Sinner's Game Page 2

  Devlin grinned, and Ronan scowled. “No.” He said the word firmly, as much for himself as for Devlin.

  “No to the gutter humor? Or no to Brandy?” Devlin asked.

  “Both.”

  Devlin circled his desk, curiosity in his eyes. “That’s another explanation you owe me.”

  “Owe?”

  “Another thing I’m curious about,” Devlin amended.

  “What’s that?” Ronan asked, though he knew perfectly well.

  Devlin tilted his head, almost as if he was surprised that Ronan was opening that door. Honestly, Ronan was too.

  “All right,” Devlin said. “I want to know why, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you date.”

  “Sure you have.”

  “No. I’ve seen you pick up women in bars. I’ve seen you leave with them. I’m pretty damn certain you fuck them, and I know you have a membership at Masque,” Devlin added, referring to an LA-based sex club where Ronan went when he needed to blow off steam. “But I’ve never seen you in a relationship.”

  “I already knew you were observant. But what’s your point?”

  “One, I’m curious as to why, but that’s my problem.” Devlin leaned against his desk. “You hardly owe me an explanation. But on the side that does touch me, Ellie and I both thought there might be something going on between you and Brandy.”

  “You thought wrong.” Brandy Bradshaw might have wormed her way into his fantasies, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who could decorate his bed with no strings attached. She deserved a hell of a lot more than that.

  Strings.

  The word stuck with him, dredging up buried fantasies from his subconscious. That innocent, scarred woman bound and begging for him. And Ronan teasing her mercilessly, letting the pleasure build until she pleaded with him to please, please, please let her come.

  No.

  Not her. Never her.

  She was better than that. Better than him, a man who found pleasure in a string of women who could make him forget. Women he paid handsomely in order to ensure both obedience and discretion. Women he could push, who understood his need to face all those dark places. To go right up to the edge of their limits.

  But actually getting close to a woman? Opening his heart and settling into a relationship? Not happening. As far as Ronan was concerned, that was the hardest limit of all.

  “Like you said, Devlin. You know me, even if you don’t know the why of it.”

  “Fair enough. But I also know what I saw at the wedding.”

  Ronan felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t realized anyone had seen them in the alcove. Those few blissful moments he desperately wanted to regret but didn’t.

  “Yeah, well, it was a mistake. Weddings and wine. A bad combination.”

  “I’ll never regret my wedding,” Devlin said. “But I will regret my wedding day if it sets off a chain reaction that hurts that woman. Brandy is like a sister to Ellie. She’s family. We’re friends, you and I, and nothing will ever change that. Hell, you’re like a brother. But I promise you, Ronan, if you hurt her, we’re going to have a problem.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I already told you it was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again. There’s nothing between us, and there never will be.” He met his friend’s eyes. “We both know that a woman like Brandy deserves a hell of a lot better than a man like me.”

  Chapter Two

  “Brandy!”

  I come to a stop at the sound of my name, then almost fall on my face as Jake, my thirteen-year-old Labrador who’s convinced he’s still a puppy, continues to gambol down the street. I tug on his leash, then turn to find Inez Santos waving at me from across Pacific Avenue, the main east-west street in the Laguna Cortez Arts District.

  She’s standing in the doorway of her boutique, The Escape, and we wait for a gap in the light traffic, then hurry to meet her.

  “Hey, Jake,” she says, crouching down and ruffling his fur. He flops on the ground, licks her hand, and generally acts like he’s in heaven. “I don’t mean to waylay you if you’re in a hurry, but I wasn’t sure if you’d seen the new display.”

  She rises as she speaks, then gestures to the store’s huge display window. I gasp, one hand going to my mouth as I take in the absolutely breathtaking sight. “Inez, it’s incredible.”

  “Not it. You. Those bags are all you.”

  The window is entirely devoted to BB Bags, my somewhat eponymous handbag business since it’s named after me, Brandy Bradshaw. Or my initials, anyway.

