Sinful Nights: Sinful Longing Part 3

"Mom, my voice is fine," he said then thrust the controller into her hand, his way of saying any conversation that dared to touch on the horrific topic of p.u.b.erty was so over they'd need a new word for it.

"Fine, fine," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Forget I said a word about your voice."

"It's forgotten." He yawned. "Try not to get killed before you get back to the safe house."

"I'll do my best. See you in the morning, sleepyhead."

"See you in the morning," he echoed, and returned to his room.

A few minutes later, she flicked off the game. Late-night encounters like that-random, casual, exceedingly normal-had a way of settling her nerves and calming her heart. Things were back to business as usual with Alex, and she was so d.a.m.n grateful for that.

The question remained, though-what the h.e.l.l was she going to do about Colin? Tonight was supposed to rid her dirty dreams of him. But who was she kidding? What woman in her rightful mind would want to ditch that? She made her way to her bedroom, stripping out of her evening dress and completely useless panties. She tossed them in the hamper on top of her roller derby uniform from last night's game, laughing to herself over the number of pairs of panties he'd melted right off her.

One time at the center, he'd stopped by her office to chit-chat after his volunteer s.h.i.+ft and somehow his hands had wound up on her shoulders, and he'd given her one of the best ma.s.sages she'd ever had, undoing the knots of tension in her shoulders, all while turning her on. Yup, a pair melted that afternoon. A few weeks later, her first kiss with him had pretty much scorched her body and fried all her brain cells. After a movie for the kids in the rec room, he'd stayed behind to help her straighten up, and when they were through disposing of bags of microwave popcorn and was.h.i.+ng their hands, she'd turned around to find him behind her at the sink, a hungry look in his dark eyes.

There were no questions. They'd smashed into each other, all sizzle and heat and pent-up desire.

She pulled on a fresh, clean pair of undies, and a soft, faded cotton tee. She headed to her bathroom and scrubbed off all her makeup, staring at the calligraphy T tattooed on her wrist. T for her roller derby name. She dried her face and brushed out her hair.

Okay, the evidence of her evening was gone. She was ready to shed Colin, too. Just molt him off, like a snake's skin.

And yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Elle had wanted Colin since the day she'd met him. The initial reaction had been purely chemical. It had been instant and intense, and so d.a.m.n easy to write off as l.u.s.t. From his broody eyes, to his dark hair, to the body that was everything she'd dreamt up late at night when spending time with her toys-because she had a drawer full, and the dirty books to go along with them. f.u.c.k romance novels; Elle went straight for the hard stuff. Dirty, filthy short stories that took the edge off her days, helping her sleep peacefully at night, so different from the time when she used to twist and turn under the covers, haunted by memories, by broken vows, and fights. By this time will be different pleas. Then she discovered she could self-medicate with erotica to relieve the tension in her brain and body and send herself to the land of nod, courtesy of a naughty fireman menage story or a h.o.r.n.y, hot professor tale paired with her battery-operated Joy Delivered rabbit.

But soon her late-night fantasies zeroed in on one man. Colin Sloan-tall, tatted, tempting, witty, and forthright. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him, and once they touched...it was a pure rush.

He wasn't an a.s.shole. He was a very good guy.

Maybe s.e.x with him tonight hadn't been the worst idea in the world.

As she flopped down on her bed, shoving a hand through her hair, she found herself wondering if she could have it both ways.

After years of nothing but broken promises from Alex's father, she'd vowed never to put her son in a situation where they might face the demons of addiction again. True, Colin was a recovering addict, but he was still an addict. And an addict was an addict was an addict.

No two ways about it.

h.e.l.l, Alex's father had been in and out of rehab so many times you'd think he'd invented the revolving door. He'd sober up, then he'd relapse. Lather, rinse, repeat. That was the pattern with people like him. Before she joined the center as director, she ran several addiction recovery groups as a social worker, and she was well aware of the stark reality of the disease-half of recovering addicts would relapse at some point.

Half.

It could happen with anyone. It could happen with Colin. He had a h.e.l.l of a history trailing behind him. Sure, the art on his body symbolized his struggle and his sobriety, but while she admired that sobriety deeply, she didn't trust it.

Because she couldn't trust anyone's sobriety one hundred percent, not when it involved the person she loved most in the world-her boy. She had the scars on her heart, the countless nights of lost sleep, the never-ending battles, and bargains, and empty pleas from Alex's dad to prove sobriety didn't always stick.

She'd taken ten thousand chances with the father of her child, and they'd nearly destroyed her and her son. All those chances had ripped her life to shreds, and she'd finally put the pieces back together. How could she take even one with a man she was simply hot for?

Even for someone who seemed together. Even for someone who lived a life of recovery.

