Page 29 of Sinful Attraction

I want to make her want me just as badly.

But say I win. Say I persuade her, and it works. What the hell is our families’ response going to be? I can’t expect them to lay their feud aside just because the two of us have fallen in love. Her family especially would never go for it. I swear at times that her dad’s angling for actual war between us.

And then, they find out that we’re not only fucking, but getting serious. What happens then?

“You all right, bro?”

I realize I’ve been leaning there silently and saying nothing. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep last night,” I admit. “Maybe I should be having coffee instead of beer.”

“Just two-fist them both and be a wide-awake drunk,” he suggests cheerily.

That helps me find a smile again. Good old Billy. “I wonder how well that would work?”

“Well, it works like shit for sobering people up. Found that out in college.” His smile fades a little. “No, seriously, man, I can tell that something’s wrong. What’s up?”

I struggle for a minute to find the right words. I don’t want to spill everything about my worries, especially since Billy’s a bit of a gossip. “It’s the investigation,” I say finally. “It’s starting to look like whoever took the money logged in from our home network.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

“Either someone broke in, social-engineered their way in, or just used their home login. None of those are good things. I’ll need to look at all our security records to try and figure this one out.”

“Well, I know it wasn’t one of us. But those other two ideas don’t sound too good either. Let me know what you find out, okay?” Billy takes a big swallow of his beer, looking a little worried.

“Yeah, sorry to bring home bad news. I double-checked that shit twice.” I give him an apologetic little half-smile.

He shrugs. “Not your doing; you’re just reporting on it. I really do want to know what the security guys on duty that night have to say for themselves, though.”

I nod a little grimly. “Me too.”

When I get to my room, I set my bag down and lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of Arya—the softness and strength of her body, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her moans—drifts back to me for a while, and I think about calling her. But I have no real excuse to do so until I’ve gone over those security videos. And I’m not quite up to that yet.

I’m worried about what I’ll find on those tapes—or worse, what I won’t find. If nobody out of the ordinary shows up on the tapes that night, that confirms it was all an inside job. And whether it’s staff, one of Dad’s men, or a family member, one of my family’s big berserk buttons is betrayal from within.

Chapter 14

Arya

I’m only home for 15 minutes when I already want to go back to Michael’s condo. It was so blessedly quiet there—at least when the two of us weren’t making noise. And I miss that part, too.

But he’s got to deal with what may turn into a gigantic family blowup and get our hands on those security tapes. And I need some time away from him to clear my head. If I can clear it with whatever drama is going on between Mom and Dad.

The two are arguing nonstop and loudly, which doesn’t happen very often. It makes me worry. Usually, either one of them is pissed off, or they’re both pissed at someone else. Generally me.

This time, they’re after each other. It’s far off in another wing of the house, but it’s so loud I can make out the anger. Just not the words.

Whatever is going on, I’ll probably learn about it soon enough. Likely against my will and in detail that I didn’t ask for. But in the meantime, I need a little time to myself.

I still think about last night way too much. How good Michael made me feel. How connected. He made me forget all about my vendetta for hours, and now, as I quietly make my way back to my room, I feel a creeping sense of regret.

I shouldn’t let myself fall for a guy who did what Michael did to me, no matter how amazing he is in bed. Or smart. Or cute. Or funny...

Damn it.

I shut the door and sit down in my big, squishy computer chair, letting it rotate until it faces the window. Down the hill, past aGreat Gatsby-style acre of useless rolling lawn, I can catch a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge where it arcs out over the water. I’m not sure who had the bright idea of painting the damn thing orange, but it is pretty striking against the deep blue water of the Bay.

I’ve spent a lifetime compartmentalizing, packing away thoughts and emotions I couldn’t deal with or express. How pissed I really am at my parents. How lonely I get. How tired I am of fighting for the slightest sliver of recognition.

If I go work in the private sector, I might have to struggle for a few years, but I won’t have to worry about pleasing people who will never be pleased with me. I could just do my work, meet requirements, make my money, and go the hell home to a peaceful space I only share with those I want there.

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