Simply Sinful (Simply 1)

He walked over and lowered himself onto the bed, causing the mattress to dip beneath his weight. Kayla drew her legs up and scooted closer to the edge. Closer to him.

She placed a hand on his arm. Muscles tightened beneath her fingertips. She didn’t loosen her grip. “I appreciate your being here.”

“Why? I lied to you from the second we met.”

She’d expected to have to force truths out of him. Instead, he’d given her the opening she sought. “Because you were doing your job. I realize that now.”

“If I was doing my job, you’d have been protected before you got hurt.”

She laughed but knew better than to shake her head. Eating had helped, but she still felt drumbeats when she moved too fast. “Sometimes we mistake what our jobs are. I remember one night when I was younger. Catherine wanted to go out with her friends. I knew these friends were trouble, that she was headed in the wrong direction. So I snuck into her room and stole her wallet and what little money she had inside. She went anyway, and got caught sneaking out of a restaurant without paying the hefty bill.” Kayla gnawed the inside of her cheek, remembering the night the police officer had brought her sister home.

His strong hand touched her cheek. “What’s your point?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“We raised each other. It was my job to look out for her and I blew it.”

“Was she arrested?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. The owner refused to press charges. He gave her a job washing dishes instead. The point is, I didn’t do my job, but looking back, it wasn’t mine to do. Just like the minute I walked out of that hotel room, I wasn’t yours to look out for anymore.”

He narrowed his gaze. “I agree with you about Catherine. As for me, I was still on a case.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sleeping with me was work-related?”

“Don’t twist my words,” he said with a wry smile.

“Then let the guilt go.” Kayla couldn’t reach him if he hid behind his job and sense of duty. “Look, when you were a teenager, did you ever get in an argument with your mother, then storm out into the street?”

He met her question with a vacant stare.

Curious, she pushed on. “At that point, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop you from getting into trouble.”

“There wasn’t a damn thing she could have done about anything. She was dead.” His voice sounded distant. As if a robot were speaking.

Her mouth opened and closed again just as fast. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for her. She killed herself. Took herself out of the game.”

Leaving her child behind. Kayla knew better than to voice pity for the boy he’d been. She was grateful enough for the revelations. She wasn’t about to discourage them by suffocating him in emotion. “And your father?” she asked.

His shoulders grew stiff. “Took a hike when I was five. Is there a point to all this?”

A smile tipped the edges of her mouth. “There was, but you’ve cut off every one I was about to make.”

Kane let the tension ease. She didn’t treat him with the sad look or pitying expression his friends, teachers, and the authorities had used in his youth. He hadn’t voiced his story again until now, but wasn’t surprised he’d confided in Kayla.

He’d known many women. None affected him on any level other than physical. None attempted to challenge him. He’d met his match, and he respected her for it. Respected her far more than women who played the weak heroine to get his attention and into his bed.

He’d begun having sex early in his teens—too often, he’d come to realize. Later he’d become smarter, more discriminating. Only one thing remained constant. He came and went with no thought to looking back or revealing himself. Not so with Kayla. After all she’d been through—thanks to him—she deserved a little honesty.

But that wasn’t the sole reason for his confidences now. He didn’t

want to think about why he wanted to share the most painful parts of his life with this woman.

She shifted, the movement revealing pale skin and an expanse of thigh that aroused him in an instant.

“My point is you aren’t responsible for me,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Primitive possession flooded his system. “The hell I’m not.”