And he was still pissed.
Having nothing positive to say, I returned to staring blankly out the front window. A few minutes later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rocco glance in my direction. Still angry, I wanted to bask in my righteous fury a little while longer, but when I shifted to get a better look at his face, my heart tripped. He looked nothing like my loving brother. Instead, Rocco's handsome features were twisted into a disapproving scowl.
I knew that look. Something was bugging him. Something that had nothing to do with our current fight. I didn’t bother to ask. There was no point. Years of experience taught me I had no chance of prying answers out of my pig-headed brother. Stuck in the SUV with nowhere to go, I couldn't get away with ignoring his earlier question, so before he lashed out and said something worse, something that would spark another huge fight, I came up with an excuse to get him to back off and leave me to contemplate my conversation with Seb.
“Nothing is ‘with me’ tonight,” I said, complete with sarcastic air quotes. “I just don't feel well.”
I stared out the windshield and made sure to keep my facial features blank and my eyes unfocused. Rocco is a freaking human lie detector. The guy can spot a fib like no one else. I always used to joke that if his hockey career didn't pan out, Rocco would be great as a CIA interrogator. To make my performance more believable, I threw in a moan and put a hand over my abdomen.
“I think I ate something that disagreed with me.”
Just like that, Rocco's agitated expression vanished and his shoulders bunched up by his ears. He clenched his jaw and snarled, “Well, if that's the case we’re never eating there again. Fucking assholes poisoning my sister.”
Oh great. Here we go.
Rocco took my teeny, tiny little white lie, grabbed onto it with both hands, and took off. In less than a minute he had worked himself into a lather under the false belief I got food poisoning at the team dinner. If I hadn't stopped fake groaning long enough to beg Rocco to take me straight home, he would've already swung an illegal U-turn and double parked in front of the restaurant so he could storm through the door and beat the holy hell out of the poor chef. Which, considering I didn't have food poisoning, would be bad.
In fact, beating the hell out of anyone was bad. For Rocco, such an over-the-top reaction was pretty much par for the course. When confronted, his default setting hovered somewhere around maximum violence, on the ice, anyway. The NHL had strict rules with regard to fighting off the ice and players could receive punishment for doing so—anything from a financial penalty to the loss of their job. Rocco was good at managing his temper… most of the time. His weakness was me. Specifically, when someone either hurt me or he thought I was about to be hurt.
Thinking about what Rocco would do if he knew which body parts Sebastien St. Clair used to touch mine… I shuddered.
“Are you going to throw up?”
I swung my head around to stare at Rocco. “No, why?”
Rocco's response was to frown. Deep lines creased his face. He suddenly appeared much older than his twenty-six years.
“Because you're shaking like a leaf.” Rocco reached over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. I made an irritated sound and smacked it away.
“Stop it.”
He huffed. “I’m checking to see if you have a fever. C’mon, Ky, you could be really sick.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
“I’m fine. Honest. Please just focus on driving. I'd like to get home in one piece.”
The night our parents drove away and never came back had turned me into a bit of a stickler when it came to driving safety. Not wanting to turn the black mood even darker, I willed the past away and sank down in my seat.
Feeling petulant, I crossed my arms. When my body began to ache, I realized I was so stressed out from both the reminder of the accident that changed our lives forever and from Rocco's non-stop nagging, that I was clenched tight. In an attempt to relax, I subtly ducked my chin and sniffed, seeing if I could detect a trace of Seb’s cologne on my skin. Desperate for another hit of the fragrance that wrapped around me when he placed his jacket over my shoulders. The same jacket I handed back before I left. Seb tried to insist I keep it, reason being it was a cold night and I was wearing, quote, “next to nothing.” It pained me to turn down the offer, but ohmygod. If Rocco caught me wearing—in his words—“that walking dickbag” Sebastien St. Clair's jacket, the apocalypse would be upon us.