  She has all my styles on their own pedestals—the waxed canvas bags that are my original design, the crossbody bags, even the fancy cocktail bags I’ve recently added. Those she has in the center, and the lighting is set to hit them so that the shimmery material sparkles.

  “I love it,” I tell her. “You make me look good.”

  “Please. These bags sell themselves. Stock’s already getting low.” She grins, her pale blue eyes crinkling as she pulls me in for a motherly hug. “I’m so proud. And did I hear you’ve got a booth at the Expo?”

  I nod happily, and she squeals.

  “That is amazing. And coming up fast,” she adds. “You must be so excited.”

  “I am. And slightly terrified.”

  “Nonsense. The Southern California Fashion Expo has launched so many careers. You’re going to be the next big thing.” Inez is about twenty years older than me and in incredible shape, with close-cropped short hair that would look horrible on me, but which she totally rocks. Inez was the first storeowner to stock my bags, and her belief that I’ll be a huge success has never faltered. Which is a heck of a lot more than I can say about my parents.

  “Thank you so much for everything,” I tell her sincerely. “You’ve been my fairy godmother.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She cocks her head toward the door to her boutique. “Time for a coffee? I bought an espresso machine for the store. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t do coffee. Well, I still have a kettle for tea.”

  “Thanks anyway, but I can’t stay. I want to get home and wash off the beach.” I gesture to my capris, my exposed calves covered in sand. “I’m supposed to meet Ronan at four. He’s going to fix my sink.”

  Her mouth tugs into a grin. “Is he?”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not original. Ellie said the same thing when we had drinks earlier.”

  “I’m sorry I missed her. I want to hear all about her honeymoon.”

  “Blissful,” I say. “I’m pretty sure she’s still floating on a cloud.”

  “As she should be. Devlin’s a wonderful man. Easy on the eyes, too.”

  I laugh. That’s for sure. And Devlin is wonderful. But I can’t help but wonder if Inez would think so if she knew his secrets. His and Ronan’s and the rest of Saint’s Angels.

  As if she’s reading my mind, she asks, “And Ronan?”

  I pretend not to understand. “He took pity on me. I tried to fix it myself, but the stupid leak keeps coming back.”

  “I was asking about the two of you. He’s easy on the eyes, too, and I saw you chatting at the wedding. Did I see sparks?”

  “No sparks,” I lie, grateful that she didn’t see us in the alcove. If she had, she’d know that there were so many sparks we could have burned the place down. At the very least, I’d thought we’d ignited a fire. But apparently, I was dead wrong.

  “Really? There’s nothing between the two of you?”

  I shake my head, smiling like everything is peachy keen. “We’re just friends. Honestly, I’m surprised you think there’s more. Sparks? Not even.” I hope I sound fascinated and surprised. But since my acting skills are nil, I probably sound cornered.

  If she notices my discomfort, she doesn’t mention it. Just tells me we’ll do tea and espresso some other time, then promises to tell me how customers react to the window display before waving me on my way.

  Jake’s already with the program, and he starts trotting east toward home. I shoot Inez a final smile, then let him tug me along, my canine escort leading me past all the cute boutiques, art galleries, restaurants, and gift stores that line this well-traveled street that forms the heart of our town.

  The shopping area ends where Pacific Avenue terminates at Sunset Parkway. But across the street, Copper Canyon Drive continues to wind up into the hills toward my house. We head that direction, Jake leading the way. At our lazy pace, it takes about fifteen minutes to reach my street, and we pick up speed as we turn the corner, because now Jake’s eager to get home.

  We’re four houses away when I notice the Range Rover parked in my drive. I frown, then check my watch. I’m not supposed to meet Ronan for another thirty minutes, and yet I’m positive that’s him. Which means that instead of grabbing a quick shower and putting on fresh makeup, he gets to see me shiny and sweaty.

  Yippee.

