Sinful Desire

“I’m always game for a brew. And Michael was already hankering for one.”

Sanders waggled the salt-and-pepper eyebrows that matched his hair. “Wait ’til you experience the AC in my house. It was on the fritz and I fixed it myself the other day. Replaced the air filter. See, I still can manage a few things all by my studly self.”

Ryan laughed. “I bet the missus was impressed that you didn’t have to call us on the AC problem,” he said as they walked across the front lawn.

The older man winked. “Truth be told, she likes it when you come over. Between you and me, I think she’s got a crush on the whole lot of you. Probably had eyes for your dad, too,” he said with a no-big-deal shrug, and Ryan couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the free and easy way Sanders had of talking about his father. Some people were afraid to mention the deceased. They tiptoed around the family history.

Not Sanders. He talked openly about Thomas Paige, and Ryan had always liked that.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Michael said with a wink. “Our good looks did come from him.”

The air was heavy with silence for a brief moment. Because the natural next thing to say would be to mention the traits that came from their mom.

Ryan broke the silence. “Hey, is your wife still pissed about your speeding ticket? You do know they have apps now that tell you where the speed traps are,” he said as they reached the side gate to the backyard.

Sanders rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. What can I say? I was getting tired and was eager to get home so I gunned the engine. The highway looked free and clear. You’d think four decades of driving would have taught me better.” Ryan had been ribbing Sanders ever since he was nailed by a state trooper in California a month ago. First time ever that the normally cautious driver had landed a speeding ticket.

“They have coffee for that problem. The falling asleep at the wheel one,” Michael said as they reached the deck.

Sanders’s wife Becky stood by the sliding glass door, shielding her eyes as she waved. “I’ve got cold beer for my favorite handymen,” she said.

“You are the best, Mrs. Foxton,” Ryan said. “I’d give you a big hug, but I’m sweaty and gross.”

“I’m not,” Michael said, elbowing Ryan, as he moved in for an embrace. “I’ll hug you.”

Sanders stepped in front of both of them.

“Now, now. Keep your mitts off my woman. She’ll be liable to leave me for one of you,” Sanders said with narrowed eyes. “I’ll be the only sweaty man touching her.” He draped an arm around his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek. She smiled at him then led them into the house.

Cool air blasted Ryan’s hot skin. “This is heaven,” he said with a relaxed sigh.

Becky handed beer bottles to Ryan and Michael. “Glad you like it here.”

“Now it’s really heaven,” Michael said, then knocked back some of the beer.

Sanders squeezed his wife’s shoulder possessively. “Only four more months ’til I can spend my days drinking beer and sitting on my ass on a lounge chair on the pool deck as we circle the Bahamas.”

Becky smiled. “I can’t wait. We’re going on a cruise for three whole weeks. It’s been a dream my whole life.”

“Just make sure they don’t make you do time for your speeding ticket,” Ryan joked.

Sanders seemed to tense, his spine straightening over those words. “Course not. It was just speeding.”

“Let’s not talk about the trip to California right now,” Becky said in a quiet but firm voice that brooked no argument. She turned away, her shoulders rising and falling as she took a deep breath. Ryan glanced briefly at Sanders, who was rubbing his wife’s arm, then to his brother. Michael shrugged a shoulder.

Ryan had no clue why the speeding ticket had touched such a nerve for Sanders and Becky.

But the weird glances, the needy reassurance, the mix of worry and admonishment—those were all reminders of why he steered clear of relationships. They were trouble. Women needed soothing and tending to, and those were just not things Ryan was good at.

He was, however, quite good in other areas, and there was a woman who seemed fond of those skills. A woman he’d be seeing tomorrow.

He couldn’t fucking wait.

*

Ever dapper, always elegant, Holden played the final, jubilant notes in Beethoven’s ninth symphony on the grand piano.

Sophie tapped her fingertips against the black lacquer at Holden’s apartment overlooking the Mandalay Bay pool. Several stories below, hotel guests drank towering drinks and splashed in the cool water.

“Ta da!” Holden declared with a flourish as he finished the piece, then stood up and bowed deeply. Sophie clapped and shouted bravo, giving a one-woman ovation that was loud enough to be worthy of many.

“Thank you, thank you, to all my adoring fans,” he said, then blew air kisses to the fictional crowd.

Sophie wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “You’re going to be amazing. Though that’s not a surprise in the least.”