looked at the man she’d been falling for. He had the same brown hair, the same blue eyes, the same strong build as an hour ago, but he wasn’t the same because she didn’t know how to see him the same way. “I feel like I barely know you. I don’t even know where you live.”
In a monotone, he said his address.
But it didn’t change anything. Knowing the numbers and the street name didn’t give her any greater insight.
Confusion reigned this Friday night. Maybe she was overreacting to this news. Or maybe she was under-reacting. She didn’t know what to make of this revelation. Was she supposed to be hurt? Or outraged? Feel sympathetic? Care for him?
She had no notion of what to do next.
This new wrinkle was so strange, and her chest was knotted up, her head fuzzy. “I like you, Ryan. I like you so much, and I am falling for you. And I understand it’s not easy to say what happened to your family. I get that, and I wish I could take away the horrors of what you’ve gone though. But aside from that, when I analyze what’s happening with you and me, the reality is this—I’ve been completely open. I told you at the diner about my marriage. I didn’t wait for you to uncover it. I put it all on the table. I told you about my parents, and my brother, and myself. I can’t help but wonder what else you didn’t share, or didn’t say, or didn’t want to deal with when I’ve tried to be forthright with you.”