My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Read online

  And the four of us had resolved to deserve our good name.

  To earn it.

  To live up to it every day.

  In our father’s memory.

  We might not carry on his name, but with our new name, we had vowed to carry on his love, his grace, his strength.

  I had to be strong.

  I had to behave like a Sloan.

  And Sloans did not walk out of business deals because of emotions. “I’ll see him tomorrow,” I said, giving myself a pep talk. “Let him know the deal is on. I’ll say I’m sorry I walked out like that.”

  He rubbed my back. “You’ve got this. Now, call me tomorrow,” he said, pinning me with wide blue eyes until I nodded.

  “I will report back,” I said with a crisp salute, then hugged him goodbye, feeling more centered and calmer than when I’d pulled into the gym.

  But as I drove the final blocks home, that feeling vanished and a deep shame washed over me.

  I couldn’t believe I’d simply walked away.

  And I couldn’t believe I had jumped to all the wrong conclusions back then.

  But what was I to do?

  Even if I’d had the right information, Brent and I were falling apart.

  That was a cold, hard fact.

  And facts mattered.

  I knew that as well as anyone.

  I parked and walked into my condo.

  My gaze landed on the picture frame on my kitchen counter. An image of sunflowers. I brushed it lightly with my fingertips, whispering, “Miss you, Daddy.” Then I slumped into a chair at my kitchen table and untied the crisscross straps of my heels, heaving a sigh as I dropped one red suede shoe on the cool tiled floor.

  I let the memories of my one great love affair come back to me. Memories of the man I’d adored. The man I was still wildly attracted to. Maybe even more so after what he’d told me about that night.

  Wanting him was easy. Wanting him felt good.

  When I was younger, Brent was my good drug—one hit and he’d washed away all my troubles.

  He’d been the only thing that had felt good after far too long spent feeling nothing but bad. Nothing but the black mark of my family that trailed behind me all through my teenage years. Nothing but being one of the Paige-Prince kids.

  Before him, I’d only had dance and my brothers, and they’d been amazing, but they hadn’t been enough. Then Brent came into my life, and I had something pure and unsullied by the cold, cruel world. He was my sexy, sinful addiction, and I rationalized that it was much healthier to need him than the bottle or a needle.

  But it wasn’t just the sex that had burned brightly between us. It was everything. He’d made me laugh, he’d made me smile, and he’d brought me so much happiness. I hadn’t been close to anyone like him since.

  While I hadn’t turned into a nun when we’d split, I hadn’t been busy fornicating during the last ten years either. My list of lovers was remarkably short—no one had compared to Brent because no one could compare to him.

  I’d spent the last decade mostly alone. I’d had dates here and there, and a few longer-term relationships. But sex and love residing in the same person? That had happened to me once in my life, and it had been with the man I’d wanted to go home with tonight. That moment in the hallway had reminded me of how much I’d needed him, relied on him, and healed because of him. And how I’d cratered when we fell apart.

  Our end was like punching a hole in my chest. It was like turning off my gravity.

  I stood and removed the silvery wrap. I was tempted to bring it to my nose, to catch a final trailing scent of that man who still affected me.

  I resisted, letting it drop on the chair.

  I walked into my bathroom, washed my hands and face, brushed my teeth, then stripped off the rest of my clothes.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking of Brent.

  Seeing him brought everything to the surface.

  Including that I’d still loved him madly when I flew home to Vegas from LA that fateful night ten years ago.

  And I’d still loved him too twelve hours later when I miscarried our baby, then came home to find his we can’t have it all note.

  Truer words had never been written.

  * * *

  The next morning, I headed into the kitchen, still unmoored.

  I needed something to get my mind off Brent for a little while.

  I spotted the mail I’d brought in yesterday. On the top of the pile was the letter from my mother. I picked up the white envelope. It bore the same return address my mother had had since I was fourteen.

  Dora Prince

  Inmate #347-921

  The Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center Hawthorne, Nevada

  Might as well get this out of the way. Better to read it now and put the past behind me, then focus on the day ahead.

  I took a deep, fueling breath, steeling myself for the latest round of unstable, needy, borderline insane words. With a hard stone residing in my gut, I pushed my finger under the flap and ripped it open. I took out the letter and unfolded the lined paper, girding myself for what lay on the page.

  Baby,

  How are you? How are your dance shows? Are your dancers as talented as you were? Sometimes at night when it’s quiet and everyone’s asleep, I close my eyes, and I swear I can see you onstage, with a smile so bright you light up the whole recital hall, like you did when you were my little girl in her candy-pink tutu, doing your pirouettes.

  I know it’s different now, but in my mind, you’re still dancing. You’ll always be dancing. Just like someday I’ll be free. You’ll get your knee fixed, and I’ll get out of here, and life will be as it should again.

  That’s what I hold on to when it gets all dark and black in my head, because I swear, it gets darker every day. It’s been almost eighteen years now in here, and the light is fading. I thought I’d be out of here. That they’d see I didn’t do it. I didn’t. I swear. I wish someone would find the people who did.

