Seven Sexy Sins (26 page)

Cole was two inches taller than Rusty and about thirty pounds heavier, with the family’s distinctive red hair, though his was a lot longer than Rusty’s, and curled in straggly strands around his neck. He was a good-looking man, but his deep-set eyes and a scar on his cheek he’d received during a fight a few years back made him look suspicious and mean. He turned now as Rusty paused, and they studied each other.

“Well, well,” said Cole. “Halle-fucking-lujah, the cavalry’s arrived.” He turned and banged on the bathroom door. “Did you ring him? You fucking bitch.”

“Hey.” Rusty walked forward until he was three feet away. “Don’t speak to her like that. Come into the kitchen, for Christ’s sake. I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

Cole turned back to face him. His eyes followed a second later—clearly, he was well plastered. “Fuck off, Dick. This is none of your business.”

Rusty bristled at Cole’s childhood nickname for him. “I’m not going until you sober up, you drunk bastard. Sarah’s terrified, and so’s Finn. Is that really what you want—your family to be scared shitless of you?”

“I saw her with…the guy from the garage. She’s having an affair.” Cole swayed slightly.

“I’m not!” Sarah yelled from the bathroom. “I went in to book the car in for a service. You asked me to, you crazy son of a bitch!”

Cole’s hands tightened into fists. “I saw her put her hand on his arm… And she laughed up at him. Little flirt. I don’t know who she’s doing behind my back.” He leaned his forehead against his arm on the doorjamb.

Rusty frowned, feeling an uncharacteristic sweep of pity for his brother. This was what love did to the Thorne men. Turned them into crazed lunatics, twisted with suspicion and jealousy. He’d felt the exact same thing sitting in the car with Eve, thinking about Faith standing before him, happy and pregnant with another man’s child.

And that was when it dawned on him. He wasn’t going to be able to be around her anymore. He didn’t want to feel those emotions when he looked at her. He was going to have to move away and not see her again. And maybe, as the years went by, it wouldn’t hurt so much when Dan rang him and said how she was doing.

He reached out and touched his brother’s arm. “Come on, mate. Sit down and talk to me about it.”

Cole twitched and threw off Rusty’s hand. He ignored him and banged on the door again. “Let me in. It’s my house—let me in my own fucking bathroom!”

“Cole!” Rusty grabbed his shirt and pulled him away from the door. “For God’s sake, leave her alone.”

Cole turned and pushed him, and Rusty stumbled back down the hall. Cole came after him, and Rusty walked backward into the living room, drawing him away from the bathroom. He put his hands up. “Don’t do this, come on, calm down.”

Cole ignored him, obviously desperate to take out his roiling emotions on someone, came forward and aimed a swing at Rusty’s head. Rusty ducked, lighter on his feet, alcohol-free, and stepped backward again. “Cole! Jesus, man, calm down.”

“Stop telling me to calm down,” yelled Cole. “You fucking do-gooder. Can’t sort your own life out, so you have to come around here and interfere with mine.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m the one with the problem.” Rusty made his tone wry, although the comment stung. Cole was probably closer to the truth than he realised.

He watched his brother carefully. They’d both had boxing lessons as kids, and he knew from experience Cole could throw a mean right hook. At least his brother was focussing on him and not on Sarah and Finn anymore. But that would be scant consolation if he found his teeth shoved halfway down his throat. “Sit down,” he said again.

Cole lunged at him. Rusty dodged the punch once more, his feet scrunching on broken glass, and he felt Cole’s meaty hands grab his shirt. The next thing he knew, Cole had slammed him against the wall and knocked his breath out of him.

He flung both arms up, knocked away Cole’s grip and shoved him hard in the chest. “Okay, now I’m annoyed.”

“Ooh,” taunted Cole. “Gonna get your feather duster out now and tickle me to death,
Dick-head
?”

Rusty saw red. He drew back his arm and threw a punch at Cole’s face, putting all his frustration and unhappiness behind it. His brother moved, but not quickly enough. Rusty’s fist connected with Cole’s jaw, and the larger man crumpled and fell backward into the living room. His head met the dining table with a resounding crack, and he went still.

