The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

He huffed. “I’m checking to see if you have a fever. C’mon, Ky, you could be really sick.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

“I’m fine. Honest. Please just focus on driving. I'd like to get home in one piece.”

The night our parents drove away and never came back had turned me into a bit of a stickler when it came to driving safety. Not wanting to turn the black mood even darker, I willed the past away and sank down in my seat.

Feeling petulant, I crossed my arms. When my body began to ache, I realized I was so stressed out from both the reminder of the accident that changed our lives forever and from Rocco's non-stop nagging, that I was clenched tight. In an attempt to relax, I subtly ducked my chin and sniffed, seeing if I could detect a trace of Seb’s cologne on my skin. Desperate for another hit of the fragrance that wrapped around me when he placed his jacket over my shoulders. The same jacket I handed back before I left. Seb tried to insist I keep it, reason being it was a cold night and I was wearing, quote, “next to nothing.” It pained me to turn down the offer, but ohmygod. If Rocco caught me wearing—in his words—“that walking dickbag” Sebastien St. Clair's jacket, the apocalypse would be upon us.

When I couldn't find even the slightest hint of Seb’s rich scent, I pouted and slumped deeper into the passenger's seat, using my teeth to worry at my bottom lip. The whole secret thing with Seb—the point of which was supposed to be fun and exciting—was in reality, pain in the butt. A really big, really complicated, really sexy pain in the butt. Potentially violence-inducing, if Rocco found out. At least he didn't catch us talking on the patio or know about the jersey crammed in the back my closet. Sweater, I quickly corrected myself, then rolled my eyes and smiled.

I must have been insane, to smile while Rocco stewed next to me. I was playing with fire and knew it, and struggled to decide whether or not Seb was worth the trouble. To be honest, the guy was kind of a jerk. Cocky, rude, violent, and hot under the collar, not unlike someone else I know.

I snuck a side-eye at Rocco, who continued to fume, then returned to staring at the road.

Despite the many negatives, when I spoke with Seb, I discovered he did indeed possess several redeeming qualities. He came across as sweet, thoughtful, and armed with a charming personality, not to mention that air of danger that had me hooked.

I thought about Seb way too often, pretty much all the time. I could admit I wanted him again. But after spending time with him, talking, I wanted to get to know him, and that was bad. Sex, well, that was easy. Sort of. We could continue to meet up on the down low, have lots of mind blowing orgasms, and if I could successfully pull it off—keep Seb in the dark about my identity, and Rocco in the dark about everything.

But sex would be all we would ever have. No way we could ever manage any sort of relationship. Was great sex really worth it if in the end if all I ended up with were a few amazing orgasms and a broken heart? Maybe. But the entire scenario screamed hazardous to both of our healths if discovered by Rocco. Well, mostly Seb’s health, but Rocco would be sure to save some wrath for me. Mostly for sneaking around with, again, quote, “a walking, talking asshole with an anus for a mouth.”

“Hey.”

I flailed, caught off guard by Rocco's volume as his voice once again ricocheted within the confines of the SUV. Pulse racing, I glowered in his direction. “What, Rocco?”

His dark eyes looked wounded. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute, Ky. We’re home.”

I blinked and looked around. Mortified, I realized the SUV was not only parked in one of our designated spots in the underground garage of our high-rise condo, but the engine was off and he had his door open.

“Oh.” I reached for my door and hopped down before Rocco started back up with his whole “are you okay” interrogation. My heels clicked as I strode toward the elevator bank and I heard the scuff of Rocco's shoes as he did a light jog to catch up. “Before you ask, I'm fine,” I repeated the as he reached my side. Again, Rocco looked hurt. In the blink of an eye, the hurt twisted into a scowl.

“Christ, Kylie. You're acting like I did something wrong when you were the one who avoided me all night.”

He honestly thought I avoided him? That was rich, since he was the one avoiding me.

Rocco shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground, then lifted his gaze to mine. “Whatever.” The cold dismissal hurt my heart. Rocco turned away as he spoke again. “I’m just worried about you.”

His obvious concern squeezed my heart like a vise. I blew out a long breath and put a hand on his arm. It took way more concentration than I should've been able to scrounge up, what with my brain still recovering from flirting with Seb, but somehow, I managed a

small smile.

“I know. But seriously, Rocco, I’m fine.”

What I wanted to say was that I was a twenty-one-year-old woman and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. That I didn't need my brother to micromanage every aspect of my life. That I didn’t need him to freak out every time I felt like taking a walk, or heaven forbid, going out on a date. I don't know if it was my conversation with Seb, or the idea of possibly seeing him again that made me want to backtalk Rocco, but a slew of harsh words sat on the tip of my tongue. When I opened my mouth to unleash my verbal fury, Rocco looked at me. I snapped my jaw shut. The sadness that clung to Rocco sent a wave of guilt so big it almost knocked me flat and the insults washed away.

“I’m sorry, Ky. I just… I don't know what I do if something were to happen to you.” Rocco pulled me into a bear hug as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Rocco’s arms fell and he motioned I should go first. Great. Now I felt like double shit. When our parents died, times were tough. Really tough. I had been consumed by grief, but Rocco? He had it worse. Barely an adult, Rocco had to juggle the loss of our parents, plus a new career, a move across the country, and on top of all that, he had to suffer through a crash-course in figuring out how to be a father to his orphaned teenage sister. Everything thundered into Rocco's life in a massive avalanche of crap, the debris heaped on his doorstep without regard to how he felt.

My usual guilt pile tripled. It grew bigger and bigger until it seeped out of my pores. My annoyance at Rocco's meddling seemed petty in retrospect. Our fighting, pointless. My eyes burned and I slipped my hand into his, intertwined our fingers, and squeezed.

“Thanks for caring, bro.”

Rocco smiled and my throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. In that moment, screwing around with Seb didn't seem worth the hurt it would inevitably cause. And it would cause hurt, to both me and Rocco. How was I supposed to lie to my brother’s face just so I could get laid? He’d done nothing but love me, take care of me, and give me everything I ever needed and then some. Nineteen-year-old Rocco Calloway didn't think twice about sacrificing years of bachelorhood, taking a pass on any opportunity to have a relationship, to spend all of his free time with his little sister. And he did it without complaint, at a time when he should have been focused on going out with guys his own age, being young and living the high life with his teammates.

And in turn, what had I done for Rocco? Nothing, except constantly whine that he cared too much.

Pain pressed at the back of my skull and I knew I had a whopper of a headache coming on. Emotionally tapped out, I said good night and we each went to our rooms, strategically placed on opposite sides of the condo. The set up was great for privacy, not that I ever did anything that required privacy. No way would I ever bring a guy here. Just the thought made my hands sweaty and set panic fluttering in my stomach.