  Can you come see me again and help me, please? I’m not that far away. It’s less than a five-hour drive. I had my visiting hours cut—I’ll explain why when I see you in person—but they can’t take away my rights. The law allows me four hours per month, and they’re granting me two to see family on June 30th. You are my family, baby. See me. See me. See me. I’ll write to you for a thousand years if I have to. I swear, baby girl, I swear.

  Help me.

  Your loving mommy

  Years of practice didn’t ease the heavy knot in my gut. Letter after countless letter didn’t make the words hurt less. Every note I read was a piece of my flesh being sliced open.

  You couldn’t hide from that kind of hurt, I’d learned. You just had to let it bleed, and hope it didn’t bleed out what was left of your heart.

  Folding up the letter, I slid it back into the envelope, then tucked it away in a kitchen cupboard.

  I was half her, but I was half my dad too.

  And today, I had to act like my father’s daughter.

  I had to be stronger.

  I wasn’t the twenty-two-year-old pregnant, emotional woman worn down by a relationship that was no longer working.

  I’d remade myself. I’d shrugged off who I used to be. I’d risen anew from the ashes of my family.

  From my mother, who had killed my father in cold blood.

  But some days, I wasn’t so sure if I could ever outrun my history.

  The past kept coming back.

  And now, the past was in my present.

  I had to do what I had to do.

  Go see Brent again, and do it like a Sloan.

  6

  Brent

  As we waited to be seated at breakfast, Mindy shot me the most sympathetic look in the history of such looks. The sound of early-morning slots soundtracked her Oh, that sucks as I gave her the SparkNotes of last night’s tale of misunderstandings and mistakes.

  She offered up a smile. “On the bright side, at least you didn’t
put your foot in your mouth last night.”

  I plastered on a grin. “Gee. I’m super grateful for that.”

  “Well, it’s something you’ve been known to do,” she said as the hostess at the Wynn’s breakfast café walked over to us.

  “Right this way,” the hostess said. “We’ve got your regular table for you, Mindy.”

  That comment eased some of the overhang of what-the-hell-do-I-do-now that I was facing. “You’re royalty here,” I whispered to my friend. “The security chief who’s treated like a queen.”

  “My tiara will arrive any day.”

  “Along with a scepter,” I added.

  The hostess led us to a green upholstered booth in the classy breakfast spot in the middle of the hotel on the Strip. A former soldier, Mindy ran security at the Wynn. She was also one of my closest friends, and we’d been buddies since high school. When she’d lost her fiancé in Afghanistan, I did all I could to be a shoulder for her to lean on, like she’s always been for me.

  The hostess handed her a menu, but she waved it off with a smile. “Don’t you know I have it all memorized by now?” Mindy grinned, tapping the side of her head.

  “Of course you do. I’ll send the server over shortly to take your order,” the hostess said with a smile, and handed me a menu.

  I rolled my eyes. “Like I said, royalty.”

  “And today, I will be your royal advisor,” she said, returning to her shoulder-to-lean-on mode.

  My confidante on all matters related to Shannon, Mindy had been briefed chapter and verse from the start. She knew the good, the bad, and the ugly. She’d helped me pick the diamond for the ring when I was getting ready to propose in college. She knew, too, about the breakup email. She’d encouraged me then to try to make it right. But Shannon’s phone had been disconnected, and she hadn’t returned my emails.

  Now I understood why.

  And I wasn’t going to let Shannon wriggle away again.

  “Good. Because I need a royal decree or something telling me what to do next. I’ve got nothing,” I said, laying myself bare. “I’ve been racking my brain all night and all morning, and I don’t know where to start with her. But I want to, Min. God, how I want to. Seeing her again was a reminder that letting her go was a colossal mistake. And how the hell do I fix it? I don’t have a clue.”

  “That’s because everything comes easy to you, Mr. Lucky,” she said, and I couldn’t argue there. Great family, great parents, great job. The only glaring misfortune was losing Shannon.

  Still, I said, “I’m a lucky cat.”

  “Exactly. You’re happy and healthy and you have some kind of Midas touch with your business.”

  “Sorry, not sorry. But what does that have to do with the Shannon situation?”

  “A lot, actually. Your charmed life is the kind everyone longs for. But it’s also why you’re coming up empty. You’ve never had to fight too hard for anything. It’s not a character assassination. It’s just true,” she said, her light-blue eyes kind and honest.

  “I get it. And I get that’s not often the case,” I said.

  “It’s not.” Mindy knew loss; she knew pain. “But don’t worry. I can help you. Pick your breakfast, and then we’ll get started.”

  When the server swung by with coffee, we ordered, then I locked eyes with Mindy. “So, swami, tell me what to do.”

  She set her hands on the table, folding them. “I’m not even going to say you need to apologize. Because you need to do more than apologize. You need to prove yourself.”

