Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

I’m good at multi-tasking, but that girl could surpass the hell out of me every time. I linger on that thought and almost smile. Together we could juggle the world.

Xander blinks. “Uh, that’s not a secret if that many people know. It’s information.” He crunches the can in his hand. “As the great Varys would say.” He’s referencing Game of Thrones.

It’s true that most clients don’t ask for their bodyguards to be in their room with them all day. Every day. But Xander Hale has different demons that he needs us to fight off. It’s why I’m here. What I’m made to do.

I’m going to go where Jane goes. I want to. I need to. I have to. Everything in my soul wrenches me in that direction. Hell, it’s been wrenching me for a while. Before I was even her bodyguard.

“‘Love is the death of duty.’” He quotes Game of Thrones again. “I always figured you’d eventually break the rules for someone you love. I just thought it’d be for Banks.”

Two bodyguards have already come clean, and we’re waiting for the rest—but

lmao they’re not wrong though 😂

Moffy and I have fallen for two men who fight to help us protect who we love.” My eyes burn. “Not just half-heartedly or out of loyalty to us, but because you deeply love our siblings and cousins. And if we weren’t here, you’d still fight for them as deeply as we would, and that is priceless to me.”

I am a motherfucking lion. I am my mother’s daughter. Even if I only have one-tenth of Rose Calloway Cobalt in me, that’s one-tenth of fire and brimstone that I can wield.

Unwieldy, un-fucking-quantifiable, frightening emotion—and I just want to be her safety net. I want her to feel like she can fall into these feelings, and I’ll catch her.

Jo’s brows rise. “Kinky.” He speaks calmly. “If it were kinky, I’d be enjoying it more.” She snorts and readjusts her backpack strap. “How many times have you used that line?” “It’s not a line.” He studies her in a quick sweep. “Believe me, you’d know if I was using a line on you.” Intrigue sparks her brown eyes. “Why is that?” “Because you’d already be in my bed.”

His mouth dips towards my ear, his voice low and gentle. “Why are you afraid to love me?”

Jane is my match, my mate, and I swear to all that’s holy, I’d give her my breath, my body—but

I slowly sink down to my knees, my hand running along the curve of her hip and thigh before I kneel on the floorboards.

“Would you rather survive with me or without me?” She clutches my biceps tighter. “With you.” My muscles sear in magma. “Would you rather live with me or without me?” “With you.”

He’s good to you, and he makes you happy.” He nods. “But if he hurts you, I’ll slit his throat with a hacksaw—a rusted hacksaw.”

“Thatcher?” I’m scared. “Thatcher?” “Jane—I’m right here.” He cups my cheeks. It alarms me, more than anything, that I didn’t call for Maximoff. I called for him. For a man I… I love him.

In the darkened corner of the pub, Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you’d see at closing times from trashed guys and girls. But her and him—they’re completely sober. He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I’m holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna.

“Did you pack any lunchmeat on you?” Farrow asks me seriously. Which surprises me because Farrow and SFO have been ribbing me about the ham and turkey I bought when we landed. I’m six-seven. I’m fucking hungry during long travels, and yeah, I stuffed a package of lunchmeat in my winter jacket and kept pulling out slices to eat.

Tony rubs the corner of his lip. “Let me give you some advice, Moretti. You should never let girls speak for you and definitely not fight your battles for you. Man the fuck up.”

Anger. I’m burning alive in pure fury. “Women are better than men. Better fighters, better lovers—and the fact that you come from where I do and can say and believe shit that demeans women makes me sick.”

I think of my mom, my mom’s wife, my aunts, my grandma, and I wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for a twelve-year-old girl who left Italy with no one and came to America with nothing. Brave. Bold. Strong women rule my world, and I love them.

“Now I’m twenty-eight,” I say strongly, “and I’m doing what I should’ve done on day one.” “What’s that?” She blinks hard, fighting a heavy sleep. I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “Let myself love you.”

He leaned on the car like he was the smoothest sex god worthy of my lust, and then he flashed a flirty smile that made my ovaries shrivel.

💀💀💀

Aunt Daisy has taught me to use my voice, even if the world says stay quiet.

Aunt Lily has taught me fierce courage, even on days when you feel lesser than.

