The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

Normally, the seductive, raspy voice had me raring to go. Normally, the sound of it made my cock hard and put a wicked smile on my face. Normally, I responded with a few filthy words, describing exactly what I was going to do to Amanda the second I got within reach of her hot little ass.

That night was different. I was a volcano about to erupt, and if I didn’t release the growing pressure of the churning, steaming mountain of red-hot lava that pressed against my insides, and soon, I’d lose my goddamn mind. Then I’d do something even dumber that hooking up with Amanda.

Again.

After I swore I wouldn’t do it.

Again.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“I’m coming over. Be ready. I’m not going to be gentle.”

No further explanation needed, I hit End, grabbed my keys and wallet, and left the condo, visions of a bloody and broken Rocco Calloway providing an array of entertainment the entire length of the drive.

Kylie

“Who the hell was that just now?”

It was a testament to my ability to stay calm that I held back my instinctive reaction to shriek. Instead, without betraying the fact that Rocco just scared me half to death, I closed the front door behind placed my keyring on the hook. With full knowledge it would drive my brother bat-shit crazy, I toed off my shoes one at a time and slowly let my messenger bag slide off my shoulder to the floor. Only then did I turn to face the immense, fuming man standing in front of me with a thunderous expression and his hands on his hips.

In preparation, I sucked in a breath and did a mental eye roll before I spoke, then made sure to pour every bit of my annoyance into mimicking Rocco’s voice.

“Oh, hi little sister. How was your day?”

Rocco snarled, not finding my exaggerated peppy tone amusing in the least. I ignored his attitude, and continued the conversation between fake Rocco and me.

“I had a great day, Rocco. Thanks for asking,” I said as myself.

“Oh really? It was that good, huh? Did you get an A on your Mass Media Law exam? I know you studied hard.”

“Why yes I did, big brother.” I fluttered my lashes and got a grunt in response. “How sweet of you to be so concerned.”

“Wow, Kylie. Great going. I’m so proud of you.”

Rocco looked so furious, I honestly thought plumes of smoke might billow from his ears. Immune to my improv skills, Rocco didn’t crack a smile. Nope. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and, though I didn’t think it possible, those dark, heavy brows of his scrunched up and got, uh, scrunchier, and his grimace became more… grimacey.

“It’s not funny, and I’m not joking,” he growled, his volume rising with each syllable. “I asked you a question. Who dropped you off?” Rocco threw his arms up in the air. “And on a motorcycle of all things! They’re death traps, Kylie. Are you out of your damn mind?”

As Rocco worked himself into a lather, I slid past him into the kitchen. It had been a long day, I did get an A on my exam, and I was ravenous.

“Hungry?” I asked, leaning halfway into the fridge so I wouldn’t have to see Rocco as he had an apoplectic fit.

I gathered the ingredients to make our mom’s chicken marsala. I might have chosen it because it’s Rocco’s favorite and I knew it would go a long way toward smoothing out his ruffled feathers. It’s not that Rocco intimidates me, per se. He doesn’t. He does, however, look incredibly scary when he’s pissed, but I know without a doubt he would never, ever physically hurt me.

Not to say he can’t hurt me. Rocco’s gift is his ability to inflict excruciating mental anguish. He had it down to a science and guilt trips were his specialty. To the point that when he got started, I pretty much immediately cowed to every last one of his ridiculous demands. It sucks, but it’s not entirely Rocco’s fault. He can’t help himself, being annoyingly bossy all the time. Around a decade ago, our parents died in a car accident. Rocco, only nineteen at the time, stepped up to the plate and became my guardian.

The harping and dictating was all well and good when I was thirteen, but as a twenty-one year-old college student, his overbearing, controlling, and borderline rude helicopter act drove me right off the short end of a pier.

“What if that asshole crashed his bike? Huh? What then? What if I lost you?” Rocco’s voice wavered and my resolve cracked right along with it. I closed my eyes as the wave of remorse seeped into every nook and cranny of my soul. With my back to him so I wouldn’t have to see the wounded look on his face, I placed the bottle of wine on the countertop.

“No, Rocco. Don’t think that way. I’m fine, I swea—Hey!”

Two large hands grabbed me by the shoulders and Rocco spun me around. It was so unexpected, if he weren’t holding me u

p I would have wiped out on the kitchen floor. Irritation crawled across my skin and I tried to jerk away but couldn’t get out of his gentle, but firm, grip.

It pissed me off. I opened my mouth to shout a few choice words about being manhandled, only I made the mistake of looking up at Rocco glistening, puppy-dog eyes. Any argument I had flew right out the window.