SINFUL LONGING.

BY LAUREN BLAKELY.

ABOUT.

He's the inked brother. The one you're wondering about. The bad boy of the family.

Colin Sloan has a past. He's done things he's not proud of, but he's living differently now. Making changes in his life. Working hard, working out harder, and trying to win over one woman. He's utterly crazy about Elle Mariano, and though the s.e.x is epic, their friends-with-benefits arrangement just isn't cutting it anymore. He wants all of her, and is determined to prove he's what she needs in her life.

Elle is fiery, loyal, and in major l.u.s.t with Colin Sloan. He's everything she craves in a man-smart, s.e.xy, kind-and a rock star between the sheets. But his past hits too close to home for her, and the people she has to protect. There isn't room in her life for a relationship with Colin. Especially when she's forced to keep a secret that could tear his family apart....

DEDICATION.

This book is dedicated to Jen, for going the distance on this series, and, as always, to my dear friend Cynthia.

CHAPTER ONE.

The Night of the Community Center Beethoven Benefit...

The sparrows were a treasure map, weaving a path from her right shoulder blade, along her s.e.xy, elegant neck, then curving into her hair. Rich, chestnut hair he longed to have his hands in.

Preferably tonight.

Because... Well, why the h.e.l.l not?

Especially since he'd learned to read her moods, and she was in that kind of a mood. As for him? Every time Colin was near Elle he was in that kind of mood.

This very second more so than usual, because her arms were wrapped around him in a triumphant hug, and she was exhaling big sighs of relief, and laughing, too, a buoyant sound, like bells. "I can't believe this happened," she said, breathless. "It feels like a dream."

"I didn't doubt it for a second. We're all behind you," he said, stealing a quick inhalation of the utterly enticing vanilla-honey scent of her shampoo.

She broke the embrace, but not the contact. She parked her hands on his shoulders, her fingers curling on his suit jacket. Her hazel eyes shone with happiness and a hint of joyful tears. "I know, and I'm so grateful," she said, her voice threatening to break. "But you just don't know 'til it happens if you're going to raise enough money, and I've been working on this for two years. Two solid years to finally get the funds to expand the center. It needs it so badly. I felt like I was holding my breath for the last month, hoping we'd make it. I have so many plans."

"And now you can take a breath because you made it happen," he said, beaming. She'd been driven in her mission to rebuild the broken-down community center, and he was d.a.m.n pleased to be one of the donors supporting it. His venture capital firm had contributed significantly to the haul.

She wiped her fingertip under an eye, erasing the evidence of that tear. She shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes seemed to light up with the spark of an idea. "Colin," she whispered, as if they had a secret. And admittedly, they did. "We have to celebrate tonight."

He could think of a few ways.

Unknotting that hair.

Roping his fingers through it.

Kissing her neck 'til she fell apart in his arms.

"Do you want to? After the event?" she added in that conspiratorial tone. "I don't have much time, but we can manage something."

He scoffed. "What kind of question is that? Do you take me for a man who doesn't want to celebrate with you?" He was ready to rattle off a litany of suggestions. Anything to prolong the evening with her, especially since she'd changed her tune from earlier, when she'd called him incorrigible and told him to stop all this flirting. Now, her hands were on him again.

Elle was a seesaw when it came to him, and he'd learned to both deal with it and try to catch her on the upswings in his friend and now-and-again lover. Colin Sloan was a man who knew how to sniff out opportunity. He wasn't letting the opportunity in this giddy exuberance of hers slip away from him tonight.

"Not at all. You look like a man who wants to play poker with me tonight," she said, with a s.e.xy arch of her eyebrow.

"The chips are on me," he said, glad that she wanted to cozy up to the tables, since they were like oysters for Elle-a bit of an aphrodisiac. By no means was Elle a high roller; the baby tables, as she called them, were her idea of a good time. Besides, the last time he'd had his hands on her was after she won a round of poker. She was a Vegas girl at heart, and winning amped up her adrenaline.

"I believe you just convinced me," she said in a flirty voice. G.o.d, he loved that tone. He f.u.c.king ate it up.

"A little poker. A little buffet. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll take you for some late-night roller rink action, too," he said with a wink, rattling off some of her other favorite things.

She narrowed her eyes. "Okay, that's just not fair. That's like putting steak out for a dog and not letting him have it."

"Did I say you couldn't have it? You know I'll give you everything."

She pursed her lips, as if she was considering his offer. Maybe all of it, from the evening to the everything. "Fine. I'll take the steak you're dangling."

He rubbed his hands together. "It's well done. You'll like it."

She laughed then tipped her head to the stage. "After the Beethoven. Obviously, I'm not skipping out early on an event for the center I run."

"You think that might look bad?" he asked, deadpan.

She crinkled her nose. "Just a little."

He held out his hands, playfully relenting. "Fine, we'll be good a little while longer." He brushed a strand of that chestnut hair over her ear, watching her shiver as he touched her. Why did she have to pull him in and then push him away? Let him get close then shove him off? Hot. Cold. On. Off. That was her style.

But he knew why she did it, and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing he could do about his past. He was the black sheep, and she didn't date black sheep. She'd made it one hundred percent clear from the get-go that they could never be a real couple, so he'd settled on what she would give-her body.

With a hand on her lower back, he guided her through the crowd to the fourth row and gestured to the first two chairs. "Why don't you sit in my lap?"

She rolled her eyes, then tapped his shoulder. She was terrible at sticking to her own rules about not touching him. He loved the lack of restraint in her. "I told you, we need to stop flirting."

"Yeah, you did," he said with a shrug as they took their seats. "But it's impossible. I can't be inside a ten-foot radius and not flirt with you. If you need me to stop, you should kick me out now."

