Page 40 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter thirty-four

Cali

I need to stay the hell away from him.

All morning, I couldn’t stop staring. Connor didn't bother putting a shirt on, now that he's shown me his scars it's like he doesn't care, strutting around half-naked like he knew exactly how much it was distracting me.

It's like he wanted to derail my thoughts—erase the fact he's my stepbrother, blur every boundary until all I saw was him.

A half-naked guy shouldn't make me lose my mind, but it’s Connor, and it's way too easy to forget every boundary we've ever had.

It didn’t help that the cops treated him like dirt earlier.

Watching their dismissive glances and the casual disrespect felt like a razor sliding under my skin, and I wanted to shred every one of them for it.

If they act that way out here, in public, what the hell did he endure behind bars, where no one was watching?

God, I need to refocus. I have a job to do, suspects to narrow down, and a killer to catch. Obsessing over Connor, imagining his hands on me, isn't going to help. I need to get him out of my head, forget the heat that coils through me every time he’s near, and just do my fucking job.

But even as I tell myself to walk away, memories from last night push their way back in.

The weight of his arm around my waist, his breath hot on my neck, and how I felt him harden against me.

My body is still buzzing with the ghost of his touch, the rough way he whispered my name in his sleep.

He could’ve just slid my shorts aside and shown me exactly what those fingers could do, exactly how good his cock would feel stretching me, claiming me…

Fuck, we’d been so close.

I wanted—no, I needed—him to lean into me, to murmur that perfect, filthy command in my ear. Tell me to be his good girl and finally take what I've been aching to give him for way too damn long.

But he won’t. He’ll freeze up, push me away, and I don’t think I could survive that rejection right now. It’d crush me, shatter what little pride I have left.

I can’t afford that.

So I bury myself in work instead, because waiting for Connor to break me might just kill me first.

Hours pass as I sift through files and emails, narrowing down suspects until I’m left with a messy handful of possibilities.

Some board members, Jackson mainly—hell, practically everyone on the board is tangled in my doubts.

Anna lands firmly in the "slim chance" column because all I have on her are careless errors and missed lunch dates she always cancels last minute.

She's polite enough, but something in her constant avoidance gnaws at me. Still, murder? It feels like a stretch. She’s hiding something—but aren't we all?

I glare at my notes, frustration clawing under my skin. Whoever’s responsible has something bigger at stake—power, money, secrets. Someone careful. Someone smart. My father’s death cost the company dearly, and killing him doesn’t make financial sense for most of these suits. But who am I missing?

I turn back to his email, digging deeper, pulling up every document I can find, until a scent drifts into the office, something warm and mouth-watering.

My stomach clenches, a reminder that I haven't eaten all day.

Blinking away the haze, I notice the office door hanging open.

Did Connor sneak in and open it himself, or did he bribe Maya into helping?

I can't picture her willingly doing him any favors, but maybe he convinced her I was starving myself again.

Following my nose, I pad quietly down the hall, feeling more like an intruder sneaking scraps than the woman who actually owns the place.

I pause in the doorway, hesitant and silent, studying the curve of Connor’s shoulders as he moves around my kitchen.

My heart kicks up when I realize he still hasn’t bothered putting a shirt on.

“Hungry?” His voice curls around me, velvet-edged and smug, as if he's known I've been lurking this whole time.

My stomach growls, answering for me, and heat blooms across my cheeks. Connor glances over his shoulder, that smirk deepening when he sees me lingering there in the doorway like a stray, waiting to be fed.

God, he knows exactly what he's doing to me, doesn't he?

“Starving,” I admit softly, my voice rougher than intended, betraying way more than just hunger.

His gaze trails down my body slowly, deliberately, until I'm fighting the urge to squirm under his stare. Connor turns back to the stove, flipping something sizzling in the pan as I step hesitantly into the kitchen. Burglarizing my own goddamn house.

Lately, around him, that's exactly what it feels like—like I'm breaking rules I didn't even know existed.

"Is that for both of us?" I nod toward the food he's preparing. I already know the answer, but the silence between us is too heavy to let linger.