  “And how do I do that?” I let out a long, deep, frustrated stream of air. “I don’t even know if she wants to talk to me.”

  “Here’s the deal,” she said as she poured a white packet of sugar into her mug. “You have two things you need to do. One, you need to remind her how good you were together. And two, show her you’re serious now. Show her you won’t give up. Show her you’re the kind of man a woman like her needs.”

  I wiped my hand across my brow. “That’s all? That’s a piece of cake.” Then I turned serious. “Okay. Lay it on me. How do I show her I can be the man she needs?”

  She laughed softly. “There’s no formula. Look for signs—do you think you affected her in any way last night?”

  I raised an eyebrow, a burst of confidence speeding through me as I remembered the way Shannon had shuddered in my arms last night. “I think I did,” I said with a wide grin. “She didn’t seem to mind when I wrapped my arms around her.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, there you go. Just keep hugging her, Brent. See where that gets you.”

  “You’re saying I need more than hugs?” I joked.

  “Call it a long shot, but hey, maybe start with the basics. Like an apology.”

  “Ten-four, but how exactly do I apologize for making the dumbest mistake of my life? Because that’s what letting her get away was.”

  She pointed at me, her eyes lighting up. “That,” she said excitedly. “What you just did. Say that. That would be a good start. Let her know in a way that will show her you’re being completely honest.” She took a sip of her coffee. A minute later the food arrived, and Mindy flashed a bright smile. “And maybe get her a gift too, King Schmuck.”

  The answer hit me.

  * * *

  After I finished my scrambled eggs and toast, and downed a hearty dose of coffee for fuel, I headed to my next meeting at the Luxe. Once there, I made a quick detour into a boutique inside the hotel.

  I scanned the shop quickly, spotting in seconds something that would be perfect for Shannon. She wasn’t a flowers-and-chocolate kind of woman. And while I doubted a material object would be enough for the mea culpa I needed to pull off, I had to start somewhere. I wasn’t going to wait in my office and stare dreamy-eyed at my phone, wishing for a call. No, I was going to do everything I’d failed to do years ago.

  There was no way on earth, no way in heaven or hell, that I would let the woman I wanted slip away from me again.

  I had the opportunity for a second chance. The game was on, and I was going balls to the wall to win my woman back.

  * * *

  As the meeting with our real estate team drew to a close, I was eager to burst out the door and turn on my phone. To call her. Ask her to get together. If that didn’t work, I’d head to her office and begin the grovel fest. I’d make my first apology. I’d probably have ten thousand more to make, but if that was what it took, I’d do it. I was heading to New York tomorrow to deal with the hurdles Edge faced there, so I had to move fast.

  “That’s the plan for the next six months now that we’ve got Shay Productions on board with its dance shows. And that’s what we need from you as we expand overseas,” James said as he shut his leather folder and laid his pen on the conference room table with gusto.

  “Love it,” said Tate, the lead real estate attorney, who was tasked with handling our deals for new facilities. “I’ve got some properties in mind. Let me scope them out and we’ll reconvene in two weeks.”

  As we weaved through the casino on our way out of the meeting and over to Edge, James lowered his voice. “What was the deal with you and Shay last night?”

  I turned to him and shot him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “Just seemed like there was some vibe between you two.”

  I shook my head, cutting that conversation off at the knees. Shannon was a private woman. She clearly wanted her carefully constructed present identity kept secret. My first step in proving I could be the man she needed would be to protect who she was.

  “Like I said, I knew her vaguely in college,” I said, giving nothing more away as we reached the front door to our flagship club on the property of the Luxe Hotel.

  Edge was quiet now in the late morning, since it didn’t open until five. Much later, there would be a line snaking along the velvet rope by the brushed steel exterior wall. The purple sign bearing the club’s name in crisp, clean letters would be bright and beckoning, calling out to t
he clubgoers of Vegas who were eager to party, to lounge, to dance, to drink, to be treated to bottle service from gorgeous bartenders, and to move and sway. To celebrate pending marriages, weekends away, or just nights on the town.

  “Maybe you’ll get to know her better now,” James said. “Because there she is.”

  As I turned the corner, Shannon was waiting by the front door of Edge.

  7

  Shannon

  I surveyed Edge to ground myself. Clubs had a different energy during the day. No music played. The lights were bright, shining in every corner. I felt as if I were wandering backstage and peering at all the pulleys and levers, sets and costumes that made a Broadway show go round. Because there were no smoke and mirrors now. Those would only come with an audience or a crowd in the evening.

  Even with the lights switched on, Edge still possessed the sleek sensuality it was known for, with its silver bar, low divans, gauzy curtains, and rich colors—colors of desire, like wine reds and deep purples.

  My footsteps echoed across the black tiled floor that would be lit up tonight, illuminated by rays of smoky light from the ceiling, by crescents of blue from the stage, by shimmery gold beams.

  The click of my high heels punctuated the strained silence between the two of us, James having left us for a prior engagement.

  I rehearsed the words in my head—why I’d come to see him.