Behind Rusty, Sarah screamed. Rusty hadn’t realised she’d come out of the bathroom. She pushed past him and dropped to her knees beside Cole. “You bloody killed him!”

“He’s not dead,” said Rusty, relieved as he saw Cole’s eyes flutter and heard a low moan escape his mouth. He pulled out his phone. “I’ll ring for an ambulance, though. It’ll get him out of your hair until he sobers up.”

As he dialled, he held out an arm to stop Finn from going to his father, conscious of all the broken glass around. But Finn pushed him away, his eyes wet, and ran to Cole’s side, saying, “Daddy, Daddy, are you okay?”

Rusty put the phone to his ear, feeling cold inside as he watched Sarah and Finn cover Cole’s face in kisses, distraught that he was obviously injured. Even now, they couldn’t hate him, despite all the hurt he’d caused them.

“Ambulance, please,” he said as the operator answered, and gave the details before he hung up.

Cole was already stirring, and Rusty knelt to help him up, but Sarah pushed him away. Her eyes were wet. “Just go,” she said tiredly. “I’ll deal with it from here.”

“But…”

“It’s all right, he won’t hurt me now. Thanks for coming around. I appreciate it.”

Rusty stood, his head beginning to thud again as he looked at the mess in the room. “Why don’t you let me stay and help you clean up?”

“No, go please. He won’t want to see you when he sobers up. Just go.”

Rusty nodded. His knuckles hurt where they’d connected with Cole’s jaw. But what hurt most of all was Finn’s little face as he looked up at the man who’d hit his daddy. He didn’t understand what had happened, of course. But in his eyes, Rusty was the bad man here. The thought made Rusty sick to his stomach.

He turned and walked out of the house. Sarah shut the door behind him, and the sound was like the closing of the lid on the coffin of his future. Faith deserved better than him and his bad blood. He didn’t regret sleeping with her—could never do that—but he did regret that she would find it difficult to accept it when he left.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Faith didn’t see Rusty again for three days. He texted her on Sunday to tell her briefly what had happened, and she knew instantly it would cause trouble between them. Sure enough, he only sent five texts on Monday, two on Tuesday, and by Wednesday he wasn’t communicating with her at all.

She felt overwhelmed by sadness. She’d booked a motel at the weekend in anticipation of the seventh sin, but she wasn’t sure whether he was going to want to go ahead with it.

Perhaps that was why she was so surprised when there was a knock at the door at eight thirty Wednesday evening.

Thinking it was Eve, or maybe Dan, she walked up the hall slowly. She wore an old, tight T-shirt and a pair of baggy trackpants, with her hair pulled back off her face in a scrunchie. A bar of half-eaten Dairy Milk lay on the coffee table.

She opened the door, and her heart gave a somersault when she saw Rusty leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. Temporarily speechless, she stared at him for a moment. He wore a black T-shirt and black jeans, and he’d had his hair cut at last—it was still fairly long on the top, flopping over his forehead, but short around the back of his neck, and her fingers twitched at the thought of running her hands up it.

He looked at her, and the smile that had hovered on her lips as she saw him faded away. His green eyes were angry, resentful. She stepped back and to the side to let him in, but he didn’t move. He continued to stare at her, his gaze dipping almost insolently over her tight T-shirt. Then he looked away across the garden, although he still didn’t move.

She studied him for a moment. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if his head were made of glass. He didn’t want to be there. But he couldn’t keep away. He wanted to see her. But he didn’t
want
to want to see her.

She hesitated, her heart going out to him. Seeing his brother had ripped him up inside, and he needed consolation, but he didn’t know how to ask, because they weren’t supposed to be having a relationship. They were supposed to be over at the weekend, it was all terribly messy and convoluted, and neither of them knew what to do.

So she did the only the thing she could have done. She grasped the bottom of her T-shirt, peeled it off and threw it to the floor, glad she had a decent bra underneath. Pulling out her scrunchie, she shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, challenging him with her gaze.