  For a moment, I consider calling him and telling him that I’m still out running errands and asking if we can push our sink repair appointment by an hour. Then I can linger in the bushes so that he doesn’t see me when he drives away. Because seeing Ronan while I look this scrungy is really not high on my list.

  Which, of course, is stupid. We’re only friends. He’s certainly made that clear enough. Heck, it wasn’t that long ago I saw him with that redhead in the alley, and wasn’t that a hard dose of reality?

  I scowl at the memory—her with her back to the brick wall, and him with his arms caging her in. And—

  Stop.

  The word fills my head, final and resolute. I nod with corresponding firmness. I’m going to unsee that moment. I’m going to completely forget about it. Ronan Thorne with that woman is not a topic I need to think about, because there’s absolutely nothing between us, no matter how much I might have hoped there would be. And, dang it, I really had hoped there would be.

  Except no, I didn’t.

  Because every time I get involved with a guy, it all goes to hell. And I really don’t want to lose Ronan’s friendship.

  But I do want more.

  I draw a calming breath, then sternly tell myself that want is not the issue. I want to eat massive amounts of chocolate on a daily basis. I don’t because I know it’s not good for me.

  Except, okay, yeah, some days I do.

  Even so, the concept still applies. I may want Ronan in theory, but I also know that anything between us will end badly. It always does with men. I’ll freeze up and be all weird about sex because that’s who I am. He’ll hurt me somehow. Maybe not physically, but there will be pain. Because that’s what always happens. And it only gets worse.

  After all, things went wrong with my last boyfriend, and I almost ended up dead.

  For my own safety, I should probably just stay celibate.

  And yet there’s still that lingering want hiding deep in my soul. A craving that I can’t shake but have to ignore. Because at the end of the day, I’m not a stupid woman. I’m also not a masochist. But getting involved with Ronan would mean getting hurt. That’s the pattern, and there’s no reason to expect it would change. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result?

  And besides, all of my musings are moot anyway. Because despite that blissful night in the alcove, Ronan has never, ever made even a hint of a suggestion of a repeat. It was a one-off. A drunken wedding kiss. And a harsh reminder of why I need to keep my distance from men. Nothing good comes of getting close.

  Well, nothing except the feel of his lips on mine and his arm around my waist and his large hand cupping the back of my head.

  I close my eyes and sigh, lost in this memory that I want to forget. Because no matter how much I tell myself I shouldn’t want—don’t want—anything to happen with Ronan, that is all a big, fat lie.

  “Brandy?”

  I jump, then open my eyes to find the man in question standing in front of me, Jake’s leash in his hand and Jake himself curled up at Ronan’s feet.

  “Are you okay?” His blue eyes are focused right on me, and for a moment, I lose myself in them.

  “Brandy?” he repeats. His golden blond hair is just long enough to curl a bit, and his beard stubble tempts my fingers.

  I can’t seem to stop staring.

  Stop. Staring.

  I shake myself, my self-issued order ringing in my head as my cheeks go hot. “Sorry. What? Oh, yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

  “Thinking?” His brows rise as the corner of his mouth twitches, and darn it, I actually swoon a bit. There’s just something about this man. Not his looks—although they definitely don’t hurt. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with a chiseled face that’s not too perfect, and all the better for his rough edges.

  Ellie once described him as a Nordic god, and that sounds about right to me. Either that or an action hero.

  Then again, considering his day job as an independent security consultant and his secret vocation as one of Saint’s Angels, he truly is the latter. Just in real life and not on a movie screen.

  Bottom line is that although Ronan is very, very easy on the eyes, what I find most attractive is that underneath all that dangerous muscle is a guy with a genuinely good heart and a very sweet demeanor. The guy who so gently carried me out of that horrible underground chamber, then tended my wounds and promised that everything would be okay. The man who whispered that I was beautiful at Ellie and Devlin’s wedding, and that all he could think about was kissing me.

  The guy who makes my heart flutter and my fingers ache to touch him even though I know I shouldn’t.