When I couldn't find even the slightest hint of Seb’s rich scent, I pouted and slumped deeper into the passenger's seat, using my teeth to worry at my bottom lip. The whole secret thing with Seb—the point of which was supposed to be fun and exciting—was in reality, pain in the butt. A really big, really complicated, really sexy pain in the butt. Potentially violence-inducing, if Rocco found out. At least he didn't catch us talking on the patio or know about the jersey crammed in the back my closet. Sweater, I quickly corrected myself, then rolled my eyes and smiled.
I must have been insane, to smile while Rocco stewed next to me. I was playing with fire and knew it, and struggled to decide whether or not Seb was worth the trouble. To be honest, the guy was kind of a jerk. Cocky, rude, violent, and hot under the collar, not unlike someone else I know.
I snuck a side-eye at Rocco, who continued to fume, then returned to staring at the road.
Despite the many negatives, when I spoke with Seb, I discovered he did indeed possess several redeeming qualities. He came across as sweet, thoughtful, and armed with a charming personality, not to mention that air of danger that had me hooked.
I thought about Seb way too often, pretty much all the time. I could admit I wanted him again. But after spending time with him, talking, I wanted to get to know him, and that was bad. Sex, well, that was easy. Sort of. We could continue to meet up on the down low, have lots of mind blowing orgasms, and if I could successfully pull it off—keep Seb in the dark about my identity, and Rocco in the dark about everything.
But sex would be all we would ever have. No way we could ever manage any sort of relationship. Was great sex really worth it if in the end if all I ended up with were a few amazing orgasms and a broken heart? Maybe. But the entire scenario screamed hazardous to both of our healths if discovered by Rocco. Well, mostly Seb’s health, but Rocco would be sure to save some wrath for me. Mostly for sneaking around with, again, quote, “a walking, talking asshole with an anus for a mouth.”
“Hey.”
I flailed, caught off guard by Rocco's volume as his voice once again ricocheted within the confines of the SUV. Pulse racing, I glowered in his direction. “What, Rocco?”
His dark eyes looked wounded. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute, Ky. We’re home.”
I blinked and looked around. Mortified, I realized the SUV was not only parked in one of our designated spots in the underground garage of our high-rise condo, but the engine was off and he had his door open.
“Oh.” I reached for my door and hopped down before Rocco started back up with his whole “are you okay” interrogation. My heels clicked as I strode toward the elevator bank and I heard the scuff of Rocco's shoes as he did a light jog to catch up. “Before you ask, I'm fine,” I repeated the as he reached my side. Again, Rocco looked hurt. In the blink of an eye, the hurt twisted into a scowl.
“Christ, Kylie. You're acting like I did something wrong when you were the one who avoided me all night.”
He honestly thought I avoided him? That was rich, since he was the one avoiding me.
Rocco shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground, then lifted his gaze to mine. “Whatever.” The cold dismissal hurt my heart. Rocco turned away as he spoke again. “I’m just worried about you.”
His obvious concern squeezed my heart like a vise. I blew out a long breath and put a hand on his arm. It took way more concentration than I should've been able to scrounge up, what with my brain still recovering from flirting with Seb, but somehow, I managed a
small smile.
“I know. But seriously, Rocco, I’m fine.”
What I wanted to say was that I was a twenty-one-year-old woman and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. That I didn't need my brother to micromanage every aspect of my life. That I didn’t need him to freak out every time I felt like taking a walk, or heaven forbid, going out on a date. I don't know if it was my conversation with Seb, or the idea of possibly seeing him again that made me want to backtalk Rocco, but a slew of harsh words sat on the tip of my tongue. When I opened my mouth to unleash my verbal fury, Rocco looked at me. I snapped my jaw shut. The sadness that clung to Rocco sent a wave of guilt so big it almost knocked me flat and the insults washed away.
