The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

I shouldn't. In fact, I should run. Far, far away. But before I set foot inside the bar—heck, before I left the game—I knew wouldn't. I couldn't.

Except, sweet, naive, Kylie Calloway doesn’t do one night stands. She doesn’t do dangerous men. And she definitely doesn’t do cocky jerks. But Reckless Kylie? Oh god, she wanted what he offered. More than anything. Was aching for it. And she was sick and tired of sitting on the sidelines, waiting for life to find her.

So yes, I was going to do this.

“Lead the way.”

Seb's lips pulled into a knowing smile that somehow managed to convey every sordid fantasy I'd ever had about the man, and at the same time let me know he had no problem with making each and every one come true.

I followed him into the elevator and breathed. This was really happening. My pulse was brisk, but I wasn't frightened. Something about the man at my side kept me calm. Like his very presence soothed my nerves. Seb made it easy to do what felt right, even as my brain shouted at the top of its lungs that it was inherently wrong.

The door beeped as it unlocked and Seb held it open for me to enter first.

“Nice.” I glanced around the large room to mask my anxiety. It was the same hotel Rocco and I were living in until we found something more permanent, so I knew what to expect. While Seb didn't have a suite—because, let’s be real, why bother for a booty call—the room had the same inviting décor as ours, done in cool shades of blue and grey. My gaze locked onto the king-sized bed, with its fluffy white duvet and piles of thick pillows. I gulped.

“Drink?”

I tore my gaze from the bed to find Seb standing by a small bar in a corner of the room, a decanter of amber liquid in his hand. I knew he wasn't interested in drinking. He was giving me a chance to relax.

I shook my head. No way did I want my senses compromised. Not because I thought he’d take advantage of me, but because I wanted to remember every single second of whatever happened next. Sear the images onto my brain so I could recall them any time I chose.

Seb’s mischievous smile returned. It’s amazing how the one tiny action sparked every nerve ending in my body. Little electric jolts crackled and snapped, sending a flush of heat from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet. He took a step toward me and my breath hitched.

Nervous? Yep. But mostly, I was exhilarated. Being on the receiving end of the gorgeous, dangerous man’s focused attention was completely addictive and entirely too arousing.

Seb stopped in front of me, eyes searching my face for a brief moment before he lifted his hands to cup my cheeks. His fingers were so long they curved all the way around the back of my head. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. When our mouths connected, it felt like a pile of TNT detonated. Instantly, I went up in flames, from passive observer to active participant in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I couldn't get enough of him. I shoved my greedy hands under his jacket and swept them up his sides, then gasped at the rock-hard muscles that shifted beneath my palms.

That gasp gave Seb the opening he needed, and likely never one to miss an opportunity, he took full advantage. When my lips parted, Seb thrust his hot, slick tongue into my mouth, devouring as much as he could get. He tasted amazing, dark and sinful, and wholly masculine. I couldn’t believe it. Sebastien St. Clair, object of most of my fantasies over the last year and a half or so, was kissing me, Kylie Calloway.

At some point Seb’s hands wandered, because he was kneading my backside in a sensual massage. He used a firm grip and tugged me forward until our bodies collided. The hard ridge of his erection dug into my hip and Seb groaned into my mouth. The vibrations traveled straight between my thighs. Knowing I was the one who got the infamous Sebastien St. Clair, the “bad boy” of hockey, all worked up and growly and desperate, was so erotic I was shaking.

I clawed at his clothing, trying to push his jacket over his shoulders, but Seb wouldn't let go of my ass long enough for me to succeed. When he tore his mouth away, I whined. Literally whined. I should have been humiliated, not just for sounding so pathetic, but because after one—granted, smoking hot—kiss and two minutes of dry humping, Sebastien reduced me to a trembling, needy mess. Good thing in the heat of the moment, I couldn't have cared less what he thought. In the bar less than an hour ago, I said I wouldn’t, but honest to god, I was ready to beg if that was what it took to get Seb naked.

“Strip.”

I blinked at the command. He wanted me to…?

“S-strip? You… you want me to, ummm, strip?”

I might have been willing to beg, but putting on a show was a whole different disaster in the making considering I was about as graceful as a baby giraffe on ice skates.

Sebastien's eyes darkened and he licked his swollen lips. “Yes.” He let go of me and sat on the edge of the bed, expectant.

Oh my god. I could be persuaded to do a lot of things, but not that.

I opened my mouth to say no and my throat practically closed up. Dress shirt wrinkled, tie loose and tugged haphazardly to the side, hair mussed—Sebastien St. Clair was a sight to behold. His cheeks were flushed and his full lips were all puffy and red from kissing me. He looked like pure sin. And as tempting as he was, it wasn’t his physical beauty that did it for me. No, it was the look in his eyes that had me saying, “Yes.” The man was so turned on, the black of his pupils eclipsed the bright blue.

The fact that I, Kylie Calloway, a girl who scurried away like a coward when faced with having sex with the lowly Grant Pierce, could affect a man like Sebastien St. Clair, that was the rush I was after, and it gave me the confidence to do what he asked.

I ran my fingers along the waistband of my jeans flicked open the button. “Like this?” Sebastien made a strangled sound and I preened at the response. As I lowered the zipper, I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and sucked.

“Mon dieu, oui. Just like that,” he whispered, his breaths coming fast and hard. Sebastien’s glorious chest heaved up and down, causing the buttons of his shirt to strain. “Tu est parfait.”

I didn’t know French, but he could have made a comment on the weather and I’d have been turned on.

Ignoring my zipper, I reached for the hem of my shirt. Sebastien's eyelids were half-closed, and he licked his lips like he couldn’t wait to get a taste. He reclined on the bed, upper body propped on one elbow as he massaged the straining bulge through his pants. I inched my shirt to expose the taut skin of my abdomen a sliver at a time. As I pulled it over my head, I heard a low growl. Large hands grasped my waist and I squealed as I was tossed onto the bed.

I bounced on the mattress and was divested of my shirt before I reacted. I blinked twice to regain my bearings and found Sebastien already kneeling between my splayed legs. His jacket was gone and his shirt halfway undone. Face-to-face with his perfect, rippling six pack, I could only gawk. Seb chuckled and I glanced up. He froze, mid-unbutton, his eyes burning with need.