The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

“Nah, go on without me.” I had to believe she would be at the hotel bar. The alternative was too pathetic to consider. I began to walk away.

“Whoa.” Evvy snagged the collar of my suit jacket and jerked us both to a stop. Bastard made me stumble back. I turned to glare at my friend for almost putting me on the ass of my best Tom Ford. “You don't want to go out?” Evvy’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I know you broke up, uh… whatever you had with Amanda, so you're not going to her place.” He squinted at me. “Who are you and what have you done with Seb?”

I gave what I hoped was a casual shrug and with a genuine smile, gave Evvy’s back a hardy smack. “Guess I'm just not in the mood.”

For the millionth time that night, my thoughts drifted back to Hot Blonde. The shock on her face when she opened the box was priceless. And then there was that amazing moment. The one where our gazes met. Merde. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about her. It bordered on creepy and wasn't healthy. Plus, I was in serious danger of popping wood in front of Ev. If that happened, he would pelt me with questions I wouldn’t want to answer. Friend or not, better to keep Evvy out of the loop. In fact, I was beginning to regret I mentioned her to him at all.

“You're not in the mood,” Evvy repeated. “You?”

Amused, I grinned and walked backwards toward my truck. I tossed the keys in the air and caught them as I spun around and called out, “Yep,” over my shoulder.

The system beeped when I unlocked the doors and without another word to my dumbstruck teammate, I got in my truck, pulled out of the parking space, and steered toward the exit. As I drove down the block to the hotel parking lot—yes it was walking distance, but it was fucking cold out—I glanced in the rearview to find Evvy standing in the same spot I left him in, catching flies with his gaping maw.

I threw my head back and laughed.

If Hot Blonde never existed and I was still screwing around with Amanda, I knew exactly how my evening would have gone. I’d go out for a few beers with the team, then head over to Amanda's despite knowing it was a shitty idea. Tonight, thank fuck, I had other plans. I sent up a quick prayer that Hot Blonde not only showed up, but was miraculously into bondage, otherwise, the evening could still turn out to be a bust.

You know she probably isn't, idiot. Most women aren't.

Nope. I shut down that train of thought immediately and forced my thoughts to stay positive. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew I'd be spending my life alone. The likelihood of finding a woman who not only wanted the kink, but could deal with the rest of my fucked up baggage, didn't want me for my money, had no interest in the status of a hockey wife, and didn’t set out to trap me with a baby, was statistically less than zero.

So, was asking for Hot Blonde to align with just one of my measly criteria too much to hope for?

Dear god, if it can only be one, please let it be the bondage.

While idling at the red light at the far corner of the arena parking lot, I glanced out the passenger window. Poor Evvy still hadn't moved. Even with all the crap going through my head, my screwed-up thoughts and near dangerous obsession with Hot Blonde, I found myself in a rare good mood. So good in fact, I couldn't stop laughing at my confused friend.

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Evvy would have to get used to me not hanging out after games as much as I used to, because whether or not Hot Blonde showed up tonight, I wasn't going to be around much. I’d either be busy spending all my free time on achieving my new number-one goal: getting the feisty woman in my bed until she squirmed and panted and cried out beneath me, or my new number-one pastime: fucking her senseless.

I brought up an image of her defiant expression when she opened the box—eyes blazing and thick, cock-sucking lips pulled into a frown—and my dick began to swell. She was just so damn hot. I pressed my palm against my crotch and groaned. My entire body ached with need, yet the smile never left my face.

Feisty, gorgeous, and a hockey fan? All I needed to do was confirm she had no interest in me beyond getting naked, and a penchant for rough, slightly kinky sex, and I was golden.

Jesus, I really, really hoped so. Only one night so far and already Hot Blonde proved to be fun to chase. I knew she would be even more fun to catch, and breaking her down piece by piece until she screamed my name over and over would be my greatest achievement so far.

If she blew me off, she’d better be equipped to handle what came next, because there was no way in hell I was going to stop pursuing her. Not until I got what I wanted. I pictured Hot Blonde’s look of disgust as she held up my gift. Her pissed off scowl. The glare she aimed my way. All of it sent a white-hot streak of desire careening down my spine. Just knowing how irritated I made her, made me happy and pleasure unfurled in my groin.

Did it make me sick that her potentially hating me turned me on? Maybe, but what difference did it make? I was already twenty kinds of twisted and forty kinds of fucked up in the head. There wasn't much that could make it any worse.

Hot Blonde was a challenge. That's what got me hard. The challenge. The thrill of the chase and what I would do once I caught her. I reached down, adjusted my cock, and drove, single-mindedly, into the parking garage of the hotel.

Game on, blondie. Game fucking on.

Kylie

This was so stupid. Probably the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

I glanced in the mirror behind the bar to check my makeup. Huge mistake. The woman reflected back at me was a freaking wreck. My cheeks were flushed and bottom lip swollen from where I kept chewing on it, hair all tousled from running nervous hands through the length. I was a hot mess.

“Excuse me. Can I buy you a drink?”

I closed my eyes and counted backwards from three. He was the third man to hit on me since I took a seat at the hotel bar twenty minutes ago. When I opened them, I took one final look at myself. The woman I saw, the one whose stomach twisted and flipped, didn't appear nervous. In fact, she looked like she might feel several different emotions, but definitely not nervous. Excited? Yes. Turned on? Yes. Thrilled at the prospect of coming face to face with Sebastien St. Clair? Definitely.

She looked… hungry for sex.

Maybe that was why men were drawn to me like flies. They sensed my longing. Could read my filthy thoughts. Maybe I projected every single dirty fantasy I ever had about Sebastien St. Clair for the world to see.