Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

The media believes we’re pretending to be bodyguards. For fuck’s sake. I read more. Clearly these couples are trying to hide their tracks! Thatcher is no longer protecting Jane just to throw us off, and Paul is no longer protecting Beckett. But our source says they’re all still together.

I love him. Say it, Jane. His eyes cradle mine, offering comfort from afar. His chest rises in deeper breath. I open my mouth. “I—” Ding. The elevator doors slide open.

Donnelly inked every single one of Beckett’s tattoos, and all are flowers from roses to daisies to lilies and poppies, as homage to our mom and aunts. It reminds me that he loves our family so greatly, despite having such little time to spend with us.

“You’re coming with us, little brother,” I remind him. Horror freezes him, eyes like saucers. “No.” He notices Thatcher, Farrow, Moffy, and Charlie filling the bedroom, then his head whips back to me. “No. Jane, I told you I can’t go—” “And I told you that if you used, we’d force you.” “You can’t.” He uses his elbow to prop himself up. “Are you naked?” I ask. His face scrunches like what the fuck. “No—” I fling the comforter off his body. “Jane.”

“Beckett, please,” I whisper. “We just want to help you.” He pushes back curlier strands of his hair. “You’re hurting me.” His eyes are raw and red. “I’m sorry.” I am.

“You’re not leaving without us,” Charlie says hotly. Beckett lets out a pained laugh. “You’re one to talk, Charlie. How many times have you ditched this family?” Charlie looks to me, needing an assist. I hike over to Beckett and tear the wallet out of his hand.

“You can’t force me—” I snap a fuzzy blue handcuff on his wrist, and the other end, I lock onto mine. “Congratulations, you’re now very much attached to me.” Beckett looks slightly impressed but mostly resigned and upset. He sighs. “Jane…” I smile a sympathetic smile. “Time to go to Scotland and be with family.”

Sulli said she’d rather eat fertilizer than publicize her relationship. That it’s easier for the world to believe she’s with Akara.

“So you really believe I’ll run down the aisle past your six-foot-seven boyfriend and bum-rush the only exit that has more than three massive bodyguards climbing on board?” “Yes.” He gives me the umpteenth what the fuck face, brows scrunched tight. “Jane,” he whisper-hisses and yanks my wrist toward his chest. “I’m not a fucking addict.”

staring ahead again, away from me. And so softly, under his breath, he says, “I hate you, you know.” My stomach sinks. He keeps unsheathing the same sword and plunging it straight in my gut. Knowing those words wreak an agonizing amount of damage on me. Am I doing the right thing? Maybe he doesn’t have a problem.

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.

Thatcher and I exchange a look, one full of apprehension. Something isn’t right. My brother hasn’t been this hostile since I spoke to him back in the apartment. And then I notice the change: the door to the airplane. The flight crew has finally boarded, which means we only have about ten minutes before takeoff. If Beckett were to make a move to leave, it’s now or never.

Charlie refused to be handcuffed to him. He said he couldn’t do it. That it’d be five minutes before he uncuffed his twin brother. Instead, Charlie looked at me and said, “It has to be you.”

“Would you mind…” Breathe. I inhale. “…being handcuffed to Beckett for the next ten minutes?” Thatcher is already nodding. “I’m good to go.” I look to Beckett. “There. Banks can go to the restroom with you. As far as I know, he’s not your sister.”

Sometimes I forget just how fucking rich Jane’s family is until I meet the wealth head-on. Like right now.

Beckett scratches underneath the cuff. “No. I just need the sink.” He still can’t meet my eyes. “Please.” His voice is a sincere whisper. “I didn’t want to worry her, but I have to wash my hands. It’s really bothering me…” He expels a taut, anxious breath. I realize his distress isn’t some deceptive thing. He’s uncomfortable being this vulnerable in front of me.

I watch him pump the soap dispenser three times. He methodically lathers his palms, in between his fingers, his forearms—all the way to his elbows. He scrubs his hands, turns the faucet on and off five consecutive times, and glances back at me. “Can you…please just look at the wall?” I shift my narrowed gaze onto the toilet, his nerves suffocating the bathroom, and I feel badly that his OCD is riding him this hard.

