Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

If she could only keep the guilt at bay. She hoped that brief encounter with it in the dressing room was her last, because she clearly had unfinished business with Michael. He’d been her first taste of love, and the connection they’d shared years ago had been so deep and so strong. Even though loving again was too dangerous, surely she was still allowed to experience passion and erotic joy, right? Especially with someone who’d once been the center of her world.

Perhaps now he could help her move on, help her heal. She had a freedom with him she wouldn’t have with another man, a chance to skip the bullshit and come together on a blissful, carnal level with her one-time love. They’d waited for each other when they were younger, but now they’d matured into adults who could have sex without labels. As teens they’d been wildly idealistic; as men and women who’d seen the world, they had the freedom to have unfettered sex. He would be the balm to her wounded body, the warmth to her cold heart. Maybe then she could finally be free to live again, to stop feeling like she was walking around the earth half-alive, with a frozen heart encased in her icicle ribs.

“I am happy. I’m looking forward to New York. It’s everything we couldn’t do before,” she answered him.

“Being young made some things too difficult,” he said, his tone both serious and nostalgic.

“Now we can be naughty adults. Do it in taxis, on airplanes, in restaurants,” she said, as her dirty dreams spilled forth.

“You want all that? You sure?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically, waving her hand behind her as if to gesture to the room where they’d been. “Please don’t let my momentary breakdown before scare you off.”

He held up his hands. “I assure you, you haven’t scared me off.”

“And I assure you that I desperately want all of you,” she said, choosing total directness right now. She didn’t get into the why. But the truth was she’d mostly had bedroom sex, and while it had been good, she wanted hot, dirty, thrilling sex. The kind that was spelled with the word abandon. The kind he seemed able to give her.

The waitress appeared to refill their water, breaking up the flirty, dirty moment. That was fine, because Annalise needed to return to their prior conversation. “I wanted to tell you about Sanders and Becky,” she said.

Michael nodded, a serious look in his cool blue eyes. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“She seemed off. Like something was really bothering her,” Annalise began. She hadn’t intended to tell Michael at first, and yet it seemed necessary. The more she reflected on the conversation, the more she wanted Michael to know. She’d lingered on the exchange with Becky, and the fact that her old friend had said ever since the investigation. She shared the details, adding that Sanders had missed the breakfast because of an appointment. “And Becky seemed nervous, but sad, too.”

Michael nodded, his expression now intensely focused, his jaw set. “Sad in what way?”

“She wouldn’t elaborate, and I don’t want to sound alarms. I have no idea what’s going on, but something is on her mind. And I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know why she’d be like that. But I’ll try to see if it means anything.”

She reached across the table for his hand and clasped hers over it. He let out a breath and seemed to relax the slightest bit. She rewound to all the times they’d talked about his loss, to the letters and the phone calls from overseas. He’d shared everything with her—all his hurt, all his pain. She’d heard the man cry once or twice, and she’d comforted him from afar as best she could as he told her the horror of what happened to his family the night after she left town.

The story was shocking to her, especially since she’d seen Thomas Paige less than thirty-six hours before he was killed. She and Michael had had breakfast with him at a little diner, eating eggs and toast as they talked about their plans. He was such a good man, so committed to doing everything he could for his son, and by extension for her. She’d thanked him, hugged him, and even told him she looked forward to the day he became her father-in-law. She’d believed it then—at the time, she was so certain she’d marry Michael.

“How is everything going with the reopened investigation?” she asked, threading her fingers more tightly through his, wanting to be his anchor if he needed her, like she’d been before.

He swallowed, his shoulders rising and falling, then spoke. “They arrested one guy, the getaway driver. And they’re looking for the mastermind. T.J. Nelson. He was the guy who brokered Stefano’s hits. Apparently, he’s wanted for several murders over the years, including this one.”

She shuddered, imagining the trail of carnage the man had left behind. “Do they think your father’s death was connected to the others? I thought with your mother in prison, and the gunman’s confession, that they knew the motive.” How much more clear could it be? Dora had her husband killed for the life insurance money so she could run off with her lover.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s changed. But the shooter had accomplices, and now it turns out the guy she was involved with is head of the whole fucking Royal Sinners gang.”