Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

“Housekeeping. You want mint for pillow?”

I know that voice instantly, even with her fake accent, and I whip open the door.

“Cricket! What are you doing here? I thought you were laying low at Hunter’s?”

She rushes in and wraps her arms around me. “And miss celebrating my mama’s new job? Hell no!”

Jackie jumps up from her seat on the terrace. “You came!”

“I’m the good kid. When Mom calls, I come running.”

Karma sticks her head out of the bedroom. “Keep it down. I have kids sleeping.”

We all roll our eyes, and Cricket flips the bird in her sister’s direction.

Thankfully, the majordomo arrives with dessert and champagne, and we close the doors to the terrace and restart our own little party.

“Hunter brought you?” Jackie asks.

“He sure did. Security is nuts here, even this late. They wouldn’t let us through the gate until Hunter showed both our IDs. Apparently, you have to be on some magic list or you’re shit out of luck.”

“Wow. That sounds crazy.”

Cricket tilts her head toward me. “The only thing that’s crazy is Lincoln—about you.”

“We’re not talking about him tonight. This is about your mama.”

“Damn right it is,” Jackie says as she spoons up a bite of crème br?lée and pops a bite in her mouth. “I’m tasting every single one of these, and I don’t give a shit if you judge me.”

Cricket points at the strawberry tart. “As long as you save a bite of that one for me, I don’t care. But first,” she grabs the neck of a champagne bottle and lifts it from the ice, “we’re cracking this baby open.”

Being Cricket, she does the only thing I would expect from her, which is shake it up.

“Cri—”

But it’s too late. The cork goes flying, and she sprays it over the edge of the balcony. I slap a hand over my mouth to quiet my scream so we don’t attract Karma’s bitchiness again.

Spray blows back on all three of us, and Jackie gasps. “Good Lord, girl. That’s freezing.”



Cricket drinks straight from the bottle. “But it tastes divine.”

I catch a glimpse of the label. “It’s like a grand a bottle, so it should.”

Cricket chokes and smacks the bottle on the marble table. “Holy shit. We’re fancy as fuck tonight.”

I grab the champagne and fill our flutes. When I finish, I lift my glass in the air. “To Aunt Jackie. The hardest-working woman I know. The best role model. The best aunt.”

“The best mom,” Cricket interjects.

I nod. “And the best woman I’ve ever met. Cheers to you.”

Tears shimmer in Jackie’s eyes. “I love you girls so much.” She holds out her arms, and Cricket and I both come toward her to be wrapped in a tight hug.

For the first time since I’ve been back in Gable, I know with one hundred percent certainty that I can’t leave like I did before and not see my family for years at a time.

Moments like this are too precious.



CRICKET PASSES out on the couch after a call to Hunter telling him she doesn’t need a ride. I slip out of Jackie’s suite and tiptoe down the hall, a little tipsy.

As I wobble on my bare feet, I amend that thought. A lot tipsy.

When I reach the doorway to the pantry, a room filled with snacks and drinks for the use of guests, I pause. Gatorade is probably the only thing that’s going to help me avoid a champagne hangover tomorrow.

I slip inside and fumble around in the dark until I find the flavor I want in the glass-fronted cooler. With the bottle clutched to my chest, I move toward the door.

That’s when I hear footsteps coming down the marble hallway.

Shit.

The last thing I want is to run into another human being right now. I flatten my back against the wall and turn my head sideways so I can still see out the door.

It’s a man.

A tall man.

A tall man with broad shoulders.

A tall man with broad shoulders that I recognize.

Lincoln.

Even drunk, I would know him anywhere. Hell, I’d even recognize his walk. Confidence practically paves the way for each step. It’s like he’s never doubted a single thing in his entire life and can’t imagine making a misstep.

I wonder what it would be like to be that sure of yourself. I also doubt I’ll ever know, but I add it to my mental list of goals, anyway.

It doesn’t occur to me to wonder what he’s doing up here until his footsteps stop. I slide along the wall and peek out the doorway because I can’t not look.

He faces a door at the end of the hall. My door.

Lincoln came up here for me.

I wait, barely breathing, because I need to know, and I’m afraid I’ll give myself away.

Yet he doesn’t do anything but stand there and stare at my door like he’s having an internal debate.

I know all about those internal debates. Right now, I’m trying to decide whether I can keep quiet for another minute, because part of me—a big part—wants Lincoln to know that I’m watching him. Another part of me tells the big part to shut up because I can’t be held responsible for what I would do to Lincoln if I he saw me right now. Probably climb him like a tree.

Finally, he reaches out, and my lungs freeze. He’s going to knock.

But instead of curling his hand into a fist, he touches the door with his fingertips before turning toward the door adjacent to mine at the end of the hall. He waves a key card in front of the lock and disappears inside.

That’s when it occurs to me. Lincoln went into a suite on this floor and it’s right next to mine.

As soon as his door closes, I rush down the hall to let myself into my room, and flatten my back against the door as soon as it closes. To my left in the sitting room, on the wall that separates my suite from the room he’s in, is a locked door.

A locked connecting door. To Lincoln’s suite.

I stare at it for several moments, wishing I had X-ray vision so I could see what he was doing beyond that wall.

Obviously, because that superpower eludes me, I close my eyes and use my imagination. Not so shockingly, it’s even better when lubricated by champagne.



In my mind, I watch Lincoln shrug off his suit jacket and toss it over the back of a couch just like mine. He reaches up to his tanned throat to loosen his tie.

God, ties are hot. Someday, I want to pull it free from its knot and tease him with it.

But back to my fantasy.

His capable fingers work each button free and his white shirt falls open, revealing that muscled chest and hard stomach I didn’t know he could still have ten years later. But he does. I know because I saw it. I might have been tipsy that night too, but the memory is burned into my brain for eternity.

He reaches for the button of his slacks and shucks them off. When he shoves down his boxer briefs, letting his big cock spring free, I can’t stop myself from moaning at the mental picture and move closer to the connecting door. I lean against it, picturing Lincoln fisting his cock, and I slide my hand into my shorts.

As soon as my fingertips slide across my wetness, I groan and drop my head back. When it smacks hard against the wood, I freeze.





30





LINCOLN





THE SOUND that comes from the connecting door has to be my imagination. There’s no way Whitney could know that I’m in here. Even so, I pause in the act of pouring my drink and wait for another knock. All I hear is silence.

I set the decanter down and cross the room. I feel like an idiot as I put my ear against the panel.

Nothing.

My hand drops to the lock of its own accord and I twist it. The door, meant to allow for a VIP guest to reserve two suites and maintain privacy as they move between them, glides open.

Instead of seeing her face like I hoped, all I see is the white panel of the second door.

I listen closer, and I swear I can hear her breathing. Like I did minutes ago, I reach out and press my palm to the door.