“I’m sorry, Ky. I just… I don't know what I do if something were to happen to you.” Rocco pulled me into a bear hug as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
Rocco’s arms fell and he motioned I should go first. Great. Now I felt like double shit. When our parents died, times were tough. Really tough. I had been consumed by grief, but Rocco? He had it worse. Barely an adult, Rocco had to juggle the loss of our parents, plus a new career, a move across the country, and on top of all that, he had to suffer through a crash-course in figuring out how to be a father to his orphaned teenage sister. Everything thundered into Rocco's life in a massive avalanche of crap, the debris heaped on his doorstep without regard to how he felt.
My usual guilt pile tripled. It grew bigger and bigger until it seeped out of my pores. My annoyance at Rocco's meddling seemed petty in retrospect. Our fighting, pointless. My eyes burned and I slipped my hand into his, intertwined our fingers, and squeezed.
“Thanks for caring, bro.”
Rocco smiled and my throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. In that moment, screwing around with Seb didn't seem worth the hurt it would inevitably cause. And it would cause hurt, to both me and Rocco. How was I supposed to lie to my brother’s face just so I could get laid? He’d done nothing but love me, take care of me, and give me everything I ever needed and then some. Nineteen-year-old Rocco Calloway didn't think twice about sacrificing years of bachelorhood, taking a pass on any opportunity to have a relationship, to spend all of his free time with his little sister. And he did it without complaint, at a time when he should have been focused on going out with guys his own age, being young and living the high life with his teammates.
And in turn, what had I done for Rocco? Nothing, except constantly whine that he cared too much.
Pain pressed at the back of my skull and I knew I had a whopper of a headache coming on. Emotionally tapped out, I said good night and we each went to our rooms, strategically placed on opposite sides of the condo. The set up was great for privacy, not that I ever did anything that required privacy. No way would I ever bring a guy here. Just the thought made my hands sweaty and set panic fluttering in my stomach.
Shaking off the guilt and nerves, I showered and changed into a sleep tank and shorts, resigned to the fact I needed to put family first. Pursuing anything with Seb, even if only for sex, was a fantasy and that's where it would remain. I winced and clutched at my shirt over my heart. The thought of not seeing Seb again, never touching him again or feeling his hands on my skin, made my lungs feel too small and my eyes began to burn. I blinked back hot tears.
What the heck was wrong with me? We hooked up once. One time. It really shouldn't be difficult to break things off. To accept that not only was it a bad time to get involved with someone, but also that out of the roughly seven billion people on Earth, Sebastien St. Clair had to be the worst possible someone I could choose.
The worst, at least, in Rocco's eyes. Me? I didn't have to think about it. Without a doubt, I would choose Seb again. I wanted him with every fiber of my being. Desperately.
Admitting the truth felt like twisting a knife in my gut. I didn't know the man, not really. Yet, I didn't want to give him up.
Like a zombie, I went through the motions of getting ready for bed. In the middle of brushing my teeth I heard my phone ping from the bedroom. I glanced at the tiny digital clock on the countertop. It was well after midnight. Odd.
I smiled around my toothbrush. It was probably Nat drunk texting again. She tended to do that, usually after she hooked up with a guy and regretted it the second she got home, or when she wanted to brag about how awesome he was in bed. I spat and rinsed and wandered to the nightstand to check.
Hmm, I didn't recognize the number and had no clue who it was… until I read the text.
Unknown: When can we get together again Not A St Clair Fan? I’d like the chance to persuade you to become one.
My breath hitched and my pulse stuttered. Seb. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. Luckily, I caught it before it clattered to the hardwood floor.
What the heck was wrong with me? Why did a stupid text, or even just thinking about Sebastien St. Clair freak me out in a good way? Something about the man called to me, sent my hormones into overdrive. Was it because I saw him as some kind of a kindred spirit? Did I think he might be the only person I could trust to further explore my desires?
I stared at the text. For the first time in my life I wanted to do something wholly selfish, and not to piss off Rocco, but rather, to fulfill my own needs. Trembling, I swiped the screen and my fingers hovered over the keypad.
Did I do what made Rocco happy? Or pursue my own happiness?
