Sins Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Titles by Nadia Lee

  About Nadia Lee

  Copyright

  Sins

  Nadia Lee

  Other Titles by Nadia Lee

  The Billionaire’s Claim Duet

  Book 1: Obsession

  Book 2: Redemption

  ——

  Sweet Darlings Inc. Series

  Book 1: That Man Next Door

  Book 2: That Sexy Stranger

  Book 3: That Wild Player

  ——

  Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Series

  Book 1: A Hollywood Deal

  Book 2: A Hollywood Bride

  Book 3: An Improper Deal

  Book 4: An Improper Bride

  Book 5: An Improper Ever After

  Book 6: An Unlikely Deal

  Book 7: An Unlikely Bride

  Book 8: A Final Deal

  ——

  The Pryce Family Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Counterfeit Girlfriend

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Holiday Obsession

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Secret Wife

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Fiancée

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Forbidden Desire

  Book 6: The Billionaire’s Holiday Bride

  ——

  Seduced by the Billionaire Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Revenge

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Pursuit

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Baby

  Book 3.5: The Billionaire’s Crush

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Scandal

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Secret

  ——

  If you want to receive notices about my latest books, please join my VIP List at www.nadialee.net/vip!

  To Chris.

  Part One

  O love, as long as love you can,

  O love, as long as love you may,

  The time will come, the time will come

  When you will stand at the grave and mourn!

  –From O lieb, so lang du lieben kannst by Ferdinand Freiligrath (S.H. transl.)

  Chapter One

  –nine years ago

  Anthony

  When I was in Europe, going to boarding school in Valencia, half the people attending the small Catholic church nearby didn’t dress with any particular care to go to confession. Nor did they wonder if their God would absolve them. In the face of true penance, they were certain He would.

  But my mother, the person I’m seeking forgiveness from, is harder to appease.

  So here I am, back in Louisiana, in a jacket, dress shirt and slacks. Except everything I put on to make a good impression on my mother—whom I haven’t seen or spoken with in nearly a decade—turns out to be a terrible idea. The second I step out of the blue Mercedes Father sent to fetch me from the airport, I begin to feel like chocolate left out in the sun. I’d forgotten how vicious the heat and humidity can be in Tempérane, but then, I haven’t been back to my hometown for the last nine years, not since I was exiled.

  The huge two-story mansion sprawls before me. The white summer sun reflects off smooth, pale marble and stained-glass windows, making the structure shimmer and glow like a mirage. It was an old plantation house until my grandmother decided she hated it. So my grandfather had it torn down and rebuilt, despite the neighbors’ feeble protests. It’s hard to complain with much feeling when my family provides jobs to over thirty percent of the population around here.

  The happiest and the darkest times of my life were spent here—in this house. The weight of all that was lost bears down on me.

  Come on. Time to see if you can get some of it back.

  Resolute, I mount the steps to the main entrance. Jonas is standing by the door. Despite the humidity and heat, the family butler manages to look fresh, as though he’s just stepped out of the shower and put on a newly starched suit.

  He isn’t making a move to throw me out. That’s another good sign. Father apparently hasn’t changed his mind about my being here since I left the airport.

  “Welcome back, Master Tony.” Jonas’s voice is as smooth and even as always.

  “It’s good to be back. Is my mother home?” It’s the question I’ve been avoiding since I left New Jersey. My palms grow slick with sweat as the surging dread of receiving another cold rejection almost overwhelms the tiny hope of seeing her smile again. What if she’s still angry? What if she still can’t forgive me after all this time?

  Mother didn’t object to Father wanting me home, I remind myself. If she had, I wouldn’t be here. To my father, Mother’s emotional well-being trumps all.

  “No, sir,” Jonas answers.

  “Oh. Do you know when she’s coming back?”

  His pale blue eyes soften a bit. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Did she take a suitcase?” A small pang reverberates in my chest as I wait for his response.

  “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

  The tension in my gut loosens. Maybe she isn’t trying to avoid me. Maybe Father wasn’t lying about her being too sick to travel to Princeton to attend my graduation.

  Maybe—just maybe—her hatred has lessened, like an iceberg slowly thawing in more temperate waters.

  “It’s hot, sir. Shall I take your jacket?”

  I hand it over.

  “I’ll have your bags brought to your old room.”

  I nod my thanks and proceed into my childhood home, turning up my sleeves. The steps across the portico and in to the foyer quickly take on a significance that becomes almost reverential.


  Banished since I was twelve, I’ve only been allowed to return because I finished my education…and because my father thought it prudent to have me back. The local Chamber of Commerce is giving him an award—Entrepreneur of the Year—and a local TV station is doing a feature on him. Apparently it would look bad if I wasn’t around, even if I’m not in the program.

