Page 27 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

I reached for my phone, done pretending we were having a normal breakfast and not a family-hosted PR stunt from hell.

“Well,” I said lightly, “as fun as this brunch ambush has been, I need to get back to New York. Alexsei texted. GQ wants a shoot. Apparently I’ve been named Woman of the Year . Or something dramatic like that.” The lie rolled off my tongue.

My mother gasped like she’d just heard she was invited to sit next to the Queen of England. “Oh, dolcezza ! Woman of the Year! We are so proud of you. So proud. Mia bella figlia, non ci posso credere! ”

My father didn’t even glance up. He just turned a page of his paper. “Yes. Go. We’ll have your gifts sent.”

I stood slowly, ignoring the heat crawling up my chest.

“Liar,” Kiara whispered, smiling without looking up as she tapped her screen, zooming in on her latest celebrity obsession.

I pinched her arm.

“ Grazie ,” I said, smiling widely enough to show teeth. “Truly, this has been the most grounding experience of my week.”

I walked out and made my way quickly to my room. I threw some things into a bag and made my way out without looking back. Twenty minutes later, I was boarding the jet.

Théo placed our bags in the overhead compartment. He then sat across from me, opened his laptop, and ignored me so thoroughly it might’ve been a skill he’d trained for.

The same stewardess handed us water and snacks, and not even five minutes later the plane took off. I reclined my seat and crossed my legs slowly, deliberately, and stared straight at him.

He didn’t look up. Not once. And in some twisted way, it made everything worse.

The more he ignored me, the more I burned for it. I didn’t want his attention. I needed it.

He once told me I wouldn’t have to beg. But God, I wanted to. On my knees. My hands on his thighs. Mouth open. I wanted to look up at him with watery eyes and watch him lose control.

“Say something in French for me.”

“No.”

I pouted. “I thought you were good at taking orders.”

“Not from half-Italian superstars with a god complex.”

“What about your boss?”

“You’re not my boss.”

I lifted a brow. “I’m the one signing your checks.”

His fingers moved across his screen without looking up. “No. Your father is.”

A dry laugh slipped out. “Semantics.”

“Reality.”

“My last offer still stands, by the way.”

If you want to play daddy?…

He ran his tongue across his teeth and finally looked at me. The stare was low, unreadable, and dirty enough to make my spine curl. “Careful,” he said. “You’ll start to sound desperate.”

I tilted my head. “Thought that was your kink.”

His eyes stayed on the screen, without even a flicker of reaction.

Maybe Kiara was right. Maybe I was still drunk from last night. Or maybe I’d just gone completely insane. But it had been too fucking long.

I missed the feeling of a man grabbing me like he didn’t care if it bruised.

Hands rough on my thighs, teeth on my neck, spit-slick kisses dragged down my stomach.

I missed being bent over, pinned down, legs shaking from being used.

Sweat, filthy moans, someone groaning my name while they came inside me.

Fuck it.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood. Walking around the table, I shut his laptop.

He leaned back in his seat.

I stepped between his legs and lowered myself into his lap. My fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up an inch. “Do you have kinks, soldier?”

His hands gripped the armrests. Hard. Knuckles white, like he was holding himself back from something he wasn’t ready to admit.

I moved slower, dragging the hem of his hoodie up inch by inch, teasing it past the waistband to reveal the black shirt underneath, tight across his stomach, warm under my palm.

My fingers had barely grazed his skin when his hand snapped around my wrist. He pulled me closer. My free hand landed flat on his chest to keep from falling against him. His face was right there. Close enough I could count the lashes over those grey eyes that rarely blinked.

“I don’t fuck desperate women, Miss Harper.”

His gaze cut through me, clean and slow. “Especially not the kind who need pills and booze just to feel alive.”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

“Now, get the fuck off.” He shoved my wrist off him like my touch disgusted him.

Then he looked at me, finally , and it was the kind of look you give something crawling under your shoe. “Go beg for attention from James Carter. Maybe flash a little skin and pop another pill. It’s the only time anyone listens to you anyway.”

James Carter? Why would he say that?

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The words hit too fast, too sharp. Whatever stupid little thing I was about to say died in my throat. So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I stood up and reached for my water, tossing the whole glass on him, ice and all.

“Just to cool you off, LeRoy,” I said, my voice tight, teeth clenched. “Wouldn’t want your ego to melt the plane.”

I hadn’t cried. Not until the bathroom door had locked behind me.

It’d been two months now. No talking, no looking, no nothing unless it was work, and even then it was clipped and cold, like we were strangers. I’d been avoiding him like it was a sport. Wouldn’t even breathe in his direction. But he was still everywhere.

On my mind. In my fucking head.

I’d catch a glimpse of his back or hear the way his boots hit the floor and my brain would short-circuit.

And at night? It was him. Always him.

Memories of his hands in my hair, mouth on my skin, voice in my ear telling me exactly how pathetic I was. I still came to the thought of it. Still fell apart pretending I hated him.

I should. I really fucking should.

But every time I thought of him, the way he said my name, I ended up writing songs filled with gold and blood all over the pages.

I sighed, taking one last puff of the cigarette. “He’s bipolar as hell. No idea how he’s still breathing. If I had to share a bunker with him, I’d hit the red button myself and call it a mercy killing.”

Victoria took her cigarette back. “Anyway, it’s for the best. If your father finds out you’re fucking a commoner, or if your fans do?” She shook her head. “Say bye-bye to everything. That pretty body isn’t worth the fallout.”

I whined, hands digging into my eyes. She was right.

Annoyingly, brutally right.

I knew I should stay away.

This wasn’t like before. I used to get away with private hookups. Quick, quiet, messy. A barista here. A bassist there. As long as it stayed behind closed doors, no one cared.

But Théo wasn’t just some hookup—he was staff. Standing too close to me in every room, seeing everything, saying nothing. That alone made it forbidden. The rest made it dangerous.

He was on payroll. Bound to me. Hired to protect me, not fuck me. And the headlines would write themselves. Power abuse. Manipulation. Exploitation. Recklessness.

Once people smelled blood, they would tear everything down just to watch me bleed.

My father had made that clear. After I’d been spotted publicly with the barista, he’d slapped me twice and threatened to lock me in my apartment until I remembered who I was.

That poor guy had gotten thousands of death threats. People said they would slit his throat if he ever touched me again. Someone leaked his address. Posted pictures of his building. Slid photos of nooses into his inbox. He had to pack up and move across the country overnight.

So, sleeping with Théo wasn’t just risky, it was playing with the match that could set my entire life on fire. It was betrayal. It was everything I wasn’t supposed to want.

And yet I did.

As much as the idea of Théo LeRoy on top of me made my whole body ache, I knew it couldn’t happen. Not unless I wanted blood on my hands.

“What you need is a night out, a shot between your tits, and a man who fucks like he’s got nothing to lose.”

I blinked. “You just described my teens.”

“Exactly. Let’s bring her back. That bitch was fun.”

LeRoy got up from his push-ups, all sweaty and breathless, and grabbed the towel off the chair, wiping his face and neck. His eyes found mine.

I reached for the cigarette still burning between Victoria’s fingers and pulled a drag deep into my lungs. “Yeah,” I said, watching him. “Let’s do it.”

We were going out. Club. Music. Something to forget him.

Or at least something to blame when I made it worse.