It took what felt like forever to decide, but was only a few seconds. Mind made up, I tapped out a response as fast as possible and hit Send before I backed out.
Me: I think I could be persuaded
I grinned when it pinged almost immediately.
Unknown: You didn’t answer my question as to when I can see you again. And I would think after such spectacular sex, I wouldn’t have to persuade you to be my fan, yet the contact info you entered says you’re not.
I bit my lip to suppress a laugh.
Me: Oh. I thought u were talking about persuading me to be a Remy fan. Wrong St Clair, sry
Now I couldn't help but giggle. The man was so damn cocky. He deserved to suffer a little.
Unknown: I see how it is. Do you know why they call me the Sinner?
I inhaled sharply. Yes, yes, I did know why. And from what I heard and experienced, the name most definitely fit. Plus, it was indescribably hot. Not wanting Seb to get a big head, I feigned ignorance.
Me: No. Why?
The little bubble popped up, three gray dots that taunted me. I held my breath while I waited for a response.
Unknown: because I break ALL the rules
I read the text and swore I almost climaxed.
Game. Over.
He won. After that, there was no way I would pass up a second chance to get down and dirty with Sebastien St. Clair. He was funny, sexy, and wickedly talented in bed. Plus, he had that edge of danger I so craved. So Rocco hates the guy. Whatever. Only an idiot would turn Seb down. Rocco just doesn’t need to know. And Seb? Well, he doesn’t need to know Rocco is my brother. Right? Good.
Kylie: Fine. When and where?
I yelped when the phone in my hand rang. My finger slipped on the screen a few times before I finally swiped the stupid thing to answer.
“Hello?”
“I knew you'd see things my way.” Smooth as velvet, Seb's voice had me stifling a moan. Suddenly uncomfortable, I sat on the bed and shifted to maneuver my legs so I could rub my thighs together to try to relieve the needy ache. One that grew low in my belly and quickly spread everywhere, the hot, tingling sensation lighting every nerve ending on fire.
“Oh, you did, did you?” I teased. “Why would you think I'd cave?”
I could practically hear Seb’s grin. “Because I'm a charming bastard.”
This time, I couldn't suppress the laugh. “You forgot cocky.”
“Trust me,” he said. His low, rumbling tone sent erotic vibrations straight between my thighs. “Trust me. I never forget how cocky I am.”
My jaw d
ropped at his unmistakable innuendo. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, when Seb burst out laughing. I joined in, the sound addictive. The two of us went on and on, cackling like a couple of kids.
“You're ridiculous,” I said when I finally caught my breath.
“Yep.”
“Hmmm.”
“Oh no. I'm not letting you get away with hmmm, this time. Tell me what you’re thinking, even if it's bad. I'm a big boy. I can take it.”
“You sure are,” I joked. My face burst into flames and I clapped a hand over my mouth. I could not believe I said that. It wasn't like me. At least, not the Kylie I knew. I wasn't bold and brave. But maybe it was who I was supposed to be, free and flirty and yes, a little bit naughty. It felt good so I decided to go with it.
“Oh sweetheart, you're tempting me to reacquaint you with exactly how big I am. In fact, when can I see you again?”
Unable to control myself, I giggled again, acting like a teenager with a crush. My flushed skin burned hot as a fresh wave of desire rushed from the top of my scalp to the bottom of my feet. If Seb’s words were the kindling, then his deep voice was the match. One strike and my insides incinerated.
“Um, you want to see me again?”
“Well, yeah? That is why I asked for your phone number.” There was an uncomfortable pause when I didn't answer right away. “Let me help you out. I'm free tomorrow and I don't have another game until Tuesday.”
Which I already knew because of Rocco.
I covered the receiver so Seb wouldn't hear my snort. In no way did I want him to know my brother was Rocco Calloway. In fact, I couldn't imagine a worse scenario. It was highly likely there wasn’t anything that would send Seb running faster in the opposite direction than knowing I was related to his sworn enemy.