He repeats the routine three more times, and when he finishes washing soap suds, he curses under his breath and starts all over again. His skin is starting to grow red and inflamed. “Is there something I can do?” I ask. He shakes his head, then after another five minutes, he dries his hands on a monogramed towel. “When you mention this to Jane, can you add that this isn’t serious?”

“And I want to give Jane her baby blanket I’m crocheting. I should be finished by then.” I didn’t flinch. Jane went wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m…I’m not pregnant.” “It’s not for now,” my grandma said. “I already made Thatcher one, but now youse can have two for the day you marry and have babies. I might not be around.” “Grandma,” I said. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Has she crocheted your past girlfriends baby blankets?” “Hell no.” “Oh.” I didn’t expect that reaction. My pulse ratcheted up. “She likes you.” She can tell I love you.

I realized then that Jane believes there’s a greater chance of us being a short-term couple than a permanent one. “How is it rational that I’ll dislike you in six months when I love you now?” I asked point-blank. She smiled, then frowned, then winced. “Anything could happen…I suppose.”

“Look, there’s no pressure,” I said strongly. “The blanket is just a gift, not a binding agreement.” “It’s not to say that I wouldn’t…I mean, I…” She buried her face in her palms, and I sat on the bed beside her and drew her to my chest. I hugged Jane, and she mumbled against my body, “This is all so…” “Soon,” I finished. She looked up at me. “I was going to say new.”

I hadn’t thought much about Jane being pregnant. I hadn’t thought a lot about marriage or our children—and I shouldn’t be remembering any of this now. We need to crawl through the first round of barbed wire before we can contemplate what lies ahead of us. The cards, this twin switch, and Tony. If we can haul through this together, then maybe that door will open.

“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.”

“You want to keep your balls, don’t hit on Oscar’s little sister.” “It’s okay, Banks.” Jo fits on her other backpack strap and stares right at Beckett. “I don’t speak douchebag so I didn’t hear a thing.”

Beckett watches her ass as she goes. “Don’t,” I warn. “I wouldn’t hurt her.” “I never said you would.”

“Oscar and Quinn are going to kill you if you even look at her sideways.” “Yeah, well…” He exhales a deeper breath and steps away from the bathroom. “We’re preparing for a wedding, might as well have a funeral too.”

“You know,” I add unhelpfully. “I know,” he confirms. “Good.” God, he’s hot. His whole unfaltering demeanor. His whole being. He nods back, tension brewing. Thatcher studies me a beat longer. He has that look again. Like he’s staring directly into the brightest, hottest sun. “I want to ask you something that might be hard for you to answer.” He eyes the entryway, then me. “Later tonight?”

“Why are you afraid to love me?” I shake my head on impulse, and a cold pain stabs my lungs. “I don’t…I’m…” I lean to the right. “Watch out—Jane.” Thatcher lifts my hand higher. I nearly pressed my palm to the iron stovetop.

“Usually…I can articulate what I’m thinking, but what I’m feeling—what I feel for you is so inexplicably complex and I feel like nothing is coming out quite right. Just that alone…scares me in the best and worst way.” I wince at myself. “And that was a terrible non-answer.”

“You’re three inches from your brother’s girl and that’s not bizarre to you?” “I had to grab her before she touched the burner. She didn’t realize I turned it on.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s it.” I shoot O’Malley a look. “Why? What’d you think Banks was doing?” I’m still a client, and he treats me with more respect than he does Thatcher. Apologies fill his eyes. “Sorry. My mistake, Jane. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You two should…” He makes a motion with his hands for us to separate. Thatcher backs up and adds more cold space between our bodies. I try not to shiver. “We’re not that close,” I tell Moffy. He makes a face like I’m no longer residing on Earth. Possibly Thatcher is a magnet and I’m pulled in no matter the occasion, and I’ve really lost all sense of reality. And measurements. Spatial measurements.

three inches from him to me doesn’t feel close enough. God, even zero inches is far too little. I desire him closer, deep in the epicenter of my soul, and it’s absolutely… Petrifying. “Janie,” Maximoff says. “You look flushed.” Oh no. I’m wide-eyed on my boyfriend. “She’s okay,” Thatcher assures my best friend. “We have this handled.”

