Seven Nights of Sin Read online

  Seven Nights of Sin

  Copyright © 2019 Kendall Ryan

  Copy Editing by

  Pam Berehulke

  Content Editing by

  Elaine York

  Cover Design and Formatting by

  Uplifting Designs

  Photography by

  Lindee Robinson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  Seven Nights of Sin

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview

  Acknowledgments

  Get Two Free Books

  Follow Kendall

  About the Author

  Other Books by Kendall Ryan

  About the Book

  He’s the powerful CEO. I’m the know-it-all intern.

  Things went further than they should have, but I don’t have any regrets. Well, maybe just one . . .

  I went and did the one thing he told me not to—fall in love with him.

  Dominic Aspen is complicated, demanding, and difficult, and I want every ounce of this deliciously broken man. A man who fought to keep his twin daughters and has a hidden tender side.

  I have seven days to prove my trust and devotion. Turns out money is a powerful drug, but love is even more addictive.

  Seven Nights of Sin is the stunningly sexy and heart-pounding conclusion to The Two-Week Arrangement.

  Chapter One

  Dominic

  Presley is standing on the curb as I pull up to the gas station. I took the Porsche, not the SUV; she doesn’t get to see that part of my life anymore. She lost that privilege about the same time she destroyed whatever trust we had built, shattered it like a crystal glass thrown against a concrete floor. It’s messy, the ugly remnants still there, mocking me by reminding me of what happened and of what we had.

  I still feel so deceived, so hurt and angry. But I’m here.

  I’m still not entirely sure why I’m here, but I guess it’s because she sounded so desperate on the phone, the sound of tears evident in her shaky voice. Not that she told me much on the call, only that she needed me to come get her. Curious and a little bit worried, I called Francine to come over, then grabbed a jacket and took off once she arrived to watch the girls.

  I had a lot of questions, and even more spring to mind now that I see how Presley is dressed. She’s wearing the same little black cocktail dress and heels she wore on our weekend at Roger’s lake house.

  Was she on a date?

  My hands grip the steering wheel harder. It shouldn’t matter; we’re broken up now. I don’t even want to be involved with her anymore, but none of that reasoning stops the twinge of jealousy I feel low in my stomach.

  When I get closer, I see her makeup is smudged beneath her eyes. She’s been crying, either before or after her frantic phone call to me, I’m not sure. And she’s shaking like a leaf. What the hell is going on? How long has she been standing outside? More importantly, why is she standing out here all alone?

  It may be summer in Seattle but the nights, like tonight, can be chilly. Her arms are bare, but still, she waited out here. For me.

  When I park beside the curb, she scurries to the passenger door and quickly gets into the car.

  “Thank you so much,” she says through chattering teeth, rubbing her exposed arms. “I didn’t know who else to call. I know it’s late. I’m really grateful.”

  I nod in acknowledgment. I should ask where to drop her off, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to take Presley to her apartment and leave it at that with no explanation. Telling myself it’s because I want answers first, I turn toward her.

  “So, what’s going on?” I ask. I deserve at least some answers as to why I was her first phone call, don’t I?

  She stares ahead, not meeting my eyes, fidgeting with her purse strap. “W-well, my phone was dead, and the only number I could remember was yours, so . . .”

  “That explains why you called me, but it doesn’t explain why you needed my help. I want to know what happened.”

  Although I’d never abandon a woman stranded alone at night, I make no effort to soften my tone. My genetic makeup won’t allow me to ever walk away from or hang up on a female in need, but I also don’t have to forgive her betrayal just because she’s in trouble.

  Presley’s gaze drops to her lap and her hands wring her purse strap so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t break. “I . . .” She pauses, hesitating.

  I say nothing, just wait. We can sit here all night if that’s what it takes. The only sound is the subtle purr of the Porsche’s engine. It’s a sound that used to calm me. But tonight I feel anything but. On edge, anxious, pissed off, sexually frustrated—hell, maybe even a combination of all of them.

  Finally, she mutters, “I was doing a gig for Allure.”

  My gut twists so hard at her admission that I’m glad I waited to start driving, because I’m pretty damn sure I’d have wrapped this car around a tree with the physical reaction I have to this bombshell. Rage burns hot inside me, and it takes a minute to respond because my heart is hammering so hard, blood roars through my ears.

  “You what? Allure? Like as an escort?”

  She winces. “I needed the money! I thought I’d lost my job, because of, well, the whole Genesis thing.” She twists to face me, her eyes pleading. “Dominic, I’m so sorry ab—”

  “Stop. We’re not doing this right now.”

  Her mouth snaps shut.

  After a tense few moments, I grit out, “We can talk about it later.”

  Surprise flits over her face. “At work?”

  “No. Tonight. I’m taking you to my place.” I pull back out onto the street.

