Sin (Vegas Nights 1)

I’d also never seen a man so engrossed in another shirtless man. At least, not a straight man.

“Damien.” I whipped the book from his hands and dropped it in the cart.

So, it was an impulse based on the abs. Shoot me.

He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face before he met my eyes. “My dad is pretty…traditional.”

“Traditional.” My voice was flat. I didn’t need to continue this conversation to know where it was going.

“He’s all for strong women, as long as they’re lifting a laundry basket.”

I snorted. “So, he’s a sexist pig.”

He didn’t say anything. “He doesn’t think women have places running businesses, from what I can gather.”

“So, it doesn’t matter if your sisters are more capable of running the business than you. He’d rather die than let them take it over.” I tried for another snort, but it came out a tired scoff.

It all made sense now, didn’t it? The borderline harassment that happened before and after my return from California. The insistence that he would get what he wanted.

But who was the driving force?

Damien or his father?

I walked away from him a few feet down the aisle to where some of my favorite books were. In silence, I picked up one after another of the engrossing romances, holding them in a tall stack in my arm until I couldn’t fit another one there.

Two strong hands took several of the books off the top and carefully deposited them into the cart. Damien took the rest, stacking them gingerly beside and on top of one another.

Before he could return to me, I shuffled down a few steps and stared at the books in front of me.

There was a thickness in my throat—one that was linked up with the tightness in my chest. All the doubts from before came flooding back, slamming into me with such severity that I had to lock my knees to stay standing.

Everything I’d ever thought about him, every question I’d ever asked, every doubt I’d ever entertained, they consumed me. One after another, like waves crawling up a beach.

Slowly.

Ferociously.

Repeatedly.

“Is that why?” I asked softly.

“Is what why?” Damien stood next to me, staring at the side of my head.

“Why you tried to buy Scarlet. Why you wouldn’t let up. Why you kept going on and on about it.”

“Dahlia—”

“Is it why you’re standing with me in the middle of a fucking bookstore like you give a shit?” I snapped my head around to look at him. My eyes burned, the stinging threat of tears just seconds behind my hard glare.

I couldn’t even pass it off as anger. The fact that someone who acted like they cared about me was sounding like they didn’t believe I could do what I do as successfully as him.

“You wanted to buy my business because I’m a woman.”

“Stop.” He took my hand and yanked it down, twisting me until I was looking at him.

A woman walked down the aisle, ignoring us completely.

“Dahlia.” His voice was softer and gentler than I’d ever heard it, and his eyes—oh God, his eyes. They were raw and unguarded, full of feelings you couldn’t fake. “Stop, all right? Stop and listen to me.”

I blinked to fight back the tears. Why did I have to be a crier?

“My father wanted to buy your business for that reason. And yes—I kept going on about it because he did. I thought you’d be easy to break down. But what you don’t know is that it’s over. It’s done.”

“What?” I whispered.

“There will be no more attempts to buy The Scarlet Letter. You aren’t going to sell, and I’ve told him as much. I gave up trying several days ago, so whatever you think, is wrong.”

I swallowed.

“I won’t lie and say that my attempts at spending time with you weren’t because I wanted the bar. They were. One hundred percent. But now…” He ran his hand through his hair, still keeping his eyes locked onto mine. “Now, I’m here because I want to be. Look at me, Dahlia. Do I look like the kind of guy who browses the fucking romance aisle in a bookstore for fun?”

I traced my gaze up and down his body, shaking my head, hiding my tiny smile.

“I’m here because I’m not acting like I give a shit.” His fingertips were soft against my skin as he crept his hands up to cup my face. “I do give a shit. I do care. About you.”

I covered one of his hands with my own, my chest tight. “You don’t agree with him? You think I can run the business?”

“Sweetheart.” With our breath mingling and our lips a heartbeat apart, he said, “I think you could run the world if you put your mind to it.”

Twenty-Six

Dahlia

Any doubt I’d had just moments ago evaporated the moment I touched my lips to his. The kiss was light, tender but real, more genuine than any of the ones we’d shared up until right now.