  “You’re a son any man would be proud to have,” he said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t any man.

  And I wish with everything I have that my father were any man and my mother any woman. Then everything I’ve done to make them proud might mean something. I graduated, top three in my class, from the fancy European boarding schools, the sort of places you can’t go unless your parents have the right connections and money to burn. Then summa cum laude from Princeton with a degree in economics. I’m popular among my peers and can play a mean piano, along with soccer and polo. The only thing I can’t do is draw, but then, I never devoted much time to art.

  None of your accomplishments will be enough to make Mother forgive you.

  I steel my spine. I know—even understand—that I deserve every bit of her hate. But I also crave her forgiveness. It’s the only thing that can lighten the impossible weight on my heart and soul. I can’t continue living without the ability to feel true joy or satisfaction. Dating, while superficially fun, leaves me cold. Even the endless job offers—the kind my friends would exclaim over—have left me hollow and apathetic.

  I walk into the air-conditioned interior of the mansion. The foyer is huge, with a vaulted ceiling and fans creating cooling breezes. The place is exactly as I remember…except for some puzzling vases with fresh tiger lilies sitting in wall nooks. They aren’t Mother’s favorite.

  “Who’s visiting?” I ask Jonas. Mother always fills vases with flowers her guests will enjoy. I’m certain the lilies aren’t for me.

  “No one, sir.” He notes the direction of my gaze. “Those are Miss Ivy’s doing.”

  “Ivy…?”

  “Ivy Smith. Your cousin.”

  The name is familiar. Harry mentioned her in the hundreds of texts he dashed off to me between classes and chasing girls.

  She’s Uncle Perry’s adopted daughter. When he and his wife died in a car crash about a year after my banishment to Europe, Mother took her in. Unlike me, she wasn’t shipped off to Europe. Instead, she was raised with my brothers, Edgar and Harry, here in Tempérane. From what Harry wrote, it’s obvious Mother treats Ivy like her own flesh and blood…the daughter she so desperately wanted and lost.

  “She’s home. So is Master Harry,” Jonas adds diplomatically. “I believe he is in the sitting room in the east wing.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a nod, dismissing him. Running the family business keeps Father and Edgar ridiculously busy, but not Harry.

  I head toward the east wing, walking along the long corridor. Since Mother loves fresh flowers, every vase has tiger lilies. Not a pink rose in sight. I let myself breathe a bit. The hall hasn’t changed a bit—freshly waxed hardwood floor and ornately framed paintings. Edgar, Harry and I used to run like little demons along here even though Mother told us to behave, saying we set a bad example for Katherine.

  “Good girls are overrated,” I told Mother with a cheeky grin.

  “Is that so?” She pinched my cheek gently, laughter in her bright gaze.

  “A girl’s gotta know what she wants and go for it. Daddy said so.”

  “I want to ride a sleigh!” Katherine yelled, clapping and hopping. She looked like a princess in a lavender dress made with silk and lace.

  “Then ride a sleigh you will!” Edgar declared. He, Harry and I pulled the pink wagon Katherine dubbed a “sleigh” up and down the hall. Mother put her hand against her mouth to hide a wide grin, then asked Jonas to prepare a pitcher of iced tea.

  When we were too tired to pull the wagon anymore, we clamored for the cold drink. Mother pressed a kiss on my slightly sweaty forehead. “You’re a good brother, Tony. Mama’s so proud of you.”

  When I saw her smile, my world couldn’t have been brighter or more radiant. My chest puffed out, my heart ready to burst with joy.

  Sweet, beautiful memories. I turn them over in my mind from time to time, knowing the warmth and happiness I felt isn’t to be mine again. Not yet. I can only long for them like a child who didn’t get an invitation to a popular classmate’s birthday party. Only Mother’s forgiveness can bring me back into the fold of my family—what it used to be like.

  The sound of a piano coming from the sitting room breaks my reverie. There didn’t used to be a piano in there, but…

  I quietly open the white double doors. Wide-paned windows look out into the immaculate garden where I used to play tag with my brothers and sister. Next to them, facing a mirror, a white baby grand takes up a corner of the room. Both the mirror and the piano are new.

  Two people sit on the extra-long bench, playing Schubert’s Fantasie in F minor. Engrossed in the music, they don’t notice me coming in.

  The sight of Harry brings a smile to my lips. My brothers and I got together in Europe when they were on vacation. Edgar even took an overseas semester while at Harvard to study in Paris, and made clandestine efforts to see me as often as he could during those months. During those years, I never thought I’d see Harry in this house again.