  The guy who right now is silently grinning at me, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. And, yeah, he probably does.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. Just thinking. About work.” I expect him to call me on it. Want him to, even. Because despite the very long lectures I keep giving myself, deep down I still want to kindle this attraction. And I’m certain he wants the same.

  Which is why I’m ridiculously disappointed when all he says is, “I guess that means work’s going well. Congratulations. I saw the new display in the window at The Escape earlier today.”

  “Thanks.” I swallow as I readjust my fantasies, reminding myself that this is good. I don’t actually want anything to happen between me and Ronan. Didn’t I just give myself that lecture? Am I really that wishy-washy?

  Apparently, yes, I am.

  I force myself to smile at him. “You’re early.”

  “A little. I have a plane to catch soon.”

  “Oh. So you’re going to fix my sink and run? I was thinking about making cookies.”

  “I’d love that. Raincheck?”

  I force myself not to be disappointed. “Sure. And thanks for grabbing Jake. I didn’t realize I’d dropped the leash.”

  “Well, you were deep in thought. About work,” he adds. What I hear is about me.

  I manage a little shrug. “Lots on my mind. Oh! I saw Mr. Big,” I say, referring to my mysterious landlord.

  “Yeah?” he asks as we fall in step together, heading the short distance to the house. “How did you know it was him? I thought you’d never met the man.”

  He’s right. I have a unique deal in that in exchange for ridiculously cheap rent, I act as a house manager. The only downside is that on the few occasions he comes to town and wants the house, I get a call from the property manager and have to vacate for up to a week.

  It’s all very mysterious and weird, but I assume he’s some sort of celebrity and really wants his privacy. Considering the fab house, minuscule rent, great view, and South Orange County location, it’s a small price to pay.

  “I was outside Pacific Property earlier, and some guy came out. I didn’t think anything of it until he started staring at me, then asked what I was doing there. He was almost yelling. It was freaky.”

  I reach for Jake’s leash, and when he passes it to me, our hands brush. And right then I wish I’d paid more attention when my dad did repairs around the house. Because then I could fix my own stupid sink and not have to spend the next hour or so feeling like an awkward thirteen-year-old girl, tongue-tied around the cute guy.

  I realize he’s no longer beside me, and I pause, then turn around to find his eyes on me, a curious expression on his face. My cheeks go warm even as my whole body gets all shivery. This is it. This is when he finally says something about that kiss. That strange and wonderful kiss that has occupied too much of my brain space lately.

  “Ronan?” I ask when he continues to just stand there.

  “Where did you go?”

  I blink, totally confused. “Go? We’re going to the house.”

  He chuckles, the sound low and sexy, and I hate myself because I cannot shut this attraction off. “I meant in your head. You wandered off somewhere, but you were telling me about Mr. Big.”

  “Oh. Right.” Stupid, stupid. “Had an idea for a new bag design. Got distracted. Anyway,” I rush on before he can challenge my crappy excuse, “after chewing me out, he just walked away. And since he’d come from the property manager’s office, I walked over and asked Gail who the weird guy was. She told me that he’s my landlord.”

  “Seriously?”

  I cringe. “Honestly, I think I liked it better not knowing how weird the guy is. I mean, why was he yelling at me?”

  “Probably thought you were someone else. He doesn’t know you any more than you know him, right?”

  I shrug. “I guess that’s true. Honestly, I never thought about it.”

  “Odd, though,” he says, his brow furrowed.

  I snort. “Which part exactly?”

  “Just wondering why he’s even in town. Were you supposed to have vacated so he has the house?”

  “No.” I frown because he has a point. “At least, I never got told that I needed to vacate.” I’m actually a bit surprised that Ronan knows the details of how my rental agreement works. Yes, Ellie and Devlin know. And Devlin is Ronan’s closest friend. But there’s no reason that my living arrangement would come up in casual conversation.

  Which makes me wonder if Ronan asked. And that makes me wonder why he would ask. And that makes me wonder about things I have no business wondering about.