Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

“Come for me. Come for me, and then tell me you want me to fill you up.”

His order sends me over the edge, and I moan his name as the orgasm crashes down on me. “Hurry!”

He’s off the sofa and beside me on the bed in seconds. “Trying to kill me. So goddamn beautiful when you come.”

He shoves my panties aside, baring my fingers, which are still busy.

“I need you. Now.”

The buzz of the orgasm fades away, and I want it back. I want exactly what Lincoln promised me.

“You’ve got me, Blue,” he says as he comes over me, fitting the head of his cock against my entrance. “Always.”

He drives home with a single thrust, and it’s everything I need.





32





WHITNEY





LIGHT SPILLS THROUGH THE WINDOWS, dragging me out of sleep. I blink a couple of times and remember where I am. The Gables. My suite. Except everything is in the opposite place it should be.

Because it’s not my suite. It’s Lincoln’s.

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. Where is he?

I scoot over to the side of the bed and my hand crushes a piece of paper. A note.



* * *



I’m sorry you’re waking up alone. I don’t want to leave, but I have a meeting I can’t miss. You’re welcome to stay in the suite as long as you want, but I’m having something delivered to yours. I’ll be back as soon as I can.



— L



* * *



I READ IT AGAIN. He’s having something delivered?

I wrap the sheet around my body and tiptoe out into the living room. I have no idea why I’m tiptoeing, but it feels like the right thing to do. The connecting door between our rooms is still wide open, and the events of last night come rolling back in vivid color.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear.

Once back in my room, I debate leaving the door open for several minutes, but I decide to close it just in case someone comes in and is predisposed to asking questions.

A half hour later, I’ve showered and ordered espresso.

The majordomo knocks, and I open the door wrapped in a fluffy white robe. But he doesn’t just have my espresso. He also has a box on the tray that’s the size of a ream of paper.

“Good morning, Ms. Gable. Mr. Riscoff thought you might need additional stationery for your room, along with some writing utensils.”

My jaw slackens. Lincoln sent me paper. A sharp pang hits me in the chest but blooms into a cloud of warmth.

“Thank you,” I say through the lump that has taken up residence in my throat.

“Of course. And if you need additional paper, pens, or anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask. Also, if you’ve made your selections, I’m happy to take your breakfast order.”

I rattle off something that I can’t remember as soon as the request leaves my mouth because I’m too caught up in the paper that’s now sitting on a tray on the desk. I whisper my thanks one more time before the majordomo disappears, and I stare at the box for long moments before my attention goes back to the door that leads to Lincoln’s suite.

I open the box of stationery, grab the pen, and write a quick note to Lincoln. I slip back into his room, leave it on the matching desk, and hurry back out as though I’m more worried about being caught in there now than I was when I was ordering him to jack off for me so I could finger myself on his bed.

I can’t wipe the secret smile off my face until I answer the knock on my door for breakfast.



AN HOUR LATER, after I’ve eaten my spinach-and-ham omelet, I decide to take advantage of the sunny day and lay out on the terrace.

No clouds in the sky.

Which is why I’m sweating within minutes and wishing I had a pool.

Which I do. All I have to do is leave my room and risk running into another human.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear. My mantra from last night echoes in my head.



Screw it. I load up my stuff and make the trek down the hallway, through the lounge, to the beautiful patio and crystal-blue water. Karma and the girls are nowhere to be seen, and neither is anyone else.

See? That wasn’t difficult at all.

I choose a reclining lounger that’s in the sun, but with an umbrella nearby, and lie on my stomach, jotting down words and phrases that mean nothing together. That’s how my brain works. I write stream-of-consciousness style, putting whatever comes through my head onto paper, and then I piece it together like a puzzle when a pattern emerges.

I’m almost done with a chorus when another woman walks through the sliding glass doors in a black bikini and a turquoise blue caftan. Her face is shaded by a big floppy hat and large sunglasses.



I try to refocus on the paper, but my concentration slips again when she takes the chair directly next to mine.

She smiles and sets herself up, slathering her already golden-brown skin with sunscreen, and then pulls out a gossip magazine.

As soon as I see the cover, I cringe.

It must be a new one because the headline says WAS RICKY RANGO REALLY A BILLIONAIRE’S HEIR? The picture is Ricky onstage, overlaid on top of a photo of the Riscoff estate.

It’s not a crappy gossip magazine either. It’s one of the glossy ones I used to avoid looking at when I went through the checkout aisle at the grocery store. The story is too juicy for anyone to pass up.

As she flips the pages, my concentration and creativity dwindle to nothing.

Not focusing on the clouds.

I tuck my paper under my towel, ditch my sunglasses, and decide to go for a dip in the pool, carefully keeping my back to her and hoping like hell there are no pictures of me in that magazine.

I slip under the surface of the pool and push off the concrete with the soles of my feet, shooting forward underwater, my arms pulling me through. I try to make it all the way to the other end of the pool, but my lungs burn far too soon. Probably because it’s been years since I last swam with any regularity. Regardless, when I resurface, I’m far enough away from her now. I let my body go limp and float to the surface, arching my back and soaking up the sun on my face.

I stay in the water, alternating between idly swimming laps and floating on my back, until my fingertips prune. With a glance toward my chair, I see the woman is still there, flipping through her magazine as she basks in the sun.

I pull myself out of the pool, letting the water stream off me, and grab a rolled towel from the rack near the stairs. After wrapping it around myself, I keep my face averted as I return to my seat and snatch up my glasses to put them back on before she can get a good look at my face.

“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” she says when I settle back onto the lounge chair.

“Definitely.”

She must take my reply as an indication that I want to talk, because she launches into a conversation. “I love coming to places like this. It always feels so decadent when it’s exclusive.”

“Mm-hmm.” I try to stop the chattiness, but she can’t take the hint.



“Where are you from?” she asks.

“All over,” I tell her, because I have no intention of telling her the truth.

“Ah, a citizen of the world. That’s so fortunate. I’m a born-and-bred Cali girl myself. It gets so stifling in the city, though. Everyone trying to outdo everyone else. It’s nice to get out of there and appreciate different scenery.”

“It’s definitely different here.”

“The Gables has been on my travel bucket list for years. I’m so glad I finally got to see it. What a beautiful place, right? And the food? To die for.”

“Definitely.” I pick up my paper and start writing again in the hopes that she’ll get a clue and leave me the hell alone.

Not so.

“Have you been here before?”

I nod rather than answer verbally this time, and a rush of relief fills me as Karma and her girls come through the glass doors.

Thank the Lord. I need a distraction.

I wave at the girls and smile. “Hey! You guys ready for some swimming?”

“Yes!” Addy replies as she runs toward the pool.

“Addy, slow down. You’re not getting into the pool yet.”