The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

Yes, I was still mad at him for being an ass, but seeing him injured while Rocco—who sported several scrapes and bruises of his own—seethed and his enormous body filled the doorway, the object of my fury changed. Rocco better batten down the hatches. He was abo

ut to be on the receiving end of Hurricane Kylie.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” I shouted as I got in Rocco’s face. Rocco jerked back, surprised by my outburst, and his enraged expression faltered for a brief moment before the furious scowl returned.

“I’m showing fuck-nuts here what happens when you disrespect my sister.” Rocco pointed at Seb.

A demon must've possessed me or something, because size differential be damned. I slapped my palms against Rocco's massive pecs and gave him a mighty shove. Okay, so he didn't budge, but I like to think I got my point across. Rocco looked at me as if he had no idea who I was.

That made two of us.

“It's none of your damn business what Seb did or didn't do to me, with me, or for me!” Without laying a finger on him, Rocco staggered back as if I ninja-kicked him in the gonads. His mouth opened, but I didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit was about to spew forth. “No,” I said as I slashed my hand through the air. “You’re not a part of this.” I gestured between Seb—who sat on the floor, as stunned as Rocco—and myself. “If the two of us have something we need to resolve, it won't include you.” I had steadily pushed on his chest, maneuvering Rocco into the hall without him noticing.

“He only did this to you to get back at me, Ky. Can't you see that?”

“Fuck you, Calloway!” Seb shouted from my room. “I didn't even know who she was until I saw your phone last night, you fucking Yeti.”

I twisted around and glared at Seb, who looked appropriately chagrined. He slammed his mouth shut so hard his teeth clacked. Satisfied Seb would behave while I took care of my brother, I turned back to Rocco.

“Whatever he did or didn't do,” I continued, “is between the two of us. Now, I get that you don't respect him, and that’s your choice. You don't have to. But so help me Rocco, you will damn well respect me. That means leaving us alone while we talk.”

Stubborn as always, Rocco started to open his pie hole, again. My response was to slam the door in his stupid face and twist the lock. The doorknob rattled and Rocco thumped on the door. My hackles were so high they could probably see them from the International Space Station.

“If you don't go away right now, Rocco, I swear on our parents’ grave I will pack my shit and leave.”

Those were the magic words that took the wind right out of my brother’s sails. I knew I won. “Fine,” Rocco growled through the slab of wood. “But you yell if you need me and I’ll be right here.”

Once he left, I exhaled and thumped my forehead against the door.

“So, umm, do you have anything I can use to clean up?”

I yelped and spun around, clutching my chest. I was so busy fighting with Rocco I forgot about Seb. Put one more mark in the “things pregnancy does to you” column. It was the only excuse I had, because something was wrong with me. If I weren’t pregnant, nothing could ever make me forget about Sebastien St. Clair.

Seb pointed at his bloody lip. Oops. Right, he asked to clean up.

“Oh, um, yeah. Hold on.”

Flustered, I dashed into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under the faucet, careful to avoid peeking at the mirror. I knew how I must look, after all the crying and shouting and mentally draining caveman crap. I would bet week-old roadkill was easier on the eyes. I squeezed out the washcloth and took a deep breath.

“Thanks.”

Seb took the washcloth and wiped his face, getting most of the blood off. The rest smeared until it looked like he lost the battle with a tube of MAC Russian Red lipstick. I knew I lost my mind when a completely inappropriate giggle burst out. Seb frowned and his brows squinched over his gorgeous blue eyes, which made me laugh harder. The adorable, puzzled look on Seb’s face set off a fit of hysterics, one that likely left him wondering if I was entirely sane.

“Sorry,” I wheezed between giggles. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Seb, having his own moment of acting completely unlike himself, took my elbow and gently led me to sit on the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked as he sat so close our thighs touched.

God. I missed him so much. Being so near, the physical contact, him acting all concerned—the switch on my emotions flipped yet again and my laughter morphed into hitched sobs. I was so damn sick of crying, but couldn't stop. When Seb wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of my head, holding me while I wept, I lost it.

“I-I’m s-sorry I didn't t-tell you.” Snot and tears soaked into Seb's shirt as I clung to it, the material fisted in my hands. “I-I didn't know w-what to say.”

Seb gently pried my fingers apart, then gathered my hands in his and kissed my knuckles, one at a time, the endeavor so sweet my breath caught. Pulse racing, I stared at Seb, and a bevy of emotions bubbled up and over. I didn't know what to do or think.

“I know we need to talk,” Seb said carefully. “About a lot of things.” His breath caressed the back of my hand and his gaze dropped to my midsection. I felt him tense at the visual reminder of his impending fatherhood.

We had to talk about the baby, and I knew that. I just didn’t want the rare, tender moment to end. Didn’t want to argue, see Seb’s gaze turn cold, or watch him stalk out of my room. He had to be furious that I kept a secret he should have been in on.

“But now isn’t the time.” The lines around Seb’s eyes relaxed a fraction, as did his rigid posture. “You look exhausted, and you're upset. No need to add to the stress.” He let go of my hands to squeeze my knee. “We’ll talk later. After you've gotten some rest.”