“Have fun with your boyfriend.” I smile brighter. “I will. You have fun with your fiancé.” He grimaces, crinkling his nose. “I won’t.” I laugh. Maximoff looks lovesick and Farrow isn’t even in the kitchen.

you don’t want to do this today.” “What if I do?” Just yell at me, goddammit. He shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” I nod, ready for it. Akara takes a breath and sizes me up. “Normally, I’d love this twin swap. Pulling one over on Epsilon—classic.” His eyes land on mine in a glare. “But I honestly hate this whole thing because I could have had a week without you. Joke is on me, per fucking usual.”

“What do you want me to do?” “Go back in time,” Akara says coldly. “The moment you started fucking your client, you come to me and tell me you crossed that line. That’s what I want, but we’re too late for that.” I grimace. “I didn’t want to put that on you—” “I’m your fucking lead.” He steps away from the window in hot angered movements. “You, out of everyone, should understand what that means, but instead of giving me the same respect I would’ve given you, you decided to shackle me and dump me on the bottom of an ocean. We could have come up with a solution together because that’s what friends do. But you and me, we’re not friends, are we?”

“Do you realize that I spent more than three years as a bodyguard to a Cobalt? Two of those were on Connor’s detail. And you know what I learned from that time?” My stomach twists, a sickening feeling surging all at once. He looks up with that same pity. “There’s always a way out. You don’t have to fall on a sword because it’s sitting in front of you, waiting. You put together the team that’s going to find the right exit. You sidelined me. That’s on you.”

Akara just cock-blocked my mind. When he leaves and Jane enters, I wrestle with two conflicting sides. I want to fuck my girlfriend, to please Jane how she needs and deserves to be pleased, but it doesn’t feel right to be happy or satiated after everything I’ve done and everything he said.

I’ve never been with a woman who loves sex like I do. With an animalistic ferocity. Who needs carnal touch like water, quenching a desperate thirst. Jane is my match, my mate, and I swear to all that’s holy, I’d give her my breath, my body—but

“You ready to go for hours and be spent in my arms?” She almost moans. “Yes.” Her hands clutch my ass, her hips bowed towards me. “But that’s not so different from most nights.” Curiosity sparkles her blue eyes. She’s flat-out beautiful.

“You can’t touch my ass, my cock—I’m not getting off, only you are.” Jane frowns. “I don’t like this.” She searches my hardened gaze. “What’s going on, Thatcher?” I tell her everything about my conversation with Akara and finish with, “I’ve disrespected him enough, and having sex is another bullet in a gun I’m firing.”

Jane melts. “Thatcher.” It’s a wanting, needing, pleading Thatcher, but she adds fast, “If you plan to punish yourself, then you better include me. We’re in this together. So if you can’t come, then I can’t either.” My jaw tenses. That will kill me.

“I deserve hell.” “You deserve to be happy,” Jane combats with so much conviction, and I hear my grandma’s soulful voice—be happy.

my trek only just began when I chose something happy in my life, for once. When I chose Jane.

“I don’t need you,” Jane suddenly whispers. Something sharp impales my chest. “Say again?” “I don’t need you.” In the candlelight, I can see her eyes reddening. “I can get myself off.” I go rigid. “I don’t doubt that, but would you rather have your fingers or my cock, honey?” She intakes a staggered breath. “My fingers.”

“You’d rather have yourself than have me?” I’m confused as all hell. Jane blinks rapidly, shaking cobwebs out of her head. “Your cock is just an appendage. It’s a fact.” She’s trying to isolate feelings from sex.

“My cock is attached to my body, and trust me when I tell you that every time I’m inside your pussy, it’s never some vapid, emotionless thing.”

“My cock is yours, but I’m not a sex toy. I’m better because I love you, and I will fuck you with nothing less than love, Jane.”

“I don’t need your love.” It sucker-punches me. “I want it,” she clarifies quickly. “But like in this instance, I don’t need it. I can survive on my own.” She looks pained, and she holds my hand that encases her cheek. Like she doesn’t want me to let go, but her palm still rests on my abs, a millisecond from shoving me back.

whisper against her ear, “What if I don’t want to survive without you?” An aching noise expels from her lips, and I release my hold of her cheek and fist the back of my shirt, pulling the fabric over my head. Bare-chested, I undo the buckle of my belt.