Page 20 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Seventeen

“We hunger in earnest for that which we cannot consume.”

― Nenia Campbell

Théo

“Thought you were staying at the Lazzios,” I said, eyeing the estate like it had personally slapped me.

No gate logs. No security brief. No floor plans.

I’d spent twelve fucking hours auditing every inch of Francesco Lazzio’s mansion, mapping blind spots, exit routes, panic rooms. Every possible threat, every crack in the perimeter. Useless now.

This place? I didn’t even have a blueprint. Just columns, iron balconies, and a facade big enough to house a royal family with room to spare for their sins.

“Change of plans. My parents want to stay at ours.”

A butler opened her door like it was sacred, and she stepped out with that tilt of her chin that said the world owed her more than it gave. Staff moved around her like wind-up toys, unpacking bags, smoothing creases that didn’t exist.

All of them scrambling, and all she did was blink.

Bees, circling their queen.

I’d spent the entire flight with my headphones jammed in, eyes glued to my laptop, doing everything I could to pretend she didn’t exist two feet away.

Pretending not to feel her legs brushing mine, like her perfume hadn’t crawled under my skin and lived there. Pretending I hadn’t heard the soft hums under her breath, or felt the heat bleeding off her skin every time she crossed her legs.

But I had. Every fucking second.

Then she’d asked what my tattoo meant, like she hadn’t been the one to carve those exact words into my soul.

For one second, I thought she remembered. The look in her eyes. The way she said it. I was stupid enough to think the ghost of that night had clawed its way back up her throat.

But no. She didn’t remember. Didn’t ask where it came from, or why my hand had tightened on the doorknob when she said it.

Only you, Théo LeRoy, could be pathetic enough to dream for three years about a girl who didn’t even remember your face.

I followed her up the stairs into the foyer, past the marble columns and a chandelier so obscene it looked like it cost more than most people’s lives. Light fractured in a thousand directions. Butlers in crisp white suits lined the hall, holding champagne like we were stepping into Versailles.

Scarlett reached for a glass, gulped it in one go, and reached for a second. The butlers took it as their cue and vanished down the hall, leaving us alone in the foyer.

Before it hit her lips, I grabbed her wrist. She froze.

“Pick your poison. Brat or drunk. You don’t get to be both when I’m the one gripping the leash.”

She looked down at my hand and watched my fingers press into her skin. Her eyes didn’t blink. She watched it, watched me , like she could feel the exact pressure of each fingertip.

I followed her gaze. Her skin flushed beneath mine, her pulse fast and uneven. Her chest rose in that slow, trembling way that gave her away, but she didn’t pull back. Didn’t speak. She stayed right there, heat building between us like she needed it.

I should’ve let go. Everything in me knew that. But my hand stayed. My thumb moved without thought, driven by something darker. My other hand grazed the side of her neck, catching the heat, the blood, the way she held everything in.

The sound she made wasn’t a gasp. It was softer. Thicker. A breath caught deep in her gut, stuck there like it didn’t want to leave. Then her eyes found mine again.

She gave me the kind of look that made a man forget where he was. What the fucking rules were. Why he was supposed to follow them.

I let go, too fucking fast.

She stared at me with that dark glitter in her eyes, her lips curving around something slow and lethal. Then she tipped the champagne back, swallowing the whole thing. Her tongue dragged across her bottom lip.

“Relax,” she said, voice thick with venom and silk. “Don’t be like my father.” She leaned in, too close, her breath warm against my neck. “But if you wanna play daddy?…” She winked. “Just say the word.”

Putain de merde.

“Shut up.”

She tilted her head. “Make me.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. “You wouldn’t survive me, Miss Harper.”

And I fucking meant it. Every word. Because if I had her, truly had her, there’d be no going back.

My fingers twitched, aching to touch her again, to claim her, even as my mind screamed to stay away.

She blinked, just once.

I didn’t even get a full second to feel the blood-thick heat throbbing in my dick before her father appeared in the doorway, dragging all the oxygen out of the room with him. His eyes landed on me like he already wanted me gone.

Her mother trailed behind, face buried in her phone, and her sister looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

I took a sharp step back, hands behind my back, my coat long enough to hide my arousal, thank fuck. The last thing I needed was to greet the Harper clan with a fucking hard-on like some perverted Buckingham Palace guard.

“Good. You’re here. Finally .” Lucius Harper barely glanced at her. Just reached out and took the empty champagne glass from her fingers. “Everyone’s waiting. Your sister already chose your dress. Three songs, like we agreed. Hurry.”

His voice was clipped, rehearsed. The kind of tone a man used when issuing orders to staff, not daughters.

“Schiaparelli,” Kiara added, already halfway through a yawn. “It’s black. Classy.”

Francesca Harper didn’t bother looking up from her phone. “Oh! And dolcezza , some concealer, please. You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

They all spoke at once. Over each other, like she wasn’t there.

Scarlett stood there, arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes pinging between them like she was trying to find a way out without running.

She’d once said she hated her father. I believed her. Men like him always dressed their violence in designer suits.

But she’d never said a word about her mother. Or her sister. She looked somewhat like the former, but nothing like the latter.

One daughter blonde, soft-spoken, glittering in curated elegance. The other? Red hair like blood and a mouth full of fire.

In all the years I’d spent tracing her history, scraping pieces of her life from the internet and security archives, I never found a single photo of her without that hair.

Blood red.

Like she wanted the world to know exactly how much damage she could do.

And fuck me if I didn’t want to be the one to see what she looked like before she’d learned to paint herself in warning signs.

When had she started dyeing it? And what exactly was she trying to hide?

I cleared my throat. Three heads turned like I’d flipped a switch.

Francesca blinked, then smiled. Her fingers toyed with a pearl earring, lips parting slightly. Kiara’s eyes dipped, lingering where they shouldn’t. She smiled too, slow and smug, biting the edge of her lip like she’d just remembered something filthy.

“LeRoy,” Lucius said, smooth as poison. “Thought you were off to France for the holidays.”

Translation: Why the fuck are you still here?

“Canceled,” I said flatly.

He nodded once. A beat too long. “Well. Make yourself comfortable. No need to follow us, the estate is safe.”

Then the maid appeared. Petite frame, black dress hugging every curve. Hair slicked back into a high ponytail, lips painted fire-engine red.

“Georgina,” Lucius added, gesturing toward her, “will show you to your room.”

She looked up at me and stopped. Blinked. Cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “This way, sir.”

The sir came out breathy.

I didn’t move. Scarlett hadn’t either. Still rooted there, her arms crossed, eyes distant. The only woman in the room not trying to get a reaction out of me, and the only one I actually gave a shit about.

They left, Francesca’s perfume clinging to the air as she passed. Kiara gave me one last slow glance before following.

Scarlett turned and took the stairs quickly, but at the top, she paused and looked back once. Not long. Not soft. Just enough to make it feel like a punishment. Then she disappeared.

“Bring me to the security room, Georgina.”

If I was stuck here, I’d make myself useful. No point breathing Harper air blindly.

The Lazzios were two houses over. I already had their full camera grid on my laptop. If shit went sideways, I’d be there before anyone finished screaming.

The maid smiled like she wanted my attention.

She didn’t know I’d already given it away.