Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

Right now, I’m unbelievably focused on this woman’s gray eyes even as she brings her hand to her chest, trying a time-honored tactic to invoke the trance. I remain stoic. “I’m Samantha, and I love your show so much,” she coos. “I read the profile of you in Men’s Health the other week too. I was so impressed with your devotion to your craft, as well as your body,” she says, since the profile — ‘cause it’s Men’s Health —featured a shot of me working out. Then, because she’s not subtle, she roams those pewter irises along my ink-covered arms, over my chest, and well, let’s just call a spade a spade. She pretty much tries to fuck me right here in the bookstore with her eyes.

“Devotion is my middle name,” I say with a smile, and push my glasses higher. Nervous habit. She makes me edgy, and it’s not the ample cleavage, but what she did in line a few minutes ago in her pocket.

She bends closer, gliding the book across the table to me. “You can sign right here if you want,” Samantha whispers, dragging her finger across her cleavage.

I grab the book with quick hands. “Thanks, but I’ve found the title page is an equally excellent location.”

“You should leave your number on it,” she adds, as I sign Nick Hammer, and hand her the book.

“Funny thing, I don’t actually know my number,” I say with a harmless shrug. “Who can remember numbers anymore? Even our own.”

Where the hell is Serena? I hope she didn’t give birth in the ladies room.

Samantha giggles like I just said the most clever thing, then looks at the page, just in case I left a secret number. I did not. She is undeterred. She drags a long, candy pink nail across my signature.

“Hammer,” she says coyly, letting it roll around in her mouth. “Is that your real name or is it a term of endearment about —”

No no no.

Abort.

Can not go there. Will not play the Dirty Synonym game with my last name with Samantha, who’s about to run those sharp nails down my arm.

“Oh excuse me. Did you drop something?”

I straighten my shoulders when I hear a familiar voice.

Deadpan and pure innocence at the same time.

The blonde startles. “No,” she says with a snarl, snapping at the questioner. “I didn’t drop anything.”

“Are you sure?” The tone is of complete and utter concern.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face because I know the woman behind the voice is up to something sneaky.

Harper Holiday.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Face of a sweet, sexy angel; body of a badass, ninja warrior princess; and owner of the most pitch perfect delivery of sarcasm, as well as the uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere. I’d play Dirty Synonyms, Dirty Antonyms, Dirty Anything with her.

Harper steps from behind the blonde in line, and opens her palm. “Because I’m pretty sure this is your wedding ring,” she says, a concerned look in those bright blue eyes as she plucks a gold wedding band from her palm and offers it to the hungry blonde.

“That’s not mine,” the woman says defensively, all that flirty sweetness swiped clean from her voice.

Harper smacks her other hand against her forehead. “Oh, my bad. You put yours in your pocket a few minutes ago. Right there.”

She points to the woman’s right pocket, and sure enough there’s the outline of what looks to be a wedding band. And that’s exactly what I suspected she was doing in line. Stuffing it away. Probably had forgotten she was wearing it, then tried to hide it at the last minute.

The married woman’s face goes pale.

Busted.

“This one,” Harper continues, holding up the ring and letting it catch the light from the ceiling, “This is the one I keep handy for situations like this.”

Samantha mutters bitch under her breath, turns on her heels, and marches away.

“Enjoy the book,” Harper calls out, then turns to me, cocks her head, and shoots me an I-just-saved-your-ass grin. In her own imitation of the Mister Orgasm groupies, she says, “Nick Hammer. Is that your real name?”

Just like that, I’m hoping Serena stays in the restroom for a lot longer.





PREVIEW OF

SAPPHIRE AFFAIR


Present Day

In truth or dare, everyone knows you should pick dare.

Truth is too risky. It gets you in trouble. But Jake Harlowe had always been drawn to trouble, and maybe, somewhere inside of him, he wanted to tell her the truth.

Even if the truth would lead to more trouble.

As Steph marched to the end of the dock, then spun around, fixing him with a challenging stare, he knew there was only one answer to the question she was about to ask.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, the moonlight framing her stunning, sun-kissed face, the ocean breeze sweeping through her hair, the smell of salt water wrapping around them.

“Truth,” he said easily, reaching for his beer bottle and taking a drink as gentle waves lolled past them.

She arched an eyebrow and raised her chin. Her tough-girl stance, and it made her even sexier. Damn, she was hot when she was feisty. “Tell me the truth for real. Did you know who I was the night you met me?”

He scoffed. “I knew you were the hottest woman I’d seen in ages,” he said, somehow unable to resist slipping around her question to give her a compliment.

She stared at him. “That’s not the whole truth.”

“Fine. I knew you were a pain in the ass,” he added.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I knew you were going to drive me crazy.”

“You drive me crazy, too,” she countered, parking her hands on her hips.

“Sounds like we’re just about even, then.”