But as she tugged the sheets over her body-her body that still hummed with leftover bliss from earlier-she asked what if. What if she didn't let Colin into her life or her home? What if she kept him neatly in an after-hours box like she'd done tonight? h.e.l.l, she'd managed an orgiastic frenzy of mind-blowing kissing and epic f.u.c.king, and it hadn't spilled into her life with her son, who'd been busy warring with zombies and gobbling pizza with his grandma-the same woman who was willing to aid and abet another "booty call." And her own run-in with Alex in the living room had been as normal as they came. Nothing bad had happened from her choice tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, she could manage something with Colin that never got serious. That never crossed the line. That remained below the belt. She could separate the emotions from the s.e.x. The connection from the hotness. She could be with him out of the house and still come home to her son.

She'd maintain her boundaries. Only s.e.x. Only contact. No strings allowed.

Crazy idea?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it was brilliant.

She picked up her phone and texted Colin.

I still want you.

His reply arrived two minutes later, and they quickly bantered.

Colin: You can have me anytime.

Elle: Anytime, anywhere?

Colin: I believe we established the anywhere tonight. But there was also the time on the hiking path and on the stairwell at the library. If you needed a reminder of our ingenuity in finding places.

Elle smiled wickedly at the memory of the day he'd given her a ride home after his volunteer s.h.i.+ft and stopped at the library so she could pick up a book she'd reserved. He'd gone in with her, hunting for a new paperback, and when she found him in the stacks, he'd proceeded to kiss the h.e.l.l out of her, turning her so hot and molten that she'd decided she had to have him right then and there. In the stairwell at the public library. G.o.d, she was reckless with him. It had been amazing. A few weeks later, he'd invited her to go hiking when Alex was away with friends for the weekend, so they'd hiked high in the hills, under the sun, and gotten hot and sweaty. Then hotter and sweatier in a secluded patch of woods s.h.i.+elded by a boulder, when he'd shown her precisely how magic his fingers were as he f.u.c.ked her with them, standing up against a tree, next to a stream.

Mother nature rocked.

So did automobiles. They'd screwed in his car after she'd won at poker a few weeks ago.

Elle: The stream was good, too. Everything with you has been.

Colin: Good or excellent?

Elle: Excellent. Most excellent. So excellent I want more. I think Wednesday night could work?

Colin: You let me know the time, and I will not only be at your service, I will service you until you can't think straight and you risk turning into the most o.r.g.a.s.mic woman in the history of the universe. Just wanted to give you fair warning.

Elle: Consider me warned.

CHAPTER SIX.

The band sang of eyes of the bluest skies, jarring her awake.

Her ring tone. Guns N' Roses.

Bleary-eyed and still groggy, she fumbled for her phone on the nightstand.

Squinting, she spied the edge of the red number on her clock radio-eight-thirty in the morning.

On a Sunday.

c.r.a.p.

It was too early for anyone to be calling with good news.

An all too-familiar burst of panic blasted through her when she saw "unknown number" on the screen. When Sam had called from his many stints in rehab, the number had always shown up as unknown. Likewise, the times he'd rung her up while out partying, plastered and begging her to take him back, he would block his number.

Logically Elle knew that Sam wasn't calling her from the grave. But a rabid fear pulsed through her nonetheless. She swiped her finger across the screen, sitting up in bed and doing her best to clear the sound of sleep from her voice in case it was a client or one of the kids she counseled at the center. They all had her number. It was on the website for the center, along with her bio about how much she enjoyed being involved in helping the kids in the community.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey. It's Marcus."

"Hey there. What's going on?" Marcus was one of the boys who played hoops at the center from time to time. "Are you trying to get into the center on a Sunday? We don't open until ten. One of the volunteers should be there then."

"No, actually. I'm not," he said, speaking tentatively, the vocal equivalent of shuffling his feet. "I'm sorry to bug you so early. I've been thinking about what we've been talking about, and I'm finally ready to do something."

"Okay. Tell me more." She knew a little bit of his story. He hadn't told her many specifics but he had started coming around the center a few months ago, when he'd graduated from high school and moved out of his family's house. Lately he'd been opening up to her. He'd been raised by his father and a stepmother; his biological mother was out of the picture. She didn't know much more than that, but his biological mother had other children, older siblings he wanted to connect with.

He cleared his throat and seemed to be drawing up his courage. "I just feel like I spent my whole life not knowing anything about my family and where I came from, and now I do. And my dad didn't want me to find them, but they're here in Vegas, and I'm not living at home anymore. So this is my choice. I need to do this."

She tossed back the covers and headed to her closet as she chatted with him. "Then you should do it. Something is compelling you to connect with them, and you need to listen. Family is a powerful pull and a potent bond, and you've never had a chance to get to know them," she said as she pulled on jeans, crooking her head against the phone as she zipped them up.

"But what if they don't want to meet me?" he asked in a flurry, as if he had to spill out all the words in order to say them. She heard the tumultuousness in his voice. One moment he was courageous, the next he was hampered by fear. She wished she could cheer him on in person on this mission.

"Look, Marcus. I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. They might have zero interest in getting to know you. They might not care. They might be so busy with their lives that they could give a rat's b.u.t.t. But this is in you," she said, feeling a bit like a football coach giving a half-time speech. "You are trying to take a big step, wanting to connect with siblings you've never known, and that is bold."

