Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Michael tilted his head, trying to figure out what she meant, then decided he was tired of decoding. “Yeah, that’s so.”

*

When he returned home from work the next day, there was a delivery waiting for him at his building—a slim lavender envelope. Gripping it tightly, he rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor. His nerves were tense, tight, in case this was bad news, in case it was the end. If it was, he needed to be alone as he read it.

As soon as he entered his home, he leaned back against the door, slid his finger under the seal, and ripped it open.

Dear Michael,

Sometimes, phone calls don’t suffice, and email becomes insufficient for our hearts. But I worry I’ve been negligent with yours. That I’ve assumed too much, and said too little—that my fears of losing a love have held me back. Forgive me for not being as open as I wanted. Sometimes the possibility of losing someone I care deeply for is like a fist squeezing my voice, choking it.

So I turn to the written word. We’ve always been good with letters, haven’t we? I can write down what is too hard to say at times. And that is this. You asked me something on your last night in Paris, and I gave you an answer you didn’t like. But you need to know that a part of me also never stopped loving you. How could I? You were my first, and I wanted you to be my last. That part was quieter, of course, during the last decade, as it should be.

But now that part is an active part. And what I feel is so much more than a lingering fondness for a first love. It’s an aching, hungry place in me, and a blissful, joyful one, too. I want you in my life, Michael. I want new experiences with you. I want pictures of you and of us, of the places we’ll go, and the things we’ll do. Together.

I’m trying to give you all I can. I said it badly in Paris, so I’ll say it again and again.

I’m falling in love with you.

Will you please let me fall in love with you?

xoxo

Annalise

His heart beat furiously, like it had a thousand wings, trying to carry him away to her. When he called, her phone went straight to voicemail. He called a few more times but she didn’t answer. That was unlike her.

At some point, he crashed on his couch, the lights of Vegas flickering brightly through the windows, watching over him.

His phone bleated sometime well after midnight. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes and hunted for it. He must have knocked it off the couch, since it sounded from the floor. He grabbed it, a slow smile spreading across his face when he saw her name.

Sliding his thumb over the screen, he answered, his voice still gravelly from sleep. “Hey you.”

“Hi. Is there any chance your bed fits two?”





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


Anticipation skated across her flesh as she walked down the hallway on the twentieth floor, as she raised her fist, as she rapped on his door.

In less than five seconds, he opened it, looking sleep-rumpled and impossibly sexy. His black hair was a mess, his jawline was thick with stubble, and his blue eyes twinkled.

He wore black pants and a striped button-down shirt. The top two buttons were undone, and the shirt was wrinkled. It was nearly one; her flight had been late. She was slated to have landed at nine, and while she’d toyed with emailing him from the plane, she’d opted for the surprise.

There was something both comforting and appealing in knowing the other person would like the surprise…of you.

A slow smile spread across his face as he drank her in, then before either one of them said a word, he tugged her inside, ran his fingers through her hair, and kissed her like crazy. She wanted to melt in his arms and spend the night like this.

When he broke the kiss, she nearly stumbled, woozy and drunk on him. He reached for her arm, steadying her, then he brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, flashing a casual grin. “So what brings you to town?”

She collected her thoughts, shifting away from his kiss. “Your soon-to-be sister-in-law hired me for a boudoir session. And she asked if I’d want to photograph her wedding, too. Seems she heard I don’t get away from France much unless it’s for work, so she arranged two jobs for me here. I don’t usually do weddings, but I find jobs in Vegas have a particular appeal,” she said with a sly grin.

Michael smiled, too. “She’s a clever one.”

“I’m excited to meet her,” she said, then cast her eyes to her suitcase. “Is it presumptuous for me to not book a hotel room for the next few days?”