Page 59 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Chapter

Forty-Four

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

― Madeline Miller

Scarlett

“How’s the creative retreat? Has the South of France inspired any major chart-toppers yet?”

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. Alexsei’s voice came in soft and stretched, tangled with the sound of waves in the background. My knees were tucked to my chest, chin resting on top.

It had been three days since we visited Théo’s father. Almost two weeks since we’d arrived in France.

After the hospital, his mother had invited us over for breakfast.

On our way over there, Théo told me that over the years, the doctors would come once a year and ask if they could unplug his father. They came after five years. Then seven. Nine. Ten. Each time, the answer was the same.

Hope had vanished for everyone but his mother. She’d never let go.

She’d said she could still feel him somewhere, still alive, still waiting. That one day, he would come back to her.

And she believed it. Even when no one else had.

She’d given me a quiet tour of their home, starting with his childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted pale blue, the sheets folded neatly, the shelves lined with little things he must have once loved.

In the garden, yellow mimosas bloomed wild and tall, the same flowers they’d planted on the private island. Their scent drifted through the windows.

Inside the hallway, framed photos stretched across the wall.

Théo as a baby, cheeks puffed out and belly round, asleep beside a stuffed bear twice his size.

At six, grinning with both hands smeared in paint, standing proudly next to a canvas his mom first said he’d ruined and then had called perfect.

By thirteen, braces catching the light, arms hooked over his parents’ shoulders during a hiking trip he’d sworn he didn’t want to go on.

Seventeen, in a black suit with a crooked tie, his mother fixing it while he stood stiff and scowling.

At twenty-three, in uniform, his face sharper now, eyes already far away, locked on something none of them could see.

Then it had stopped.

No more photos after that.

His mother said he refused to be photographed anymore, and something inside me twisted with guilt.

Because being around me meant cameras were never far. Flashing, stalking, waiting.

How much of himself had he sacrificed to work for me? To stand next to me in the chaos? To keep showing up, knowing he’d be caught in the edges of every shot?

He’d never said a word. Never complained.

But now I couldn’t stop wondering how many parts of his peace he’d sacrificed just to be near me.

“Good. I wrote four full songs already.”

Which was borderline miraculous, considering my brain had been on creative life support for the past year and a half.

“I knew you had this, Scar!” Alexsei said, right as one of his daughters started wailing in the background like a tiny, possessed demon.

His twins, Mira and Vera, were hands down the most dangerously adorable children I’d ever met. Tiny carbon copies of his wife Caia, but with his icy-blue eyes and world-famous sarcasm crammed into miniature bodies.

“And your popularity’s exploding. Those shots of you on set with Nicholas made it to Page Six . Rumor mill’s spinning. People say you’ll be engaged by fall.”

I let my head drop back against the sun-warmed lounger, staring at the sky like it might answer all my doubts.

“Great. Maybe I’ll throw in a fake baby too. Really sell the American dream.”

He let out a laugh, then promised he’d be at the Oscar pre-party next Tuesday.

The one my father was hosting. Five days from now.

I ended the call and stared out at the sea.

Something behind me stirred. A presence. The kind of gaze you can feel before you ever see it.

Hot, weighty, alive.

Théo .

After the hospital, we had pulled an all-nighter.

I slept straight through the day and had woken up only when Nicholas returned from set.

He took me out for dinner in Saint-Tropez.

Chartered a helicopter, and twenty minutes later, we were drowning in paparazzi and loud music, surrounded by celebrities I hadn’t seen in years.

Actors who had once kissed me for the camera. Singers who’d written songs about me and then denied it.

We weren’t alone either. The film’s private security trailed behind, staying close.

I had asked Théo to take the night off, figuring he needed time to clear his head, to be alone. He’d actually agreed, which shocked the hell out of me.

But not before he’d turned to the three security guys assigned to follow me around and said, calm as anything, that if the wind so much as laid a finger on me, he would take their eyes out one by one and snap off every finger they had. I had never seen three men turn that pale that fast.

We came back just before dawn.

The next day, Nicholas had the day off.

We stayed by the water. Liya, Pierre, Nicholas and I swam for hours, collapsed in the sand, played volleyball with too much competitiveness, and built castles that never stood a chance against the tide. By nightfall, we lit another bonfire.

But Théo never joined us.

