Dirty Sexy Sinner
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHORS
Carly Phillips
Erika Wilde
Copyright © Karen Drogin 2016 and © Janelle Denison 2016
Kobo Edition
CP Publishing 2016
Cover Photo and Design: Sara Eirew
“The love story Phillips and Wilde crafted was rare, dipped in a reality so natural and organic it held my heart from the very first page.”
~ Audrey Carlan, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
New York Times bestselling authors Carly Phillips and Erika Wilde bring you a dirty, sexy, smoking hot series featuring four bad boy brothers bonded by shocking secrets and their damaged past. Sinful, addicting, and unapologetically alpha, these men are every woman’s erotic daydream … And your ultimate dirty fantasy.
Are you ready to get in bed with a SINNER?
After a lifetime of lies, deceit and betrayal, Jackson Stone isn’t a man who trusts easily—with women being at the top of the list. Now he’s all about control in every aspect of his life. Especially between the sheets. Hot, mutual pleasure with a woman? No problem, as long as he’s in charge. But there’s something different about sexy bartender Tara Kent that he finds irresistible, in bed and out. Something that has him willing to compromise his principles and bend his rules. Let the sinning begin . . .
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
J
ackson Stone’s entire
life had been a goddamn lie, and in a matter of minutes, he was about to confront the truth, along with the fact that he had three brothers he hadn’t even known existed until two weeks ago. He was still dealing with, and sorting through, the shock of learning the details surrounding his birth and illegal adoption, and he had no idea if his three siblings—one of which was his twin—were even aware of
his
existence.
He was about to find out, but ultimately it didn’t matter if they knew of him or not, because facing his brothers was something he had to do. If anything, Jackson hoped meeting them gave him some kind of closure. He’d spent the past thirty-two years feeling like an outsider in his own family and wondering why his father—or rather, the man who’d raised him—had always favored his younger son while blatantly ignoring any attempt Jackson had made to win Paul Stone’s affection and approval.
But now that Jackson had discovered the truth about where he’d come from, his father’s rejection made so much more sense to him. Unfortunately, his entire childhood had been a mind-fuck, and nothing had been as it seemed. Even as an adult, the emotional damage his father had inflicted during those younger, formative years, combined with his ex-wife’s betrayal, made it difficult for Jackson to let anyone close. The few people he trusted implicitly, he could count on one hand, and he doubted that would change anytime soon.
He pushed those thoughts from his mind and rolled his tense shoulders just as the navigation system announced that he’d arrived at his destination—a bar named Kincaid’s that was located in a less-than-desirable neighborhood in Chicago. He turned his Porsche into the parking area behind the building, his gleaming dark gray sports car glaringly out of place next to the few older vehicles in the lot.
Not wanting to risk getting the paint scratched or dinged, he parked his car in the farthest row, away from everyone else. The 911 Carrera was his baby, a gift to himself when he’d made partner at Schmidt and Kramer, the architect firm where he’d worked the past eleven years. Yeah, he was a bit obsessive about keeping the Porsche in pristine condition, but considering he’d worked his ass off to be able to afford such an indulgence, he didn’t mind going out of his way to protect his investment.
Sliding out of the low-slung car, he straightened to his full height and engaged the alarm system, then glanced at his watch. It was three thirty in the afternoon, a half hour before the establishment opened. He was hoping that by arriving early he’d be able to catch Clay, the brother who owned the place,
and his twin
, before the bar started letting customers in for the evening.
As he approached the old, dated building, out of habit he found himself eyeing the place from an architect’s perspective. He was used to working on urban designs, corporate buildings, and sophisticated and luxurious structures, but the modest bar that had probably been built in the 1980s fit the blue-collar neighborhood. The place looked clean and well taken care of and appeared as though it had been recently treated with new wood trim and a fresh coat of paint.
He didn’t know much about the Kincaid brothers, just the basic information he’d enlisted a private investigator to provide so he had an initial point of contact and could introduce himself to the men. Names, ages, marital status, and place of business was what Jackson had asked for, and that’s all he’d been given. The PI had offered to deliver an in-depth background report on all three men, but Jackson had declined. He wasn’t looking to blatantly invade their privacy. If the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t appreciate his entire life and past being scrutinized by a virtual stranger or conclusions made about his character based on information provided by a third party.