She gathered up the silky material of her dress, adjusting it as she crossed her legs. Tilting her head toward him, she lowered her voice and confessed. "You know kicking you away isn't my strong suit, either."

As the opening notes of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony floated through the ballroom at the Venetian, Colin settled in beside Elle Mariano, the woman he'd wanted for the last year, since the first day he'd met her. The woman he'd been lucky enough to have in his arms a few times. Each encounter stoked the flames for another. Every second with her made him want her more. But she eluded him. For reasons his head understood. For reasons his heart girded to battle.

As the violinists poured forth rich notes, quickly shifting from a slow to a fast tempo, his own advice came to him.

Something he occasionally advised startups to do.

Don't give up.

He'd respected her relationship no-fly zone, but what if he tried a new approach? What if he aimed to win her heart by wooing her body?

She'd held up the stop sign on dating. But don't tell a man who wants to climb Everest that he can't do it. Nothing will motivate him more. Elle was his Everest. Not just having her, but having all of her. He'd keep trying. Keep scaling. Keep climbing.

He'd find a new way up the mountain.

He wasn't going to give up on her. h.e.l.l no. He was going to show her the time of her life in bed, and out of it.

Tonight would start with the bedroom.

CHAPTER TWO.

His hip.

She was dying to see the new tattoo on his hip. And lord knew, she wasn't a hip woman. But she couldn't stop wondering what it looked like.

Because...his body.

His gorgeous inked body was her kryptonite.

All through the evening, as the symphony played, her mind kept returning to what Colin had told her earlier. He'd acquired a new tattoo, and he said it matched her favorite one on him. As she pictured the simple black lotus design on his right pec-the fine lines and details, the interlocking leaves of the lotus flower-a ribbon of heat unfurled in her chest, tracing a dangerous path from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her belly and down, down, down.

Warming her up.

Turning her on.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the music. Surely Beethoven never had these problems. But Elle? No such luck. Elle Mariano had an affliction, one she'd suffered from since she was a teenager. She liked boys too much. Now, she liked men too much. She liked dangerous men. Risky men. Tattooed men.

Like Colin.

She liked him way more than she should.

But she had no room in her life for this kind of longing. No room in her head for thoughts of how he looked when he unb.u.t.toned his crisp white shirt, b.u.t.ton by tantalizing b.u.t.ton, revealing the body that visited her in all her bedtime fantasies. His. She would spread open the shirt, run her hands over his chest, and kiss and lick and nip that lotus tattoo, trace each fine line in it with the tip of her tongue.

She wanted what she couldn't have, and she most definitely couldn't have him, even though her body begged to disagree; it pulsed for this man by her side, just as it had since the day last year when he'd walked into her office at the community center, offering to volunteer.

Instant chemistry.

Desire in a bottle.

It had only grown stronger the more she knew him and talked to him, making it harder and harder to keep him at bay. That was the problem. The big problem. She had to draw boundaries with him. She'd made promises-being with him would break them. He was a line she couldn't cross. He was a risk she couldn't let herself take.

He rustled in the seat next to her, inching closer as the music crested. His s.e.xy scent drifted under her nose. He smelled so f.u.c.king good. Like s.e.x in an elevator. Like hot kisses on her neck that made her writhe.

"Do you like the music?" he whispered, his lips so close to her skin. Goose b.u.mps rose on her flesh as she blinked open her eyes.

She nodded, trying desperately to let the violins and cellos, the flutes and ba.s.soons, the sophisticated sounds floating from the stage, guide her thoughts to a sweeter, purer sh.o.r.e. To let the music take her away from these primal, base notions traipsing through the dirty meadows in her head. For the last month she'd done a good job resisting him, keeping him at an arm's length after she'd fallen into his arms again one night after a round of poker at the Wynn. Winning had excited her. He had excited her.

She would do better tonight.

Right?

Right.

She sneaked a peek at him, taking in the face she knew well. Strong cheekbones. Lightly stubbled jawline. Dark hair, nearly black, and so d.a.m.n soft. Brown eyes, like chocolate. Sculpted lips that had kissed her many times. A body built by rock climbing, and hiking, and white water rafting, and Ironman triathlons, and oh G.o.d, why did she have to slam into his...o...b..t tonight? She should have come alone to the benefit. She should have brought her sister. Her mother, even.

He raised a hand to adjust his tie-he was always doing that, as if ties weren't his thing-and her gaze settled on his fingers.

Magic fingers, she called them. She knew what they could do to her.

"Yes, I like the music," she said, trying to center herself.

"I do, too," he said softly, then stroked his chin. "It's beautiful. And it reminds me of something."

She raised an eyebrow. "What does it remind you of? Some other piece of music?" She hadn't known him to be a cla.s.sical fan. He was rock, alternative, and indie music all the way.

He shook his head. "Not music. But something else I enjoy. Trying to remember exactly what."

"Tell me," she whispered, her curiosity now piqued. Her eyes met his. She searched those dark brown irises, as if she could find the answer there.

The sounds from the stage grew louder. "Wait. I think I know."

She widened her eyes, and held out her hands as if to say tell me now.

"Turn back to the stage. It helps me think."

She shot him a look, because that made no sense. Shrugging, she returned her focus to the musicians and the victorious sound of the final movement of Beethoven's Ninth.

"Ah, that's it," Colin whispered. "Now I remember. It reminds me of that thing you like so much."

That thing.

His fingers gently traveled up her neck. A small gasp escaped her lips. "Your neck. The way you move when I kiss you right here," he said, stopping to trace the outline of one of her birds with the pad of his thumb. She nearly moaned out loud. Elle was convinced every woman had a spot on her body that melted her from head to toe when touched the right way by the right man.