There was something quite soap opera-esque about his quest. The long-lost half brother...appearing out of nowhere...showing up on the doorstep of older brothers. But as soapy as it seemed on the surface, Elle had seen enough of the drama and danger in the world to know these scenarios were far more frequent than anyone would think.

"My dad once mentioned that one of them was closest to my mom, so I think I'll start with him. Plus, he has a dog, so he's out and about a lot in his neighborhood."

Her antenna went up. "How do you know that?"

"Um."

"Marcus, have you been following them around?" she asked sternly.

"Maybe," he muttered.

"That's not a good idea. It can freak people out. You need to be direct. If you want to meet them you need to man up and go over there. Don't follow people. It's creepy. Makes them think you're dangerous. You're not, are you?" she said, like a teacher doling out tough love. Some days she had to play that role with the boys and girls at the center. But h.e.l.l, that was why she went into counseling and social work-for the chance to make a difference with young people who needed it most. Some of the kids who hung out at her center had been teetering on the edge: living in poverty, raised by drug-addicted parents, born to fathers or mothers in jail, or plain d.a.m.n neglectful ones.

And gangs. Lord knew some of these kids had been tempted. Street gangs, like the Royal Sinners, preyed upon the young and the vulnerable, promising them riches through crime. She hated that gang; hated the way they tempted the kids; hated the way they ruined lives.

"I'm not dangerous. I swear. I'm just..." He stopped speaking, letting his voice trail off.

"You're scared," she supplied, speaking softly.

"Yes," he said in the barest voice.

"Remember what we talked about?"

"Rise above," he said, echoing Elle's mantra, which she tried to instill in the kids.

"Yes. Rise above. You can be so much. If your goal is to meet the family you've never known, I'm behind you. But you have to stop stalking them. Do not let fear guide you. Rise above it."

"Okay. I'm going to do it. I'm going to head over to this guy's home," he said, his voice stronger and more confident now.

She beamed as she wandered to the kitchen and grabbed a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Let me know how it goes. I want a full report," she said, then ended the call and began cracking eggs and cooking breakfast for her son, who padded out from his bedroom a few minutes later.

"Hi, Mom."

Her heart went warm all over. Her brain was flooded with pure happiness.

Hi, Mom.

The simplest thing in the world but it was music to her ears.

Colin scratched his head as he surveyed the six-packs in the beer section at the local Safeway near his brother Ryan's home. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in eight years, and he honestly wasn't sure what anybody drank when it came to beer in the first place. But Shannon had told him to grab some brew for their brother Ryan, since he was in some kind of a bad funk, and Ryan was a beer man. If Shannon had asked him to grab tequila, Colin would have been in and out of the liquor store in ten seconds with a beautiful bottle of Patrn-that was like liquid diamonds. Colin could have written a dissertation on the stuff. For many years, tequila was his best friend, his most reliable companion, his steady mate.

h.e.l.l, he and tequila had been deeply in love. You never forget your first love, even if you sample others along the way. Colin had started hitting the liquor bottle right after his father was killed when he was thirteen. He'd only flirted with it then-he had friends with older brothers, absent parents, and keys to the liquor cabinet. That was what being buddies with the Royal Sinners did for you. Gave you access to all sorts of s.h.i.+t. Better stuff than alcohol, too. His best friend at the time was Paul Nelson, and Paul's older brother T.J. introduced the both of them to magic pills, because liquor was too risky for a teenager to pull off-the smell on your breath, the bottles in the trash...

But painkillers? They were the golden path to gliding through high school without your brothers, sister, or grandma knowing what you were up to. Colin had needed to numb the pain of missing his dad, hating his mom, and wis.h.i.+ng his life hadn't taken that turn into pure h.e.l.l. Oxy was far easier to hide than booze. Stash it in a sock. Stuff it into the bottom of your gym bag. Hide some in a Ziploc in the toe of your shoe. n.o.body looked there. No one suspected. Pop a few of those bad boys in the morning and cruise through trigonometry, European history, English lit.

Getting straight As did wonders to hide the problem and kept his family from discovering all the help he got from his little friends.

College was a dream-he didn't have to worry anymore about his family finding out, so he could party all night, mix pills with tequila, and slam some Adderall the next day to speed up his brain in cla.s.s. Worked like a charm. He grand-slammed his way through college, acing all his economics and business management cla.s.ses while high, buzzed, or on speed.

Nothing could stop him.

Nothing except collapsing during the triathlon he'd competed in at twenty-three, dehydrated from spending too much time with Seor Patrn the night before. He'd trained hard for it, too. The Bada.s.s Triathlon was not just the standard swim, bike, and run-it also included a rock climb. After you scaled the rock wall, you turned around and did the first three legs in reverse.

It had been hard as f.u.c.k. Exhausting as h.e.l.l. Only for the hardcore athletes, and Colin, a c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d then, was sure he could finish well even hung over.

Nope.

He'd fallen as he climbed, and had he not partied too hard the night before, he'd have fallen correctly, sustaining only a few lacerations.

Instead he landed all wrong, injured his tibia, and pa.s.sed out in Red Rock Canyon.