Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

“So you’re just going to walk away without a fight? Give up a decade of your life with nothing to show for it?”

Her plan is absolutely insane to me. It would be like me turning my back on the last ten years at Riscoff Holdings.

Whitney straightens. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“You can’t.”





20





WHITNEY





THAT MAN DID NOT JUST TELL me I couldn’t do something.

Oh, wait . . . yes, he did.

Because Lincoln Riscoff is the heir to an empire and thinks he knows everything about everything.

But he doesn’t. He hasn’t lived my life. He doesn’t know what kind of hell would rain down if I made the claims he’s suggesting.

That confidence I felt building earlier took a small hit when I admitted that Ricky had been cheating on me the entire time we were together, but it comes back as Lincoln challenges me. Mostly because this conversation sparks an idea that hasn’t occurred to me until just now.

I cross my arms over my chest and smile. “Actually, Lincoln, I can do whatever I want, and you don’t get a say.”

He opens his mouth, but I’m not done. I nod at the stack of papers on the desk.

“If I want to do it again, I could. I thought there were no more words left in me. No more songs. But I think I actually just wrote one . . . and that means there are plenty more. I don’t need to take Ricky’s legacy from him. I can make my own.”

It’s the most empowering thing I’ve ever thought in my entire life.

I have a skill. A talent. Something of value to offer the world that no one else can replicate.

My songwriting turned a kid from Gable into an international rock legend. That’s . . . that’s amazing.

How am I just now realizing this? I lift my gaze to Lincoln’s, and I can’t read his expression.

“Are you sure that’s what you really want? Because there’s no shame in building on the foundation that someone else laid.”

Now I know exactly what he’s thinking about—Riscoff Holdings. Probably because that’s been the focus of most of his life.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. This isn’t about you and your family, Lincoln. This is about my life and my choices. For the first time in maybe ever, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks is right for me. I’m making my own decisions, and I won’t let you change my mind.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I wonder how much it’s costing him not to take over. Part of me expects him to try to bulldoze me, and I wonder if in my newfound confidence that I have enough backbone to stand up for myself. I brace myself, ready to try.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Whatever you want to do, I’ll help any way I can.”

I blink twice, thinking I must have imagined the words that came out of his mouth, but he continues.

“I’ll always think it’s bullshit that he took advantage of you, though.”

Something warm wells up in my chest, and the sense of power I felt gains force.

“I let him take advantage of me,” I reply, owning the decision I made. “But not anymore. I’m done letting people take advantage of me.”

Lincoln studies me, and even though his hazel gaze is intense, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. “I can respect that.”

For the first time in our entire history, I feel like the balance has shifted so we’re on equal ground.





21





LINCOLN





IT TAKES EVERYTHING I have to stop myself from acting on instinct—to push Whitney to pursue the copyrights and get what she’s entitled to.

Rango used her for a decade and fucked her over in so many ways that if he weren’t already dead, I would destroy him.

But it’s not my choice. It’s Whitney’s choice.

And when I said I can respect it, I meant it.

Now, as much as I want to drag out our lunch for the rest of the day, I know it’s not a good idea. One step at a time.

I gather the leftovers of our taco feast and head for the door, but I can’t stop myself from pausing before it. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I can bring more tacos.”

Her cheeks flush, and my fingers curl around the doorknob to keep from crossing the room to pull her against me and end this afternoon the way I really want to.

“I was planning a family dinner tonight to celebrate my aunt’s new job, so I’m technically busy.”

“Rain check?”

Whitney’s teeth close over her bottom lip, and there’s nothing I want to do more than tug it free with my own.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe . . . maybe we should leave the past in the past.”

The note of uncertainty in her tone gives me hope. I release the handle and step toward her.

“Is that what you really want, Blue?”

The shake of her head is infinitesimal, but it’s all I need. I drop the bag of tacos on the floor and close the distance between us.

I stop six inches away, my heart kicking against my chest, because what happens in the next sixty seconds can change the course of the future I’ve always wanted.

“We both know I don’t deserve another chance to hurt you, just like you said. If you give me one more opportunity, I vow on my father’s grave that I won’t make the same mistakes I did before. I can be the man you need me to be.”

Her lashes lift, and her blue gaze is still uncertain. “Magnus told me I need to make different mistakes this time around. I don’t know if this is what he meant, though.”

She reaches out with both hands and clutches my shoulders, pulling me toward her until my lips crush against hers. I let her take what she needs from me, meeting her halfway, but don’t steal control of the kiss. Blood roars in my head before diving straight to my crotch.

No woman has ever affected me like Whitney Gable. Not before. Not since.

Through it all, I keep my hands at my sides, because a single movement from me would end with us both naked on every flat surface in this room.

She finally pulls away. “You can take me to dinner later this week, but only if Cricket and her fiancé can come too.”

I force my expression to stay neutral instead of grinning. Maybe other men would be annoyed, but I’m not. I’ll take small victories whenever I can get them.

Whitney not wanting to be alone with me? That’s all the proof I need to know that she’s no more ready to leave us in the past than I am.

“I’ll talk to Hunter.”



Whitney inclines her head with a regal nod, and I return to the door, pick up the bag I dropped, and let myself out.





22





WHITNEY





AS SOON AS the door closes, I take two steps toward the sofa and plop on the luxurious cushions. My head drops back, and I stare at the ornate coffered ceiling.

I kissed him.

I kissed him and held on to my pride and my dignity and the upper hand.



A smile tugs at my mouth.

I even gave him an order.

That knocks free a little giggle and a burst of pride.

Trying to manage a man like Lincoln is like sneaking up on a mountain lion out in the woods, tweaking his tail, and jumping back, hoping you don’t get mauled.

Totally stupid. Definitely crazy. But completely exhilarating.

My better judgment has already rendered its opinion—stay far, far away. But the rest of me can’t abide by that decision.

My head flops sideways, and my attention catches on the stack of hotel stationery on the desk.

I still can’t believe I told him I wrote Ricky’s songs. Telling someone not related to me by blood felt good. The fact that Lincoln now knows that whatever Ricky told him before he threw me out of the cabin ten years ago was bullshit feels even better.

And seeing the rage on his face when he realized how badly Ricky had screwed me over? That was gratifying too.

I’ve never had someone in my life who was willing to go to war for me, other than my brother, and even then, he picked the battles. He didn’t let me have a say.