My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 2
Neither one of us had timed this.
But life had a way of shocking you.
I’d had a few days now for the news to sink in. It wasn’t news that could be delivered over the phone or via email. When I’d received his email that he couldn’t make it to London, I’d decided to head to Los Angeles to surprise him.
Was he ever going to be surprised.
Those nerves skittered upward in me, lodging in my throat, as I imagined how this brief reunion might play out.
Even though this was uncharted territory for us, I believed in our foundation, in the love that we’d shared for the last two and a half years. We had an unbreakable bond. He was my rock and my sunshine, and I was his woman, his one and only. That was what he always said, and I knew it. I felt it. I was his.
I knew, too, that somehow we’d figure out this next hurdle together.
When the plane landed, I grabbed my bag, shouldered it, and made my way through the Los Angeles airport, amidst the throngs of other travelers. I passed a sundry shop, stopping briefly when I noticed a World’s Greatest Dad hat.
My throat tightened.
A lump formed in it.
Holy shit. Those hormones were serious.
A tear slid down my cheek as I stared at the hat. No two ways about it. I had to get it for him. It would go perfectly with the two photos in my purse. One was an ultrasound. The other was a photo of me, taken mere hours after the ultrasound.
That hat was everything else I needed right now.
I headed into the shop, bought it, and dropped it into my purse.
I drew a deep breath as I left the airport, believing in the hat.
Brent would be a great dad. He was a great man.
Even though the last seven months had been hell—we’d seen each other only once a few months ago—somehow that one visit had managed to produce something inside me.
But life was all about the unexpected. That was what I’d learned as a teenager, and that was what I still knew to be true.
It was all about how you handled the punches.
Tonight, I was going to handle the unexpected by surprising him. I’d tell him the news, then let him know I’d be willing to move here with him so we could have a family together.
We wouldn’t have to do the London-to-Los Angeles haul.
I’d give up my dream to be with him. I’d find work here somehow so we could raise our kid together.
Nerves swelled in me once more, and a tear formed at the corner of my eye. But I could do this. I could definitely do this.
Outside the airport, I caught a cab and checked my email.
Working late. But the show’s almost over. Thank God. How are you? Missing you. Wish we were together this weekend.
I whispered to the screen, “Your wish is coming true.”
But as the car pulled into traffic, my emotions gripped me tight again, wrapping me in fear, worry, and so much uncertainty.
Our emails had grown shorter over the last few months. Less frequent too. We used to write long, detailed missives. Now, they were haiku-length.
I understood why. He’d been so wrapped up in work, putting in endless hours.
He couldn’t say no to rewrites, to late nights.
Then there was that woman at the show who’d hit on him. The blonde. Dimples. Friendly.
Too friendly, in my opinion. A plume of jealousy flamed in me as the cab weaved through the nighttime traffic.
And I hated that she saw him every day and I barely laid eyes on him.
But now wasn’t the time for envy.
I talked back to this too-strong cocktail of hormones in me. I’d been a yo-yo these last few weeks with out-of-nowhere fits of tears and laughter, worry and happiness.
Tonight would be for happiness, I decided, as the cabbie pulled up to Brent’s apartment. I hadn’t seen his place yet, and I was excited to check out his digs. But from the curb, I could tell no one was home. No lights were on.
Weird.
Even for him and his crazy hours. Traffic had taken long enough that I figured he’d beat me here.
My stomach dropped, that worry cycled through me again.
But I leaned on logic.
He was probably still at work, or with the show over, maybe he’d gone to that bar near the studio with his colleagues.
Fred’s—that was the name.
Yes, that had to be it.
A night out with the other writers to unwind.
I found the address, gave it to the driver, and arrived twenty minutes later.
A rush of excitement spread through me when a man stepped through the doorway outside. A smile spread across my face as I took in the cut of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders, that handsome smile. The one who had turned my life around.
Brent Nichols.
My fiancé.
The father of my child.
My love.
But then, wait. What was that?
Or rather, who was that? A woman?
I peered from the dark of the back seat as the driver told me the fare. But I didn’t grab my purse.
My eyes were glued to the sight in front of me.
A woman was walking away from the bar with him.
A blonde.
With dimples.
Freaking dimples.
My skin crawled.
My stomach churned, roiling.
And my head hurt.
Her arms were around his waist and he leaned in to speak close to her ear. He smiled. That smile was poison inside me.
My ears rang. My chest squeezed. Something new surfaced inside me. Shame, chased by jealousy. And a whole new world of pain as she lifted a hand, cupped his jaw, and stroked his cheek.