"I never cook just for myself," Connor replies, glancing over his shoulder at me. "And you ran off this morning."

"You…" I start sharply, wanting to snap back—to remind him he's the one who drew the damn line in the sand—but saying it out loud would reveal too much.

It would show him I care, show him how much I still want him, even after he made it clear crossing that line was a terrible idea.

I force my voice to soften. "I didn't run off.

I was doing research. You said we need to find out who framed you.

If the killer still works with me…" I trail off, suddenly unsure whether I'm defending myself or justifying why I avoided him all day.

"Yeah, that's important," Connor says flatly, no enthusiasm in his voice, eyes focused on the food.

"Connor," I whisper, hesitant, unsure how to handle the tension coiling tight between us.

He flips a burger, then gestures for me to come closer. I hesitate for a heartbeat, then step forward slowly as he takes a deep breath.

"We almost kissed," he says bluntly, motioning between us with the spatula. "This…" He exhales, frustration heavy in his voice. "You in my room last night—that can't happen again."

"I meant what I said," I hiss defensively. "I was scared to sleep alone."

"I know you were honest." His gaze holds mine, steady and intense, filled with unspoken accusations and questions—maybe something dangerously in between .

It makes me feel smaller somehow, vulnerable. I draw in an unsteady breath. "I…why are you frustrated, or—"

"For the same reason you're frustrated. The same reason you snapped at the police." His voice lowers, rough and raw, cutting straight through my defenses. "And I'm betting it's the same damn reason you've been hiding from me all day."

Frustration coils tightly inside my chest, and I fight the childish urge to shove him or stomp my foot.

I'm sick of half-truths, sick of trying to read between his carefully chosen words.

Crossing my arms tightly, I fix him with a glare.

"You're being an ass, and you know it. You said we couldn't do this. That’s pretty fucking clear.

So if you suddenly have a problem with me putting space between us—the same goddamn space you asked for—then be an adult and say something. "

Connor flips the burger roughly out of the pan, then turns toward me slowly, eyes narrowing, jaw hardening.

My pulse spikes, adrenaline surging as he stalks closer.

Every step he takes sends my pulse racing faster, until he stops inches away, his chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes locked on mine.

"You've been avoiding me all day," he growls softly.

I lift my chin, defiant even as my pulse stutters. "Because you told me to."

He shakes his head slowly, eyes smoldering as frustration darkens his expression. "I never said to ignore me."

"You didn’t have to," I snap. "Everything about your body language screamed 'stay away.' If you want me closer, if you don't want distance, then just say it."

His eyes ignite, fierce and hungry, as he fists my ponytail, yanking my head back.

I gasp softly, heart jolting as his mouth hovers so close to mine, his breath hot and ragged against my lips.

"It'd be a hell of a lot easier if you were scared of me," he whispers roughly.

His voice vibrates through my skin, dangerous and thrilling all at once.

"Maybe then you wouldn’t drive me so fucking insane. "

Before I can fire back, he crushes his lips to mine, stealing whatever breath I have left.

I clutch at him instantly, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as his tongue sweeps past my lips.

His taste floods my senses—hot, demanding, addictive—and my body arches closer, desperate for more.

He bites down on my lower lip just hard enough to make me moan, pain and pleasure blending into one perfect rush.

He pushes me back against the counter, his body pinning me hard, and my pulse pounds in rhythm with his.

He groans into my mouth, hips grinding into mine, and I echo the sound helplessly, lost in him, craving whatever he'll give me.

Heat coils low in my belly, so intense I feel like I might burn alive from nothing but his kiss.

Can a person melt from kissing alone? Because fuck, I'm about to.

"Connor," I breathe against his lips, shivering as his hands roam possessively down my waist, pulling me closer. My fingers dig into his chest, tracing hard muscle beneath heated skin, my body betraying every logical thought I've ever had.

His lips drag along my jaw, his voice rough and dark in my ear. "You taste better than anything I've ever made."

"L-liar," I whisper, but my words are shaky, weak, a meaningless denial swallowed by the fire raging between us.