  A different kind of surprise flashes across her features now, mixed with emotions I can’t read.

  Is she happy about that? Apprehensive? Just plain confused? I don’t know. I can barely sort out the chaos inside my own head, let alone try to figure out what’s going on in hers.

  But I do know the last thing I want to do is take her back to a darkened apartment, not knowing what the catalyst was for her to be out here, all alone, after having just left God knows what type of situation that would warrant her calling me from an out-of-the-way gas station. This possessive feeling I have over her is entirely inappropriate, but in this moment? I give zero fucks.

  I’m driving too fast. But I’m angry, and hurt, and beyond frustrated with her.

  Why would she have put herself in an escort-type situation? Why do I even care where she was tonight? Those files and the jump drive she had her bag are all I should give a damn about. I am still pissed about that, beyond pissed, but this . . . stings, in a different way.

  And deep within my anger is a tiny grain of relief that even though she was with ano
ther man, in whatever capacity, at least he wasn’t a man she really cared for. Which just makes me even more furious—this time at myself.

  • • •

  Back at home, I take a deep breath, trying to slow my heart, and guide Presley toward the guest room. She watches me with wide eyes, pausing in the center of the plush carpeting with her heels dangling from one hand.

  “Get comfortable,” I say in a gruff voice, then head straight to the kitchen to pour myself a neat Scotch. On second thought, I make it a double. I’ll need some serious alcohol if I have any hope in hell of falling asleep tonight with this swarm of contradictory emotions fighting in my gut.

  And with Presley sleeping just a few yards away, whispers a voice from deep in the less-evolved parts of my mind. Here with me, in my home, where we once shared so many happy memories.

  I drink like I’m forcing down medicine. No, I’m not going to dwell on her. I’m not happy she’s here. Go the fuck to sleep and deal with it in the morning, like I told her. Stick to the plan.

  Francine steps into the kitchen and watches me. I didn’t even bother to turn on a light, and in the dim glow cast by the moon, I can see her frown as she watches me. She must have a million questions about what’s going on between Presley and me, but I have exactly zero answers. It’s a very unusual predicament for me.

  “Thanks for coming in. I’m sorry it’s so late,” I say, my throat hoarse from the liquor.

  She makes a sympathetic noise and crosses the room to stand before me. For a moment, I think she’s about to hug me, which surprises me because Francine and I have never had any kind of physical contact. Even though she’s always treated me with a motherly warmth, it’s always lacked any affection, which has been just fine by me. But rather than hug me, she reaches around me and grabs her purse from the counter.

  “Good night, Dominic. Try to get some rest. You need it.” She touches my forearm once, pats it softly, and then disappears around me toward the door.

  “Drive safe,” I mutter into the darkness.

  Once the tumbler is empty, I head back down the hall. But something slows me as I walk past the guest room.

  It occurs to me that I never checked to make sure Presley was okay. What’s wrong with me? That client clearly scared her—she called me begging for help—and I didn’t even bother asking about what happened.

  I need to know if he hurt her, did something to upset her. Touched her. There will be hell to pay with Allure if that prick did something to her. Their screening process is supposed to be rigorous, specifically to keep sick fucks away from their escorts.

  The idea of Presley entertaining another man is an unpleasant one. I shake my head. Dammit, I don’t care who she did or didn’t fuck, taking care of her is just the right thing to do. I’d do the same for anyone in the same situation. Wouldn’t I?

  I’ll just check on her quickly, I tell myself, and then head to bed. Just to see if she needs any help. She’s a guest, and she’s my employee, something bad obviously happened tonight . . . it’s the least I can do.

  I ease open the door as quietly as possible and peek in. She’s facing away, her dark hair spilled luxuriously over the pillow. Her side rises and falls in a gentle, even rhythm. Fast asleep.

  I should leave now. So, naturally, I find myself seated on the edge of the bed because I’ve made some pretty stellar decisions when it comes to this woman, obviously.

  Her lovely face is peaceful. As far as I can tell in the dim moonlight, there are no bruises or any other marks, thank God. The covers have slipped, revealing her bare shoulder and the strap of her dress. It’s obvious she would sleep in her clothes, without anything to change into, and because I didn’t even offer her one of my T-shirts to wear. Real smooth, Dom.

  I carefully pull the top blanket back over her, and she sighs.

  What am I doing?

  I have no idea. Maybe I never did.

  • • •

  I must have fallen asleep sitting up, just like I used to do next to the girls’ cribs when they were babies and restless, because I quickly wake at the sound of the toilet flushing. I grunt and rub my eyes before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Three in the damn morning. Terrific.

  Presley pads barefoot out of the en-suite bathroom, spots me, and freezes. “Dom?”

  I clear my throat. Coming in here was obviously a mistake. I don’t act like this . . . ever—but here I fucking am.

