Page 30 of Born to Sin

She scooted over. The movie was still paused, and he was looking at her, then touching her cheek. Lightly, the way he’d done most things, brushing her hair back from her face and saying, “You have the prettiest skin.”

He smelled faintly of sandalwood and that clean-man sweat, the same way he had all evening, and she thought,I should have worn perfume, even though I’d have felt mighty stupid wearing it to jump on a trampoline,and tried to breathe. It wasn’t easy, not with her heart hammering like this. The tips of his fingers were a little rough, and she could see the shadow of beard even in the lamplight, up this close, not to mention the hair on his strong thighs and the bulge of bicep under his T-shirt.

When he touched his mouth to hers, she felt the sharp shock of the contact on her lips, like all her nerve endings were lighting up, and somehow, that shock was headed straight down her body. He was kissing her again, her mouth was opening under his, his hand was wrapping around her head, his other hand was on her shoulder, edging under the neckline of her T-shirt, those roughened fingers brushing over her skin there, too, and—

“Dad.”It was Janey’s voice, just a croak, and Quinn jumped.

Beckett dropped his hands and turned his head. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I needed a glass of water,” she said. “Why are you kissing Quinn? You said she was afriend.You said it was having fun with your friend!I thought you loved Mum!”

“I do,” he said. “I did. I—”

Quinn stood up. “I’ll go,” she said.

Janey was crying now, her face flushed by fever, and Beckett had his arms around her. “Sorry,” he said, sounding distracted. “I’ll ring you later.”

“You don’t evencare,”Janey was sobbing. “I miss Mum somuch,and you promised her you’d always love her. And you don’t evencareabout her any more!”

Time to go.

* * *

This hadn’t beenthe plan.

The door shut behind Quinn. He hadn’t even walked her to it, because he’d been holding Janey, pulling her to sit beside him, feeling the guilt lance straight through his body the same way the lust had when he’d been touching that salted-caramel skin at last. Not to mention kissing her, because she had one sweet mouth, and that intake of breath, the shiver she hadn’t been able to suppress … well, yeah. She didn’t know how to do anything in any way except full-tilt, and he burned to be inside all that energy and passion. Surrounded by Quinn. That was one delicious thought.

Then he was brushing Janey’s sweat-soaked, tear-soaked hair from her face, saying, “It’s OK. Shh. It’s OK,” and the action and the words brought back in a single instant the moment when his life had changed. Not like it was something that had happened. Like it was happening right now, a jolt of time-travel. Sitting on the couch with Janey, trying to tell her the worst news of his life.

It had been after one in the morning. He’d wanted to text Abby all evening, as the drenching subtropical rain came in waves like it was trying to drown the city. The Brisbane River rising, the streets awash. No night to be out.

Abby was visiting her sister at her new place in Hamilton, though, and all she had to do was get on Kingsford Smith Road, then the M7 and the M3, major roads all, and well drained, too. Twenty minutes, and she’d be home. She didn’t like it when he said things like, “Careful driving in this weather,” because, as she pointed out, she didn’t say it tohim,and he was the one doing the long drives.Which was true. Hedidgive in andtext her around eleven, even so, as the rain got worse.

Stay the night if you’re having fun.There, that was neutral. She hadn’t answered, but that was probably because it was Janey’s birthday tomorrow, and there was no way she’d be spending the night. She was having a good time, that was all. A girls’ night, she’d said, and she deserved it. He was in the thick of construction on Brett Hunter’s job, a massive glass tower of condos in Southbank, the trendy neighborhood near the river. This was his biggest project yet, and he needed to do it right, which meant Abby had been carrying almost the entire load with the kids. She deserved a night off.

So he waited. Eleven-thirty. Twelve. Twelve-thirty. And texted twice more, with no answer. When the bell finally rang, he exhaled in relief, got out of bed where he’d been pretending to sleep, and opened the door. His muscles were letting go of the tension he hadn’t realized they were holding, telling him just how worried he’d been, and there was a smile on his face, because he was ready to say, “Forgot your keys?” And maybe, later, saying something about the weather. Something about the hour. Something neutral, that wouldn’t make her think he didn’t respect her decision-making.

It wasn’t Abby. It was two cops. Navy-blue uniforms dripping with wet, vests filled with gear, checkerboard stripe around their baseball-style caps. He was focusing on that, thinking,Hope that gear’s waterproof,and telling himself,They’re looking for somebody. Asking questions.

After one in the morning?

The look on their faces was blank, nearly stony. Professional detachment. And there was ice where his blood should be.

“Are you Beckett Hughes?” the older one asked.

“Yeah.” They could be arresting him, he realized. That was the best hope he had.

“May we come in?” the cop asked, and he opened the door wider, said, “Sure,” and knew.

They weren’t arresting him.

Five minutes or fifty minutes later, he was sitting on the couch, looking at his hands on his knees, unable to feel his own body. One of the cops had gone into the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, which was so incongruous, it almost made him laugh. They’d asked, “Can we ring somebody for you?” and he’d said no.

Abby’s sister, Samantha, who hated him. She’d think it was his fault, and he couldn’t take it, because he’d know she was right.

Her parents.

He couldn’t.