Sinful Desire

A flicker of tension skimmed through her veins.

She knew she had. This was just a momentary bout of OCD making her doubt herself.

She stood stock still, tapping her fingers against her forehead. She could recall perfectly having placed new linens on the bed just this morning. The gray-and-white striped ones. Masculine and perfect for John.

She headed for the front door. But it was always better to be safe, right? Checking and double checking, and then checking one more time in that final quality assurance test—well, that was what had gotten her far in life. She’d been notoriously thorough as a student and as a computer scientist, a trait stemming from her drive to just check once more. Tugging on her skirt and gathering up the soft material, she race-walked down the opposite hall, turned the doorknob, and breathed a sigh of relief as she took in the sight of the bed, as crisply made as a hotel room in the Bellagio.

Okay, she could go now.

She made her way to the front door and gripped the handle when she was nearly knocked on the floor by the unexpected force of the door opening.

“Oh!”

“Shit. Sorry, Soph. I thought you’d be gone by now.”

She waved off his worry. “I should be. Running late.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Were you checking everything three times?”

“Only your room,” she admitted in a low voice.

He clasped a big hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that stuff. Besides, I’ll happily sleep on the floor, or an unmade bed. You don’t have to check to make sure everything is perfect for me,” he said softly, then gestured to her right ear. “But you might want to check on your earring. Looks like one is about to pop out.”

Lifting her hand to her ear, she felt the edge of the earring slipping from her earlobe. She peered in a small mirror by the door, catching the reflection of a framed photograph of her parents from across the room, her heart lurching briefly at the image, and how much she loved and missed them. “I thought you were working late,” she said as she repositioned the jewelry.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured it’ll be nice and quiet at your place, and you’ll be out so I can work on the case here.”

“Close to solving it?”

He scoffed. “Not even remotely. Talked to some guy today who I’m sure knows something, but he won’t let on what it is.”

“What do you think he knows?” she asked, turning away from the mirror to face her brother, who was unknotting his tie and tugging it off.

“Something that would help me find the other guys I think were involved.”

“What kind of case it?”

He laughed. “You’re not getting that out of me.”

“I know. I just like asking, because it’s funny to see how many ways you can say no comment.” John never gave up details. He always spoke vaguely about his work so she could never connect the dots. Not that she wanted to. She vastly preferred operating on her side of the world, entertaining the wealthy and privileged and encouraging them to dig deep into their pockets to help those who needed it most—the children, the ill, the underprivileged, the animals who needed a voice. She’d helped raise money and fund new programs for all those causes, and she intended to do just that tonight for the hospital.

*

Sometime later, after the silent auction of a painting by Miller Valentina—donated on behalf of a New York-based couple who’d said the piece had given them so much already, and they wanted to give back—Sophie walked to the podium in the ballroom and thanked the sea of glittering guests in their shimmery dresses and crisp suits.

“I am so unbelievably thrilled to share the news that, thanks to your generosity, we’ve raised well above our funding goal for the new children’s wing, which will provide state-of-the art care,” she said, surveying the tables in the ballroom as the crowd clapped in recognition of the good news.

The man in the green tie hadn’t made it, and Sophie simply told herself c’est la vie. She didn’t know anything about him, and it had been silly to want a stranger so badly. Besides, he’d never truly said he was attending. He’d simply nodded when she’d made that leading comment during her phone call to Jenna. He was probably a decadent flirt, too, just like her. Better to move on, and better to rid her chest of this tinge of sadness.