My mouth fell open, and I croaked out a “No!”
And then it hit me.
What a foolish thing I’d done.
What an awful decision.
That was what you got when trying to surprise your guy—the truth.
The terrible truth of why we were falling apart.
Because he didn’t push her away. He didn’t laugh it off. He walked her to his bike. He handed her a helmet. He helped put it on her head. He buckled the freaking buckle under her chin.
Then he got on, helping her slide on behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, settling in, cozy and snug.
I burned everywhere.
I hurt in every cell.
A torrent of misery whipped through me.
As he pulled away, the look on her face when she glanced back was one of adoration.
The look on mine?
It had to be nothing but horror.
I’d never felt more stupid in my life.
And no way was he going to see me.
Obviously. Since he was busy with his new woman.
I whipped my head away from the scene, fighting off tears.
He didn’t deserve them.
“Airport,” I choked out.
* * *
I could barely see the departure board. My eyes were red, my throat was raw. But there was only one place to go.
Home. To see my family. To see my brothers. Most of all, to see Michael, my oldest brother.
I boarded a flight to Vegas, and through tears and pain, I wrote him an email, doing my best to be as adult and mature as I could be. I didn’t want to let on that I knew the cruel truth, that I’d done something as stupid as fly across an ocean to surprise a man who was two-timing me.
Nope. I was keeping that part of our breakup my secret and my shame. He would never know what I’d been willing to do for us, because if he knew, I’d be an even bigger fool.
I didn’t want him to think I loved him so much more than he’d loved me.
When I got off the plane, I hit send.
Dear Brent,
I had hoped we’d see each other this weekend. I’d hoped for it a lot of weekends. But I understand your job is the priority.
Perhaps that’s how it should be.
I think we s
hould end things. The last seven months have proven that this just isn’t working.
It’s too hard.
Shannon
Then I headed to baggage claim, where I fell into my brother’s arms, a fresh round of tears cascading down my cheeks. He patted my hair, drew me into an embrace, and whispered, “It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”
I sobbed, hurt clogging my throat as I choked out, “He’s with someone else. And I’m pregnant.”
Michael’s eyes widened, and he gritted his teeth. Then his jaw clenched. “The bastard.”
* * *
But a little later, in the quiet of Michael’s condo, a pang of regret crashed into me. Had I acted too soon? Cut it off too hastily?
I considered calling him. Telling him what I’d seen. Asking him for his explanation.
He wasn’t the type to cheat. He was devoted. I’d never doubted how he felt—that was what was so hurtful about tonight.
What if there truly was an explanation?
I should give him the chance to talk it out. To find out what had actually happened.
I shouldn’t act rashly.
I needed to hear it from him. To know what was going on. I needed it for me, and for the baby.
I set a hand on my stomach.
Closed my eyes.
Gazed heavenward.
Asked for strength.
My throat hitched, clogged with emotions I didn’t want to feel.
I took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried a few more times. Same thing. That feeling in the pit of my stomach remained.
No matter. There was always the morning.
* * *
But in the morning, I wasn’t able to get to the phone for a long time, as waves of sickness crashed through my body.
And when I checked it again, there was one missed call, but his reply had come in the form of an email.
It said everything. Well, it said a lot of things. But the last line made everything clear.
What do you say to trying again next year?
He wanted to have her, and then he wanted to have me again.
My jaw ticked. My head roared. And I wanted to scream Liar.
I was already so far gone.
I deleted the note and his contact information, then I blocked his number.
His Second Prologue
At the bar, Holly reeked of tequila.
Too many shots.
And too much information.
She’d shared every single detail of her ex, what a cad he was, why they’d split.
Every detail chased by a shot, even as I tried—hell, we all tried, the group of us—to get her to slow down.
But there was no stopping the train tonight.
When she stumbled away from the booth, saying she was leaving to go see him, I couldn’t let her take off like that.
“Let’s get you home,” I said calmly.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said with a dopey grin. “I want to see Chad. See him and make him realize what he missed out on.”
I shook my head. I didn’t have sisters. But if I did, there was no way I’d let them chase after a guy like that. And definitely not in this state. “Let me take you home,” I said again.
She smiled up at me. “Ohh, even better.” She grabbed my arm, and I led her out of the bar, ignoring her hands, even when she slid them around my waist.
I didn’t push her away, because she could barely walk straight. I tried desperately not to think of where I should have been—with my woman.
But maybe I was supposed to be here, helping Holly from making decisions she’d surely regret.
