Sinful Desire (Sinful Nights, #2)(89)

Everything else was shifting. Everything else was cracking. She was his one constant.

*

She didn’t wake up as he went for a run with his dog. Nor as he showered. And not as he brewed a pot of coffee. She didn’t wake up, either, when Johnny Cash barked happily as Ryan let him take a quick post-run dip in the pool. And she barely rustled as he leaned over her, brushing a soft curl from her sweet, sleepy face to kiss her goodbye.

She murmured something then shifted and yawned.

“Hey, beautiful. I need to go,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

She stretched her arms over her head. “I better get out of here then, since you’re leaving.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Stay. Sleep. You like your morning sleep.”

She smiled and her eyes floated closed again. “I do like my sleep. I need to finish packing for Germany though.”

“Is that today?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, snuggling under the covers.

He patted the bed, and his dog jumped up. “Johnny Cash, you keep Sophie company ’til she wakes up and is ready to leave. Tell her to let you out in the yard once before she heads home.”

The dog panted his agreement, and Sophie laughed.

“Call me when you’re ready to go. I’ll send a car or driver or Uber or chariot or horse.”

“A horse please. A white one with a braided mane,” she said then fell back asleep.

He left a note by the door with his extra key, got behind the wheel of his truck, and prepared for a five-hour drive that he hoped to God would get him the answers that had eluded him for eighteen years.





Chapter Thirty-Six


He was too cute to resist.

The way he wagged his tail, and dazzled her with his puppy-dog eyes melted Sophie.

“Fine, you win,” she cooed, kneeling to scratch Johnny Cash’s soft white chin. He lifted his snout for her, letting her rub him. When she rose, she reached for his leash from a hook by the front door.

She spun around, hunting for a key and found a note by the door. “Aha,” she said, like a treasure hunter who’d found the X marking the spot. She unfolded the sheet of white, lined paper. Inside it was a key and a short letter. It was her first real note from Ryan.

By now, Johnny Cash is probably trying to convince you to take him for a walk. He’s a bit of a junkie, I must confess. He will pretty much do anything to run those little legs. I have a hunch he might be training for an Irondog triathlon somehow.

Please don’t feel that you have to give in, even if he bats those big brown eyes. He is a well-trained boy, and he will be fine inside the house during the day. Just take the key, and lock the door behind you.

Oh, I suppose this would be a good time to let you know that you can have the key. I have nothing to hide from you, and my house is your house. If you feel like going for a swim, the fence is high enough that the neighbors won’t see you if you swim naked. If you do that, it would be great if you could send me a photo, as I think a shot of you in my favorite outfit would do wonders for me.

Also, I want to see you before you leave, but I don’t know when I’ll be back. I promise to call when I’m done, and then I’ll come see you, no matter how late it is. Because I can’t stay away from you, Sophie. I swear, I can’t.

I’ll be thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you.

Always…

Sophie grinned wildly as her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. She tucked the note inside her clutch purse from last night. Smoothing a hand over the pink cotton of her sundress, she was grateful that she’d left this outfit behind last weekend, because it was far easier to walk a dog in this little number than in her violet evening dress. She had no change of shoes though, so she’d be walking him in her Louboutins.

She shrugged happily. So be it.

She lowered her shades over her eyes, opened the door, then locked up behind her. Johnny Cash trotted happily by her side for the next twenty minutes as she click-clacked around Ryan’s neighborhood, soaking in the wide lawns, the gorgeous houses, and the palm trees that were ever present in their desert town. Her skin heated up from the hot morning rays, and her shoulders started to bake. The dog panted heavily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. When she returned to Ryan’s block she spotted a young man walking up the steps to his house. The guy was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. He knocked on Ryan’s door, then shifted back and forth on his feet.

He glanced around, scanning the porch, tapping his feet as he waited.

Odd. She tugged the dog closer to her.

As she neared the house, the guy was fidgeting, his right hand rubbing up and down his left arm, which was covered in tattoos. He sighed, seemingly in frustration, then muttered something under his breath. His jaw was unshaven.

She narrowed her eyes.

Was he a neighbor? He looked too young to own a home. A deliveryman? He didn’t have a box or package with him. The pool guy? No supplies in his hand.

He turned and walked down the porch steps, heading to the sidewalk.

She flashed back to last night, to those names, to the details her brother had shared. Gangs, brokers, getaway drivers. Her pulse jumped. Was he one of those guys?

Oh God. Her skin prickled with fear.

Wait.

Her logical brain took over, and she talked herself down. The people John was looking for were older—much older than this guy who barely seemed old enough to drink.