Page 12 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Eleven

“I am a wild woman. It would take a warrior to tame my spirit.”

― Nikki Rowe

Scarlett

“Quit sulking. You already look terrifying without it. I’d rather have these sick kids happy to see me, not convinced I’m here to announce their funeral.”

The air reeked of sanitizer, vinegar, and something heavier. Nurses and doctors bustled around in little uniforms, stationed like soldiers on a battlefield no one won.

St. Andrew’s wasn’t exactly a five-star resort. It was a public hospital in the Bronx where thousands came in for colds, births, heart attacks, or just the end of the line.

Life, sickness, surgery, and death all shoved under one crumbling roof.

Last night, after ten hours of dance rehearsals prepping for my tour, Love is in the Dark, I collapsed on my couch, half dead, brain leaking out of my ears. My second solo album, To Dream Is To Die , had dropped a week ago and had already shot to number one everywhere.

It was insane, especially since the label had gambled big by announcing the tour just a week before release. It was a risky move with a monumental payoff. All ten dates had sold out in under a minute.

This time, I’d ditched stadiums. I wanted smaller venues.

This album was personal. It deserved more than faceless glow sticks and echoing screams.

Somewhere between blacking out and giving up on sleep, a guilt-tripping commercial had ambushed me—St. Andrew’s Hospital, begging for donations.

The video had shown an old woman holding hands with a little girl in a hospital gown, tubes in her nose, clutching a teddy bear.

They looked into the camera and said in shaky unison, “Please, help us.”

Something had twisted in my chest. I’d sighed, picked up my phone, and called the hospital, leaving a message for the director: The Scarlett Harper would be there by one o’clock, with a big fat check.

One of the biggest blessings in this life was the abundance around me. If I could help, I would. Gladly. It didn’t hurt that it made me feel a little better too.

Charity and self-pity in one go. Win-win.

That’s how I’d ended up here—heels clicking against the linoleum, sunglasses on, a black denim dress hugging every inch, my long red hair straight down my back. LeRoy trailed behind me like a grumpy, hot pack mule.

Between the two of us, we were dragging half the damn toy store, bags packed with anything that might slap a smile on a sick kid’s face. I’d sent the list to my assistants at one in the morning, and sure enough, the delivery truck was already waiting when we pulled in.

LeRoy marched stiffly, like he was hauling explosives instead of teddy bears.

“You decided to organize a charity event,” he said, voice clipped, “with ten minutes’ notice. No security checks. No clearance. No sweep. Fucking unacceptable.”

I flashed him a wicked smile. “Shh. Language. Innocent ears are listening.”

One of the bags smacked against his thigh as he tried to keep up. “I have every right to be pissed right now, Miss Harper.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“Are you seriously telling me my beautiful, selfless act has you sulking like a heathen? Wow, soldier. You need confession. Maybe an exorcism.”

“You—”

“Besides,” I cut in, “ you called me a selfish, spoiled girl playing at misery.”

The words still burned, bitter and raw.

“I’m just here to rewrite that little story you made up about me.”

Not that it mattered.

People like him didn’t rewrite stories.

They just buried the version they didn’t like and called it the truth.

A brown-skinned woman with silver curls tucked behind pink glasses waved me over, her smile warm enough to thaw Antarctica. She grabbed a few bags from my arms without asking, balancing them with surprising strength.

Her name tag read Nurse Zarah .

“The oncology floor got your message,” she said. “The kids are waiting for you in the playroom.”

I followed her quietly.

“They’re buzzing with excitement,” she added, glancing back. “Some of them even wrote questions.”

“Well,” I grinned, “they can’t be worse than reporters trying to pin down who I’ve slept with this week.”

Zarah’s smile faltered and she cleared her throat.

“Just a heads-up before you go in. These kids live with sickness every day. They need joy, not reminders of what they’re fighting. And definitely no clowns.”

“Clowns?” LeRoy rumbled.

“Yes.” Zarah’s cheeks flushed. “They’ve either seen or heard of It . Around here, clowns are basically a curse.”

I threw a look over my shoulder. My mouth twitched.

“You heard her, soldier. No sulking. No death glares. And definitely no creepy clown behavior.”

He growled low, adjusting the bags hard enough to nearly rip one open.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” I added, winking at Zarah. “One wrong move, and the kids are gonna think Pennywise got promoted to bodyguard.”

