Page 5 of Secret Sin

Or worse, you could just want to see her again.

Fuck, this was bad.

I stalked back to the bedroom and took a quick shower. I needed to clean up just as much as I needed to clear my head. I didn’t need this kind of complication in my life. A fucking virgin.

Jesus Christ.

She’d given every indication that she was anything but innocent, yet I felt her body give way the second I pushed inside her. A body that was temptation incarnate—feminine curves and skin soft as a ripe peach. She was fucking incredible, and I was her first.

What was it about that fact that made me feel so damn barbaric? Like I needed to bang my chest and drag her back to my cave where no other man could even look at her.

When I’d first met her before Conner’s wedding, I couldn’t deny her appeal. Warm brown eyes, sandy-blond hair, and sun-kissed skin like she’d lived her whole life on the beach rather than in Manhattan. Then there were the hours we’d spent together on the day of the wedding. She was so full of energy and life. It was intoxicating just to be near her. Her addictive nature was the whole reason I ended up agreeing to take her back to my place when I knew it was a bad fucking idea. She was Italian. Her uncle was the goddamn Moretti family boss, and I had cut up her v-card like an expired driver’s license—utterly worthless.

A surge of anger clenched my jaw so tight I was worried I’d crack a damn tooth.

I could be pissed all I wanted, but it changed nothing. That was one bridge that could never be crossed again. The only thing that would help at all was to at least reassure myself the damn woman had made it home alive.

I got dressed for work, then forced myself to call Conner back. My boss and longtime best friend wasn’t going to like hearing I’d fucked his new wife’s cousin.

Should have thought about that before you had her up against a wall, dickhead.

I shook my head as the phone rang.

“You finally get your lazy ass up?” Conner deadpanned in lieu of a greeting.

“Wouldn’t have overslept if you hadn’t left me with such a mess to clean up last night. You know how hard it is to get blood out of white grout?” I’d cleaned up the remains of a dead Albanian after Conner had gone on the warpath. I was glad he got the fucker, but the cleanup had been a bitch.

“That asshole was lucky I needed to get home. Should have drawn it out for days,” he muttered.

I grunted in understanding. Those ruthless Albanian fuckers had been after us for weeks and had even killed Conner’s uncle. I couldn’t deny his right to be pissed. I just wished he'd let out his anger in a plastic-lined cell where I didn’t have to spend all damn night drawing blood out of concrete.

“You call to argue with me or what?” Conner asked. His brevity didn’t bother me. I’d known him since we were kids. I was closer to him than I was my own brother, which meant we gave each other shit regularly.

“You wish. I need Pippa’s phone number.”

Silence filled the air.

“Why?” The single-word response was filled with wariness.

I measured my words carefully, knowing my answer wouldn’t go over well, no matter what words I used. “We didn’t exactly make it to her parents’ place.”

“Thefuck?” he roared.

I held the phone away from my ear and grimaced. “She’s an adult, man. Practically begged to come back to my place.”

“Doesn’t mean you take her up on it. What the fuck have you done?”

If he only knew how bad it was, I’d probably need a surgeon after he got ahold of me.

“It’s fine,” I tried to assure him, “but I sort of passed out and need to make sure she got home safely.”

“Jesus Christ, it just gets better.”

“Yeah, yeah. If I’d wanted a lecture, I would have called my damn father. Just give me the fucking number.”

Every silent second that ticked by was dripping with his disapproval.

“I’ll text you,” he bit out before the line went dead. Seconds later, my phone dinged with the number.

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