  He has the dark hair all three of us have, but with a frame slightly smaller than mine or Edgar’s, which younger brother Harry tries to hide by wearing shirts that are a size too large. Even if I were blind, I’d know it was him because he can only half-ass the music. Too lazy to practice.

  And his partner… The strawberry blonde to his right is pretty. Her gray eyes are large and brimming with intelligence, her nose cute and pert. She looks like a sweet girl next door, except for her mouth. Soft, lush and inviting, it’s the kind of mouth that belongs to temptresses and sirens.

  Her azure dress is much like her—modest and sexy at the same time. It fits snugly around her breasts and tight waist, then cascades around her hips and legs in a loose skirt. I have a feeling she also has an amazing ass, one that would fit perfectly in my hands.

  A sudden urge to kick my younger brother off the bench and carry her away seizes me. What an impression that would make.

  The girl is playing an incredible primo that belongs someplace like Carnegie Hall. Unfortunately, Harry’s secondo is holding her back, since he’s stumbling every other measure.

  He isn’t worthy of being her partner.

  I wince with exasperation when he hits a flat note. Can’t he read the music?

  “Harry, I thought you said you practiced your butt off,” the blonde says, her voice bristling with annoyance.

  Normally, I wouldn’t like someone talking to Harry that way, but in this case, he deserves it. I also like the sisterly undertone to her irritation. She’s definitely not his girlfriend, and the realization makes the room seem a little brighter.

  Harry throws his hands up in the air. “What can I say? I haven’t studied at Curtis for three years like a certain someone.” His voice is entirely too loud, his gestures too exaggerated. He’s lying through his teeth.

  And the girl sees through him, much to my satisfaction.

  She snorts. “Well, if you practiced, maybe they’d let you in. Let’s try again.”

  I shake my head. It’s a lost cause. Harry will only butcher one of most hauntingly beautiful piano pieces ever composed.

  At the same time, she can’t play it solo. Fantasie needs a secondo to be complete, and Harry’s not the man for that. So I tap his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

  He swivels around and stares, his mouth open. “Whoa! Holy shit! Dad said you were coming this week, but…!”

  He jumps off the bench and hugs me. I hug him back.

  “Shoulda texted me!” he says. “I would’ve gone to the airport to pick you up.”

  “It’s all right. Father sent a car.”

  He looks at the piano, then back at me. “You’re
going to show off, aren’t you?”

  “Like she said, if you practiced…” I stretch my fingers as I approach the piano. “Now watch and learn.”

  Rolling his eyes, he gestures at the now-empty spot on the bench. I take his place.

  Her curious gaze bores into my cheek, but before she can ask any questions, I start. I don’t want her to have any weird preconceptions about me because of who I am, or what people whisper about me behind my family’s back. Although I know from Edgar and Harry that my parents have done a lot to ensure the general public doesn’t know the real reason I was banished, people aren’t stupid. They can put two and two together. They just don’t say anything openly because of the power and influence we have in the area.

  The girl smells subtly of tiger lilies, but warmer and more alluring. Even though I’m the one who has to start the piece, she’s the one who sets the pace, and I let her, looking at her long, elegant fingers.

  She’s a superb pianist. We’re in perfect sync as we play. She doesn’t miss a beat or a note, and neither do I. I can feel her soft breathing, the heat of her skin. My breathing alters to match hers, and my body shifts a tad closer to her, as though it can’t bear to be away from her warmth. It feels like even my heart is beating to the pace she sets…as though we’re one through the music.

  I almost falter at the thought, the back of my neck prickling.

  She stops when the first movement is finished. Harry claps. “You haven’t lost your touch, Tony.”

  “And you haven’t improved.” My riposte is almost perfunctory, mainly because I’m still digesting the earlier sensation of being keenly linked to her. During that time, the weight in my heart grew lighter. Made me feel like I could breathe again.

  He spreads his arms. “What can I say? I don’t have the ambition or drive.”

  True enough. Harry never cared much for the piano. He only took lessons to please Mother. He whined endlessly in texts, which made me wistful for the luxury of not being the best at everything I do. I have to be so good Mother will have no choice but to forgive me.

  The girl’s gray eyes are focused on me, her cheeks rosy now. I can’t tell if that’s from the performance or something else, but I want to stroke them with my fingers and find out if she’s as affected as I am. She purses her mouth, and I note a tiny mole below the exact center point of her bottom lip. It seems to beg me to flick my tongue across it while I kiss her. Yup. A temptress’s mouth. A hint of cherry and caramel tickles my nose as she breathes out softly, and the warmth from her bare arm against mine leaves a shivery tingle.