He sat alone, a silhouette against the night, body buried in the shadows of a deck chair. He didn’t move. His gaze only drifted between us and the sky, pausing on the constellations like he was trying to read something written there.

We worship the stars, but forget it’s the darkness that makes them shine .

Only you, Scarlett, could fall in love with a man whose life is darker than yours .

I stood up, brushed the sand from my shorts, grabbed my flip-flops and notebook, and headed inside just as the sun began to drop behind the hills.

Nicholas told me this morning they were shooting one of the final scenes on the cliffs of èze, right by the old church. Something about a climactic moment where the lovers find their way back to each other. He wouldn’t be back before dawn.

Perfect .

The villa was silent. The private chef had left hours ago, and the maid too.

I had a mission tonight—a beautiful view, a fast car, and Théo’s cock buried so deeply I’d feel it in my chest.

I didn’t want romance. I wanted to choke on him until my mascara ran. I wanted to ride him in the front seat with the windows down and my tits out, legs shaking while he held my hips and told me to take it.

I wanted to make a mess. Of him. Of me. Of the night.

It wasn’t about sex. It was about giving him everything. My mouth, my body, my soul.

A thank you. A prayer. A filthy little offering to the man I loved more than I could ever fucking say out loud.

No one else got to touch me, fuck me, or pull my hair while I came screaming for more.

That was all I needed tonight. Nothing else even fucking existed.

I stepped into the living room through the wall of windows and found him at the kitchen bar, hunched over a laptop, eyes locked on the screen, that familiar frown etched deeply between his brows.

He didn’t look up.

“Someone broke into your condo two days ago,” he said. “I sent men to check it. Nothing was touched, nothing stolen. I think it’s the same asshole who tried hacking your security system last year.”

I hummed, too numb to care.

So many people had tried over the years to hurt me, steal from me, become me.

I’d stopped feeling anything a long time ago.

I grabbed a glass, then went to the fridge and poured myself some apple juice.

“They won’t be able to steal the most valuable thing in there,” I said, sipping slowly.

His mouth twitched. “And what’s that?”

I smiled, slow and sweet, the kind that usually got me in trouble. “Me, of course.”

He gave a dry little laugh. “Naturally. Little miss worth a billion dollars herself.”

“Two, actually. Just like you, soldier.”

He chuckled, but he didn’t deny it.

I’d done my research last night, curled up in bed with my laptop and barbecue chips. The LeRoy name brought up everything: private companies, acres of land across Europe, a security empire built like a fortress, and a shiny little medal from the French President.

The man at the top was Patrick LeRoy, Théo’s uncle, who had taken over after his brother’s accident.

So, yes. He was a billionaire too.

But he was anything but materialistic.

Over the years, I’d never seen him act bougie or throw money around like it meant nothing. He was almost painfully simple. Quiet. Controlled.

But I got it now.

It must be hell to live off an empire you never felt worthy of.

I set my glass down. “I want to show you something.”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

His fingers kept tapping at the keys, eyes locked on the screen like I wasn’t even there.

I tiptoed over to him.

He was in a black T-shirt and loose linen pants, hair curling around his ears.

I loved the buzz cut. But this longer mess, curling and falling into his eyes, had become a whole new obsession.

I touched his arm and stepped between his knees, sliding onto his lap. His arm wrapped around my waist. My hands pressed to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric.

“I have a surprise for you,” I whispered.

His brow lifted. “A surprise?”

“Do you like surprises, soldier?”

I dropped my mouth to his neck.

“Depends,” he muttered.

I smiled against his skin, tongue barely grazing the edge of his jaw before I leaned in closer.

“I have a feeling you’re really going to like this one.”

His breath caught as his fingers tightened at my waist.

He didn’t say a word. But I felt it.

His cock was hard and twitching under me.

“All I need you to do is have a car ready in twenty minutes. Think you can handle that for me?”

I dragged my tongue along the edge of his ear, then bit down hard enough to make him grunt.

I was so hot that my thighs were already pressed together, throbbing. I cupped his face, leaned in, and licked across his lips. Up. Down. Again.

His tongue peeked out, and I licked that too before sucking it into my mouth.

He was panting now, jaw locked tight.

“Anything for you, Miss Harper.”

I grinned, tasted him once more, and murmured against his mouth.

“Good boy.”

I dropped a kiss on his lips, then got up, turned on my heel, and disappeared up the stairs, dripping satisfaction, my thighs still shaking from wanting him.