Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

“Did you see the report from Morris?” she asked, mentioning the private detective he’d hired. Mindy had worked with the guy, so when Michael was looking for a solid recommendation, he’d taken hers.

“Yeah. Not much there. The guy goes to the grocery store, and to buy sheet music at the piano shop. Doesn’t even take his girls to school. I swear I don’t get it. How can he be head of a street gang?” Michael dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. He’d hired the detective to gather some intel on Luke Carlton, the mild-mannered local piano teacher by day, leader of the notorious street gang the Royal Sinners by night. The cops were trying to gather enough evidence to bring him in, and Michael wanted to do everything he could to help take down the fucker he was sure had played a role in plotting his father’s death.

“But that’s how it’s always been,” Mindy said. “This guy has supposedly been running the Royal Sinners for years, so he damn well knows how to be inconspicuous.”

“That’s the trouble,” Michael said, as his phone buzzed.

Annalise.

A concert! Sounds great. I will be there.

He promptly forgot about Luke and zoned in on those last four words. She would be there.

His Annalise.

*

She peered in the mirror, considering the skinny jeans and boots she wore as the phone trilled in her ear and she waited for her sister to pick up.

“It’s two in the morning,” Noelle grumbled, sleep thick in her voice.

“I know,” Annalise said, checking out the side view. Not bad. “But you instructed me to call you the second I had a report.”

Her older sister groaned, then Annalise heard sheets rustle, and she assumed Noelle was dragging herself out of her tiny bed in her tiny flat in the Fifteenth Arrondissement. “Fine. Report.”

“I’m seeing him again. Tonight,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

“You’ve already seen him once?”

“Yes. This afternoon.”

“And you didn’t think to give me a report then?”

“I wanted to wait until I knew for certain another time would be happening. He just texted me details a few minutes ago.”

“Mon petite papillon,” Noelle said in a playful huff, using the nickname she’d bestowed on Annalise many moons ago. Annalise froze, not because it bothered her, but because it reminded her of what Michael used to call her. Not a butterfly, but he had given her an affectionate little name, and she hadn’t thought about it in ages. She thought about it now, though, and how much she’d liked it. “Tell me more about tonight.”

Annalise gave her the details of their coffee conversation, because it was Noelle who had encouraged her to see him in the first place. “Time to move on, mon petite papillon. No more crying in the croissants,” Noelle had said a few months ago.

Annalise wasn’t crying in the croissants, or her pillow, anymore, thank you very much. She hadn’t for many months. Still, was she truly ready? And ready for what?

“To love again,” Noelle had said, and Annalise had scoffed and shaken her head.

“That won’t happen.”

“Then just go on a date.”

Fine, a date seemed reasonable, if she could call it that. Finding Michael had been no easy task, but persistence had paid off, and she’d tracked him down, then sent the letter to his office.

He’d seemed a safe bet for her first time out with a man in two years. Comforting, even. High school sweethearts, and all that.

Falling for Michael Sloan—back when he was Michael Paige-Prince—had been the easiest thing in the world when she was sixteen and living far, far away from home. He ran the radio station at their school, and played guitar in a band with some friends in the afternoons. He was laidback, easy-going, and quick with a joke. She was the arty French girl who liked the same indie music, and who took pictures of him and the other guys playing their instruments in the garage. They were late-90s teens in love, bonding over Pearl Jam and Nirvana, grunge and flannel, American jargon, and kisses that lasted well past midnight. Endless kisses, the kind that made her feel like her skin was humming.

“Call me when you’re done with the concert,” Noelle said from the other end of the line.

“So you do like my report at any time of day,” Annalise teased.

“I’m a glutton for punishment when it comes to you. Just make sure it’s a good report.”

“What would make for a good report?”

“You know precisely what would make for a good report.”

Yes. Yes, she did. Was it so wrong to hope he’d kiss her tonight? The flutter in her chest said a kiss would only be right; the spate of nerves flying across her skin told her the opposite.

She inched closer to the mirror, pursing her lips, studying them, wondering what it would feel like…. It had been so long since she’d felt anything. She ran her index finger over her top lip, both wanting something desperately from Michael, and terrified of how she’d feel if anything happened.

Anything at all.

A few hours later, she entered the dark, pulsing nightclub and found him at the far end of the steel bar, his eyes on her the whole time she walked toward him.

The way he looked at her told her this night had the potential to take her breath away.





CHAPTER FOUR