Sinner (Priest, #2)

by Sierra Simone

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for the moment of solitude before I head back into the victory lap, and I suck in one final grass-scented breath before I go inside, and that’s when I see her. It’s the dress I see first, actually, a glimpse of red, shivering silk, a flicker of a hemline dancing in the breeze. It’s like a red cape waved in front of a bull; within seconds, I’m Sean Bell again, victory lap and all, and I reverse direction, following the seductive glint of red silk until I find the woman it belongs to. She’s facing away from the glass and the milling rich people on the other side of it, leaning against one of the massive cables anchoring the top of the building to the terrace. The breeze plays with the silk along her body, ruffling the skirt and painting mouthwatering outlines of her waist and hips, and the city lights gleam along the warm brown skin of her exposed arms and back. I follow the groove of her spine down to where her dress sweeps over the swell of her ass and then back up to the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, which are crisscrossed by thin red straps. She turns at my footsteps, and I almost stop walking because fuck, she’s pretty, and double fuck, she’s young. Not like jail young—but maybe college young. Too young for a thirty-six-year-old man, certainly. And yet I don’t stop walking. I take a spot leaning against the thick anchor cable next to her and put my hands in my pockets, and when I look at her, both our faces are completely illum...