He reached the front entrance to the bar. The hours of operation stated they didn’t open until four, but figuring the employees arrived earlier, he pulled on the iron handle anyway. His nerves ratcheted up a notch as the door opened, bringing him one step closer to meeting his brothers. Uncertainty and anticipation mingled inside him as he entered the vacant lobby.
He was a confident, successful, and respected businessman, but there was no way of knowing what kind of reception he was about to receive. His stomach pitched at the possibility that his siblings might not want to have anything to do with him, or make it clear that he didn’t belong.
Yeah, the fucking story of my life,
Jackson thought as he forcibly shook off the mental and physical anxiety trying to take hold. Exhaling a deep breath, he moved toward the sounds coming from the main bar, where the lighting was dimmed. He caught sight of a young woman setting out a garnish tray at the service area, who absently glanced his way as soon as he came into sight, immediately pegging him as a customer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile as she added a stack of napkins to the counter. “But we don’t open until four . . .”
As he stood there, her gaze skimmed over his Armani suit and up to his face. A look of utter confusion creased her brows, and he was pretty sure he knew why. Her boss and his twin, Clay Kincaid, obviously wasn’t a business suit kind of guy, and that was throwing her off, along with similarities Jackson must share with his brother. With a tilt of her head, she took in his short cropped hair and studied his features, and when she finally met his gaze, he couldn’t hold back the amused smile that tugged up the corners of his lips.
Her perplexed expression turned to one of unmitigated shock as she realized he wasn’t her employer. Exotic eyes, a stunning shade of bright azure blue, widened, and she shook her head wildly in disbelief, causing long, dark strands of her silky-looking hair to brush back and forth across her shoulders.
“You’re not Clay,” she blurted out.
“No, I’m not,” he confirmed in a low, husky voice as he caught sight of a small diamond piercing above her sensual upper lip. “I’m his twin brother, Jackson Stone.”
“His twin,” she repeated, still staring at him, her tone soft with awe as her disbelief gradually morphed into curious bewilderment, along with a noticeable flicker of fascination. “Holy . . . shit. Clay has a fucking twin.”
He chuckled, enjoying her unfiltered response. Found it refreshing, actually. He was used to polite, sophisticated women. The kind who tended to be sweet, prim, and proper in his presence and a catty bitch behind his back. This beauty in front of him was edgy and direct, and damn if he didn’t find the straightforward combination sexy as fuck.
“This is . . . crazy,” she said, still trying to process everything about him and the situation. “Does Clay know you were stopping by?”
He heard the cautious, slightly protective note to her voice that told him just how loyal this woman was to her boss and decided to be completely honest with her. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know I exist.”
Questions filled her expressive blue eyes as he moved even closer to her side of the bar, but she didn’t ask any of them, which he appreciated.
“Is he here, by chance?” Jackson asked hopefully.
“No. Wednesday nights are pretty slow.” She was still staring at him, and an undeniable—and mutual—awareness simmered between them. “Most likely, he’s at home with his wife.”
His brothers’ marital statuses had been included in his condensed background report, so Jackson was at least familiar with their significant others. Clay, owner of Kincaid’s, was married to Samantha. Mason, owner of Inked, a tattoo shop, was married to Katrina. And Levi, the youngest brother, who was a cop for Chicago PD, had recently become engaged to a woman named Sarah.
“Is there a way I can get ahold of him?” Now that Jackson was finally here, he didn’t want to drag this first meeting out any longer than necessary. The proverbial cat was out of the bag, and he also didn’t want to give any of the Kincaid brothers a reason to say no to meeting him.
She bit that lush bottom lip of hers, clearly considering his request while he contemplated her seductive mouth in general and the sinful things he’d like to do to it. But once again, Jackson instinctively knew her loyalty to Clay would win out and she wouldn’t be doing anything to or with him. Not until Clay had given Jackson his stamp of approval. As frustrating as that was, he couldn’t help but respect her for being so trustworthy.
“You seem like a really nice guy, Jackson,” she finally said earnestly. “I won’t give out Clay’s personal information, but I can do one of two things for you. I can take your information and pass it along to Clay, or I can call him now and see if he’s able to come down to the bar and meet you.”