  “I came to ask if you needed anything, but you were asleep.”

  She nods, not moving any closer.

  “I guess I fell asleep too,” I admit. “Are you okay?”

  She moves to sit on the bed, giving me a wide berth. Because she doesn’t want to be near me, or because she thinks I don’t want to be near her? I do . . . which is precisely why I shouldn’t.

  “I’m okay,” she says.

  “What happened tonight?”

  She looks down at her hands, stalling for time. “I went out with a client. I told you that. I needed the money.” Her voice is small, barely above a whisper, the embarrassment about her financial situation obvious in her tone.

  “And your client?” I ask, my voice cold.

  She looks up, meeting my eyes. “He was an asshole.”

  Rage stirs in my veins. Knowing that she went out with another man shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. I was the first man to touch her, the first inside her. The intimate moments we shared meant something. Although apparently all that’s behind her now.

  “I see. So you’ve sucked two dicks now?” I ask.

  Her face tightens, on the verge of crumpling. “It didn’t get that far,” she says, her voice choked and wavering. She swallows hard. “In fact . . . when he tried to push me into touching him, that’s when I ran away.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean and pointless, and it just leaped out of my mouth like a toad.

  Feeling like an asshole, I look away. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shakes her head. “He was really gross, but not violent.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  “Yes. Not, uh, anywhere under my clothes, though.”

  I consider asking for his name, then decide it’s better for me not to know or else I might hunt him down and kill him.

  “Gia told me it would just be dinner,” she says. “Just companionship.”

  “Then that’s what she believed it would be. This piece of shit must have been trying to game the system by lying on his request form. Report him and enjoy the fireworks.”

  Presley manages a feeble heh. Her weak smile tugs at my insides. I can’t spend all night in here or I’ll do something I’ll regret.

  I stand up and start for the door. “Get some sleep.”

  “Dom?”

  Her tiny voice stops me in the doorway.

  “I really wasn’t going to go along with Austin’s plan. I’d never sabotage anyone’s company like that, let alone yours. When he first approached me, I thought it was a happy coincidence. I thought he wanted to be . . . friends.”

  She wets her lips. “But then after a few get-togethers, he told me what he really wanted, and of course, it was all a setup from the very beginning. He was saying all these things about what happened with Aspen and Genesis that didn’t match the official story. I just didn’t know what to think about it all, so I took his dossier home to read later.”

  Instead of turning and walking away like I should, I ask coldly, “And the jump drive?”

  “I was going to analyze the files on it and then hand it over to IT.” Her eyes beg me to believe her.

  “I want to believe you.” I drag my hand over the stubble on my cheek with a loud, aggravated sigh. I’m just so drained. “Maybe I do. But I still don’t know where we stand, whether I can trust you anymore.” Even if I wanted to.

  She presses her lips together, blinking fast, then nods. “That’s fair. I just . . . wanted to tell you.”

  “I have to check on the girls, and you need to get some rest.�
�� At the threshold, I add a quiet “Good night.”

  Everything should have already ended between us. But closing the door still feels like I’m tearing something fragile apart for good.

  It scares me how much I hate it.

  Chapter Two

  Presley

  I’m frozen, staring at the guest room door. I can’t move an inch, not even to bury myself under the covers in the bed behind me. To think, not long ago I was in his bed, thrumming with the amazing clarity of knowing I was exactly where I wanted to be, giving him a gift I’d held on to for someone special.

  Oh God.

  The knot in my gut tightens with each passing second. My mind is racing with questions, and not for the first time, I berate myself for being so damn stupid.

  What was I thinking? How could I have been so blind?

  I should have never taken that file from Austin. He had seemed so harmless at first. He was nice to me, interested in my work, good with Bianca . . . but a complete parasite the entire time we spent together. The sheer arrogance of the guy—no. Dammit. My own arrogance. Why would I take the file if I knew that it would jeopardize my already unstable standing at Aspen Hotels? Why would I risk Michael’s future like that?

  Why hurt Dom?

  That’s the bigger question. Just when he was starting to open up to me, to trust me. He’d let me in—however briefly—and let me meet his daughters. I knew how big of a deal that was. He keeps them highly guarded from the public, the media, everyone. I was one of the few people he trusted to meet them.

  And now I’ve made a real freaking mess of things.

  I’m not one to let things lie, though. Especially not if I’m the one who dropped the ball. If there’s a problem, I’m going to face it head-on. Still, I don’t think I’ve ever been this unsure, this terrified about addressing a problem. This isn’t quite a spat between coworkers, or even friends. I don’t even know what we are, so there’s no sure-fire way to approach this situation. Regardless, I know what I have to do. I need to try, at the very least.

  I place a firm hand on the doorknob.