He stared at her for a moment, a furrow in his brow, all the pain he was feeling etched in those lines. And then he came inside the house, kicked the door shut and gathered her up in his arms. Lifting her off the ground, he wrapped her legs around him. She pressed her lips to his, and he kissed her hungrily as he walked down the hall. He turned to press her up against the wall, backing her up with a bump that knocked the breath out of her. She gasped, sank her hands into his hair and ran her fingers up the short, bristly strands at the back, pulling his head to hers. She opened her mouth to welcome his tongue in a fierce, passionate kiss that lit the whole of her body. Little electric shocks shot through her, making her nipples stand on end and a dull throbbing begin between her legs.

He pushed his hips forward and pressed his hard erection against her, almost bruising her, but she welcomed the sweet pain, moaning softly, and tightened her legs around him so it brought him even closer. He muttered something against her mouth, but she didn’t catch it, and she thought she probably wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. He let her legs go so she slid down him, and his hands went around her back to unclip her bra. Drawing it down her arms, he threw it to the floor, and then he pushed her back up against the wall. His hands covered her breasts and his fingers squeezed her nipples, making her gasp again. He dropped his head and covered one of them with his mouth, and she inhaled, and inhaled, and inhaled, unable to catch her breath as he sucked hard, so hard it almost hurt. But she knew what he wanted, and she clenched her fingers in his hair, pulling back his head. He stepped back, breathing heavily, his eyes so hot it sent a thrill right through her.

Taking his hand, she led him into the living room, over to the sofa. He grabbed the neck of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, dropping it to the floor, and she slid off her trackpants, pushed her panties down her legs and kicked them off too. He began to undo his jeans, but she shoved him hard on the chest, taking him by surprise, and he stumbled and fell onto the sofa.

She climbed on top of him and pushed him onto his back. Sitting on his legs, she unbuttoned his jeans quickly. He watched her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and grabbed her before she could lower his boxers and release him. He pulled her up toward him, so she straddled his legs, and slipped his hand behind her neck, bringing her lips down to his.

She kissed him hungrily, aware of a rising passion deep within her that she couldn’t control. She wanted him so badly, loved him so deeply, she was desperate to try and ease his pain, as well as assuage the dark craving that spread through her as he held her hips down and pressed the hard, swollen part of him against the soft, swollen part of her. She moved her hips and ground their sexes together, moving herself up and down the length of him, soaking his boxers with her moisture. He responded with a heartfelt groan and cupped her breasts with his warm hands, lifting her slightly so he could fasten his mouth on them, his tongue rough against her sensitive, tender skin, the soft, pliant nipples hardening as he sucked.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed down his boxers and directed him into her, pausing as the hot tip of him slid inside. She braced herself on his shoulders, meeting his gaze as she lifted her hips just enough to let him push into her and then slide out again.

He tried to hold her hips, but she caught his hands and pinned them above his head, remembering vividly the day she’d handcuffed him to the bed. He looked absolutely gorgeous lying there, eyes half-lidded, bare from the waist up, his muscular arms tense as he flexed his hands in hers. But still she didn’t give him what he wanted—she eased up, pushed down, short, shallow strokes, teasing them both, making him close his eyes briefly before opening them to fix on her with a direct, demanding gaze.

Suddenly, before she could resist, he wrenched his hands free, wrapped his arms around her and flipped her over and underneath him, a move so slick and professional it made her gasp with approval. He laughed, the first sign that he wasn’t really angry with her, and she raised her arms over her head and stretched out. She revelled in the feel of being completely naked beneath him, the coarse material of his jeans rough against her thighs. Still inside her, he braced himself in turn, and she wrapped her legs around him as he began to move with deep, slow, driving thrusts that soon had her sighing in ecstasy.

It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their climax, and as he shuddered and plunged deeply into her, his body going rigid, she cried out as a wave of pleasure swept over her, her muscles tightening around him.

He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, and she put her arms around him and ran her fingers up his spine, stroking his ribs. She placed a gentle kiss on his ear, and he lifted his head and looked at her.

“Hey,” he said, and she realised it was the first thing either of them had said since he’d turned up.

“Hey.” She touched his face and then ran her hand up into the short hair on the back of his head. “I like this.”

He shrugged. “About time I tidied myself up.” Faith knew the real reason he’d had it cut, though. Seeing Cole with his straggly locks had reminded Rusty of the fact that they were brothers. He wanted to sever the link, but, unable to do that, he’d at least made sure they looked as unalike as possible.