Rose Calloway Cobalt, my mom—she’s taught me how to walk into a room full of men and never back down. She’s taught me familial love. And loyalty. She’s taught me how femininity is everything and anything. Harsh and icy. Soft and stiff. Boisterous and unruly. Timid and unrelenting. Oxymorons and complements and conundrums that no one needs...

“When they were your age, they were figuring out being in their twenties and in love—you’re allowed this part.” I cage breath. “This part?” “Of life,” he clarifies. “The stomach-flipping, head-scratching moments...

“You’ve been here before?” He lifts his shoulders. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he reminds me. “But I’ve had to right a lot of wro...

I remember that we’re in this together, and I can’t imagine experiencing this part of life with another man. His patience and respect constan...

He deserves better than me. I push down that hurtful voice in my ear. I’m amazing too. I’m triumphant and bea...

But the more he avoids my calls, the more he reminds me of the only person who consistently hangs up on me—and I never imagined my firstborn daughter would date a man like Ryke Meadows.”

I should be able to walk around a food market without my boyfriend.

okay but he’s not your bf right now Janie, he’s your bodyguard and this is the least logical you’ve ever been

She’s the only person who could make me despise the quiet. Before her, it never really bothered me. I craved it. Pined for it. Now silence is too loud, too blistering, and I’m begging for her voice to deaden it.

By breaking up with me, she thinks she’s protecting me from herself. But I don’t want her protection.

“I can’t promise that if you let yourself love me completely that you won’t want me or need me.” She holds her body. My eyes scald. “Because I love you completely, Jane, and I want and need you during the worst and best moments of my life.”

“I fucking need you, honey. I’d be going out of my mind with guilt if I couldn’t turn to you. So many times I’ve thought about you, and you’ve made me feel good about myself.”

“All I can promise is that I will love you and respect you, Jane. And I will never abuse your love or take advantage of what you offer me.”

“I want you back.” Light explodes inside my chest. Fucking disorienting me, and with no doubt, I say, “You have me.”

Truth is, I’d rather Jane break up with me than be some kind of unfeeling robot. I’m with a human being, and we might not deal with our emotions well. But we’re both trying to deal with them together. “You did what you felt,” I remind her. “You don’t have to be sorry for that, not with me.”

Cum-filled condoms litter the area beneath the seats.

💀💀💀💀💀

“Are you copying me, Mr. Moretti?” He is all masculinity and confidence. “Just following your lead, honey.”

I’m so willing to just lay down on a freeway for him, and maybe it is trust because I’m certain he’ll stand in front of traffic protecting me. But it’s something else too. Because smart people don’t choose to lie down on busy roads.

“Jane.” His eyes redden. “I love you. I’m here for these moments. Every fucking one. We’re going through fear, shame, guilt, back to fear together. A hundred, million times if we need to.”

“I’m going to protect you. Sempre toujours.” I breathe in, shock and something stronger crashing into me. Sempre toujours. The first word is Italian, the second French. It means, always always.

“I’m curious though. Breaking up with your boyfriend, is this some strange ploy to have makeup sex, or are you just copying Mom and Dad?”

exactly 💀

“Mom and Dad,” Charlie repeats, the music shrill. “You do know Mom used to break up with Dad before they were married. All the fucking time. But she would do it because she was pissed at him. Not at herself.” He waves a hand at me. “There’s a lot of self-loathing coming from this corner.”

“That’s one of my favorite things about being with someone.” He sips his beer. “What is?” I pop in a battery with one hand. “Going through shit together. Growing with the person you love.” He smiles into his next swig, his gaze on Maximoff Hale.

“With your position on the board and your two blocking spells, you just won the game, man.” “Well, damn,” I say into a satisfied nod. Forget it, I fucking rock,

‘Cause I’m Thatcher Alessio Moretti. He already fucked up, and now I’m gonna be known as the guy who stuffs lunchmeat in his jacket. It’s kinda funny. I’ll take it.

Connor nods, then zeroes in on me. My arms are crossed, shoulders squared and features stoic. I’m Thatcher Moretti, bitch. I’m a fucking dumbass—because I almost, almost crack a smile at my idiotic thought.