Page 150 of Sin Bin

Cynara lifted her glass to her lips and sipped her wine.

Santino swallowed hard and shifted his gaze to his ex-wife. “It’s great to see you, Roxy. You’re looking as good as ever,” he said, running an appreciative eye over her voluptuous figure. He’d always preferred women with meat on their bones. He used to tell Logan that he needed juicy flesh he could “grab and hang on to,” whether he had a woman beneath him or riding him.

He divided a nervous smile between Roxanne and Cynara. “I didn’t even know you ladies were here.”

Roxanne rose from the couch. “We were just leaving.”

“Don’t leave on my account.”

“We’re not. We’ve got some more errands to run.” Roxanne hugged Logan and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

She finished her wine and picked up her purse.

“I’ll walk you down to the lobby,” Santino offered.

Roxanne looked like she wanted to refuse.

“Please,” he said humbly.

She hesitated, then turned and headed for the door. He went after her.

When Cynara moved to follow her parents, Logan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Give them a minute.”

Her dark gray eyes narrowed. She was a mama’s girl, fiercely protective of Roxanne.

“Just chill with me for a sec.” Logan grinned lopsidedly. “I won’t bite.”

She snorted. “I dare you to try.”

He laughed at the threat.

She glared down at his hand. “I suggest you remove that before you draw back a nub.”

Logan laughed, shaking his head as he released her arm. “You can take the girl out of North Vegas…”

She gave a haughty sniff and turned away, nose in the air. Her spine was so stiff it almost crackled.

Grinning, Logan flopped back down on the couch, topped off his glass and downed the wine in one gulp.

As Cynara pretended to study an abstract painting on the wall, he decided to attempt small talk. But after the way her poor father had crashed and burned, he figured he’d avoid asking her about school.

“So how was Nigeria?”

Cynara’s expression softened for just a moment before she shrugged a shoulder. “It was hot.”

Logan gave her a wry look. He wasn’t fooled by her flippant response. He knew how much her advocacy work meant to her. He knew how many years of literal blood, sweat and tears she’d poured into helping Boko Haram kidnapping survivors.

“C’mon, Duchess,” he said gently. “You know damn well I wasn’t asking about the weather. Tell me about—”

She held up a hand. “I know you’re not just being polite. I know you genuinely care about those schoolgirls. But if it’s all the same to you, Logan, I’d rather not talk about anything heavy right now.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned back against the couch, draping his arm across the top. “What would you rather talk about?”

“I don’t know.” She joined him on the couch and poured herself another glass of wine. “Let’s talk about you.”

His guard went up. “What about me?”

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