LeRoy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’ll show you a clown,” as he stalked after us.

I smiled sweetly and kept walking, the click of my heels daring him to try.

“What’s your favorite country, ma’am?” a little boy named Lee, no older than five, asked with that earnest sweetness only kids could pull off.

His tiny arms were covered in bandages decorated with alligators, elephants, and chimpanzees, his smile the kind that could melt the coldest of hearts, complete with a few missing teeth.

I threw a hand in the air, crossing my legs on the ridiculously small chair that was digging into my skin like some sort of medieval torture device.

“Sweetheart, please, call me Scarlett,” I said with a grin, trying not to wince at how uncomfortable I was. “And my favorite country is?…”

I stopped myself. For once, I didn’t have a snarky answer ready. It hit me—I’d never really asked myself those stupid questions before.

Favorite country? Favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite movie?

In a life where control felt like a distant memory, I’d always let the people around me decide what I should want, what I should like.

So, what was my favorite country?

“Well, shit,” I muttered under my breath. “I don’t even know.”

“Language!” the kids yelled in perfect unison, their giggles spilling out as they pointed at me. Some tried to hide their laughter behind their hands, but I could still see those little eyes twinkling.

I bit my lip, glancing over at Nurse Zarah. She just shook her head, trying to stifle her own smile while rifling through the piles of gifts we’d brought.

LeRoy, however, seemed entirely uninterested in the chaos I’d just caused.

He stood by the door, focused on his tablet like he’d been hired to monitor the world through a screen rather than participate in this whole thing.

Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the glass, scanning the hallway.

For just the briefest moment, I caught a glimpse of something I rarely saw on his hard-as-stone face: the faintest curve at the corner of his lips. It was so small, so fleeting, that I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.

Almost.

“Sorry, kids,” I said, putting on my best innocent face. “Guess I got a little carried away. So?…?my favorite country is America, obviously!”

I gave Lee a high five.

The kids erupted into excited chatter, all of them raising their hands like they were fighting for the next question. I pointed to a girl with a bandana on her head and tubes in her nose, clutching her IV pole.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Ava,” she said softly, her cheeks flushing pink.

I smiled at her, leaning in a little. “What’s your question, Ava?”

She hesitated before speaking. “Have you always dreamed of being a singer?”

A heaviness settled in my chest. Being a singer had always been my dream. To move people, to share my soul through music. To be free. But somewhere along the way, the dream had turned dark.

Now it felt more like a gilded cage I’d built with my voice. But I couldn’t blame anyone else. I’d asked for this—no— begged for it.

At sixteen, when I was too young to know better, my father had asked me what I wanted to be. Who asks a child that? Who gives them the weight of that question before they’d even learned how to carry themselves?

But I’d made a choice. I had pulled the trigger.

And now, almost five years later, I was living in the wreckage.

I forced a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “It’s always been my dream to be a singer. For people to love my songs so much they’d carry them everywhere: when they’re happy, when they’re sad, in all the good and not-so-good moments.”

Ava lit up. “Well, I love your music!”

“Thank you, sweetie,” I laughed, reaching out to high-five her tiny hand. “And what about you? What’s your big dream?”

She scrunched up her nose, thinking, then pointed at me. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

Something tugged at my chest, sharp and sweet all at once.

“Oh, Ava, I bet you’re gonna be a thousand times better than me,” I said, winking.

Please be.

Please grow up and be loved without earning it.

Please never learn what it feels like to smile on a stage and die behind it.

I wanted to tell her all of that. But instead, I just smiled.

The room exploded with little voices shouting, “Me! Me! Me!”

I pointed to a tiny girl with wild blonde hair who was holding a stuffed unicorn and sucking her thumb.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Inez,” she mumbled around her thumb.

I smiled. “What’s your question, Inez?”

She giggled, bounced in her chair, and pointed behind me.

I turned, and there was LeRoy—arms crossed, face like a stone wall, looking like he wanted to strangle someone.

“Is he your prince charming?” she asked, pure mischief in her voice.

The room burst into giggles. I threw my head back and laughed.

“Him?” I said loudly. “Sweetheart, if that’s my prince, somebody better call the castle and ask for a refund.”

The kids howled.

I leaned in, cupping my hand around my mouth like I was sharing a secret.