“You’re so sweet to lend a hand,” she said, her lips curving into a grateful grin. She raised a hand and cupped my cheek.
I could have swatted it away, but what was the point?
She was drunk, and she needed to go home. She didn’t need to see an ex-douchebag.
I guided her to my bike, handed her a helmet, and helped her put it on.
“Ooh, this is all snuggly and fun,” she said.
I shook my head, frustrated, annoyed, but needing to make sure she was okay. “Hold on tight, okay?”
“As you wish,” she said, hopping on behind me. She clutched my waist, rested her head against my shoulder, and sighed happily as I drove her home.
I made sure she was inside her place safely, then I told her I’d see her at work.
“You want to come in?” she asked with an eyebrow wiggle.
There was only one answer to that question. “No. I’m involved with someone.”
“But she’s so far away,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“That’s the problem,” I said with a heavy sigh.
That was the big fucking problem.
I left and returned home, wanting to talk to Shannon, but what would I say anyway?
Sorry?
Maybe another weekend?
Maybe next month?
Maybe next year?
Because hell, I didn’t know when I could get away.
And I didn’t know how to put into words anything that would make us better.
I was at the end of my rope.
Hoping for clarity in the morning, I turned off my phone, crashing hard.
When I woke, I found an email from Shannon that she’d sent late last night.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, sat up straight.
What the hell was this?
A breakup email?
And one that cut me to the core as I read it again and again, because she was so fucking right. I hated to admit it, but she was so damn right. My job had become my priority.
But I didn’t know how to prioritize her anymore. I couldn’t. Not with her there and me here.
I looked at the time. Her dance company would be in the middle of a performance in London.
I shouldn’t call her, but I did it anyway. It rang and rang.
I paced, willing her to pick up.
But I understood why she didn’t. She was busy with work too. We didn’t even have the same days off. We didn’t have time for each other. We were plants without sunlight.
And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if maybe I should let her go.
Not forever, but for now.
I didn’t want to lose her, but I didn’t know how to keep her.
I didn’t know how we could do anything but fall apart.
Because she was right.
This wasn’t working.
Time was not on our side.
She’d been just as unhappy with our lack of contact these last seven months as I had.
Long-distance relationships weren’t simply hard.
They were hell.
I wrote back with the full truth.
Dear Shan,
You know I love you. I love you madly and so damn much. I don’t want to lose you. But this time apart and the distance is killing me. And maybe killing us too.
I don’t want to let you go, not now, not ever.
But what if we tried again in a year? What if we made a promise to reconnect in a year? I’ll be in a better place on the show, and who knows? Maybe you’ll be back in the States.
I know we can find a way to make us work again.
Just maybe not right now.
But soon, and again.
I love you, but sometimes we can’t have it all.
What do you say to trying again next year?
Love,
Brent
1
Shannon
Present day
“He’s not going to be there tonight.” My twin brother spoke as if he were a soothsayer, as if he’d spoken to an oracle and been granted a view into the future—three hours from now when we were to meet with Edge nightclub to seal the deal.
But his certainty didn’t quell the vicious butterflies in me.
Because holy ten years.
It had been ten years since I’d seen him.
I peered outside. The late-afternoon sun dipped in the sky, blasting blinding light through the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on, oddly enough, sidewalks and trees. Outsiders were often shocked that my Vegas-based company was actually located in an office park, not amongst the glittering skyscrapers and hotels that greeted visitors with neon and lights. No need for spark and dazzle during the day though.
Besides, Vegas was so much dirtier than the night led us to believe.
I looked at my brother as he answered me with a soft, understanding smile. “I know he won’t be there because the meeting is with James, his business advisor and main investor. James is the guy at Edge who I’ve been working the deal with,” Colin said. A venture capitalist, he ran his own firm but also handled the business partnerships for me, including a potential one with Brent’s nightclubs to integrate my choreography into their in-house shows.
Such a strange thought to be doing business with Brent. I stared at my left hand, my ring finger as bare as it was the day I twisted off the ring and sent it back to the person responsible for the second shattering of my heart.
The first time it broke was in a driveway late one night when I was thirteen.
And Brent took the healed remains and stomped on them ever so cruelly.
I drew a deep breath, shoving that far behind me.
He was the past.
I hadn’t followed my ex’s every move, but I was well aware that after a wildly successful career in comedy, during which he’d moved from junior writer to late-night host himself, he’d opened a string of popular nightclubs. Those clubs needed dancers, and dancers needed routines.