“Between you and me,” I whispered, “he’s more like the grumpy ogre they keep locked in the tower.”

Even more laughter, little hands clapping, faces hiding behind fingers.

I clapped my hands. “Alright, who’s ready for gifts?”

The afternoon flew by with me bouncing between the kids, telling them wild stories.

I talked about Australia and kangaroos that looked like they could fight a bear. I left out the part about the fan who’d tattooed my face on his ass. Portugal, where I’d performed on a beach until a seagull bombed my stage.

And unforgettable Brazil. I had the most delicious p?o de queijo , partied too hard, and woke up on the cold tile of my hotel bathroom floor, mascara down my face.

No one had noticed I was missing. I’d woken up hours later in vomit.

That was fame for you—looked like love, felt like poison.

I said my goodbyes, hugged their tiny frames, and promised I’d be back soon. Then we headed back to the car, LeRoy silently trailing behind me, the only sound the sharp click of my heels on the floor.

My driver was all smiles, stepping up to open the back passenger door, but his eyes lingered behind me and he paused. With a quick nod, he slid into the front seat instead.

Théo’s voice broke the silence. “I should’ve never called you a spoiled, selfish girl. That was unprofessional.”

There was something off in the way he’d moved today, like the apology had been boiling under his skin all morning.

Or maybe I was just imagining it, projecting my stupid hope onto a man who’d watched me fall apart and never looked away, but never stepped in either.

I paused beside the car and leaned back against it, crossing my arms. But then, of course, my gaze couldn’t help but drift.

“Wow, an emotionally intelligent man hiding behind all this,” I said, my eyes tracing the lines of his chest, his broad shoulders, and big biceps. God , that tight, long-sleeved T-shirt under his vest clung to his arms like it was made just for him. It was?…?distracting.

Very distracting.

My mouth went dry, and I stopped myself before I said something I’d regret.

“Anyway,” I finally mumbled, pulling my eyes away, but not before they’d lingered a little too long. “No worries. I’ve been called way worse.”

“Still,” he said, stepping closer, just enough to close the space between us, and I swore I felt the air shift. “I let my frustration cloud my judgment, and I said something I shouldn’t have.”

I swallowed hard, the heat creeping up my neck.

His voice dropped lower, almost like a whisper. “My apologies, Miss Harper.”

And just like that, something inside me softened.

It was the first time anyone had bothered to truly apologize for hurting my feelings, my reputation, or just me, in general. And it stung in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

I almost wished he hadn’t said anything, because now?…?now I had to feel it. The ache of being seen, even just for a second, the way I’d always wanted to be.

Like a human being.

“Apology accepted,” I said. My voice was steady, but my heart wasn’t. “Just try to keep that judgment in check next time.”

His eyes flickered to my lips, just for a breath, just enough to send a shiver racing down my spine. His eyes were too deep. Like I could fall into them and never find my way back.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and all I could think about in that moment was how badly I wanted to break down that wall to peer into the world of Théo Leroy.

“Miss Harper?…”

Each syllable rolled off his tongue, and it had me trembling in places I’d rather not admit.

I let my hands fall to my sides, my head tilting back until the cool metal of the car met my skin, a sharp contrast to the fire burning underneath. My eyes were half lidded as I tried to focus, but the scent of him, dangerously addictive, swept over me and dragged me under.

God, he smelled so fucking good.

I wanted to run my hands over him. Wanted to taste him. To lose myself in the heat of his skin, the taut lines of muscle beneath that damn vest. The urge was primal, relentless.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d step into his space, tilt my head up, and press my mouth to his neck, just to see if it tasted as good as it smelled.

“Yeah?” I breathed out, my voice a soft rasp.

LeRoy’s face stayed unreadable, but there was that glint of amusement in his eyes that I could’ve sworn was mocking me.

“The door.”

And just like that, reality hit me harder than a truck.

I looked down, mortified to see his hand gripping the car handle, just waiting for me to move. My face burned with embarrassment as I awkwardly cleared my throat, glancing around the empty parking lot like I could find some escape from my own humiliation.

Stepping aside, I let him open the door. I practically threw myself inside, ducking my head and hiding behind the seat as he closed the door behind me.

This was definitely my sign to go home and put my toys to work tonight before I lost the last working cell in my horny, rattled brain.