Tempting (Red Lips & White Lies Book 1)
Chapter 25

In a world full of twat waffles, be French toast.

—Kenzie’s Secret Thoughts

I look around my living room and wonder if it’s too much.

A fire burns in the gas fireplace, and white pillar candles flicker around the mantle while I sing along to my favorite sexy playlist. And when I catch my reflection in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself.

My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are shining.

This woman is happy, not just content.

She’s living, not just going through the motions, surviving.

There’s a difference, and it’s scary as hell.

But Nixon is worth being scared for. He’s worth jumping in feet first because I know he’ll be there to catch me. If Mom and Jules could do it, so can I.

I set a bowl of food and water in the kitchen for Gordie when I hear my door open and hope like crazy it’s Nixon and not Callen or Maddox. I peek my head out, suddenly worried, but my fears vanish as soon as I see him.

Nixon Sinclair makes gray sweat pants look absolutely pornographic, and I’m here for it. “Hey, baby.”

Yeah. I’m here for that voice and those words too. Not just here for them, hungry for them. For him. I walk silently across the room and run my hands under his shirt and up his rib cage. “Hi.”

He takes my face in his hands, and the way he looks at me has me melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. It’s reverent, and my heart threatens to beat right out of my chest.

“You okay, Nix?” I flatten my palms and press my entire body against his.

His thumb caresses my cheek, and he shakes his head. “I love you, Mackenzie Hayes. I’m not sure when it happened. I don’t know if it was last week or last month, or if it was the first time you walked into my house when we were kids. But it happened, and it’s real. Fuck. It’s the most real thing in my life. You. You’re it for me. You’re everything. I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear it⁠—”

I silence him with a finger pressed gently against his lips, completely overcome with emotion. “I have no idea what I did to deserve you, Nixon. But somehow, you’re still here, standing in front of me. You never rushed me. Never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. You’ve given me the space I needed to come to it all on my own, and I’m there, Nix.”

I look up at him.

Up at his handsome face and kind eyes.

That deliciously filthy mouth I love.

That I love.

I love him, and my God, it’s everything.

“It might have taken me a little longer to get here, Nix. But I never do anything fast. I’m an overthinker. I need to look at something from every possible angle. I need to study it before I can jump in. And even then, I don’t always jump. But with you . . .” I ghost my lips over his and dig my fingers into his hair. “With you, I want to jump. You’re going to have to be patient with me though. I’m still going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. But loving you, Nix . . . loving you is worth the fear.”

He lifts me off my feet and carries me across the room, then drops down into my oversized chair. His big jersey barely covers my white-ruffle, panty-covered ass, and my matching white knee socks slide down under my knees, but the look in his heavy eyes says it all. “Fucking beautiful, baby. You should wear my name every day.”

“Pretty sure they’d frown on that in the operating room, Sinclair.” He anchors his hand in my hair at the nape of my neck possessively, and I swear I could stay just like this forever.

Nixon’s eyes trace over my face like a warm caress, healing all the rough and tattered edges of my soul. “I’m going to need you to jump again, Mac. Take my hand and jump with me.”

“Nixon . . .” I practically purr as he massages my neck. “I can try,” I promise him quietly, scared to pop this bubble and shatter this moment we’re lost in.

“Marry me, Mackenzie,” he breathes against my lips so softly I’m not sure I heard him right.

“Nix—”

“Don’t say no, Mac. Say not yet if you need to. I’ll wait forever for you. But it’s you and me, Mac, and I need you to know that. I don’t care if you marry me today, tomorrow, or next year. But you’re going to marry me because you’re mine and I’m yours. I will never be anything but yours.” He presses his lips against mine, swallowing my breath and stealing my soul.

We stay like that, just kissing, for what feels like hours.

But there’s no just about kissing Nixon. It’s so much more.

He’s so much more.

“I love you,” I whisper into the charged air enveloping us. “Only you. Only ever you.”

His hand coasts down my back and under his jersey, stopping on the ruffled panties with a grin. “Did you buy these for me, Mac?”

His finger slips under the edge, and his eyes morph into two pools of melted steel.

Smoldering and sexy and dangerous to my heart.

“I did,” I tell him as I raise up and tug his shirt over his head, then shove his sweats down enough to see my man is going commando. “Did you not wear anything for me?”

That sexy grin grows as he nods.

“Words, Sinclair,” I echo back to him, giving him the words he loves to give me. I kiss his lips. His cheek. The hollow of his throat. “I need to hear your words.”

Nixon slides my panties aside, and I guide him to my entrance.

“You want my words, baby?” he growls hot and powerfully, and my pussy clenches in response, desperate and needy and dying for him.

I slide down, taking him inside my body, and we both moan together at the utter perfection of the moment. At the feel. At us.

Nixon’s hands go to my hips, and he leans back in my chair, then watches me as I rock slowly against him.

“How’s this? Yeah, I went commando for you.” He shifts and hits that spot that makes me see stars instantly.

“I bought this jersey because I wanted to see you in my name.” His grip tightens on my hips, and I moan. “I wanted everyone to see my name on you, Mac. Everyone. Because I’m a greedy, selfish bastard who doesn’t share and doesn’t want any other poor fuck to think he even stands a chance.”

“Nix . . .” I leverage my palms on his shoulders and circle my hips, loving the friction on my clit as much as the way he hits my G-spot with every snap of his powerful hips against mine. “Everything I’ve done for months has been for you. You. You’re all I think about. All I want to think about. It’s you, baby. Just you.”

“Oh God.” It’s all too much.

His words.

His actions.

His love.

He leaves no room for doubt.

“Promise me, Nix,” I pant and slowly squeeze him inside my body, loving the look of near devastation on his handsome face. “Promise you’ll catch me when I fall.”

“I’m going to be carrying you the whole way, Mac.” His eyes glaze over, and I’m lost.

I’m his.

I always will be.

Nixon leans back so he can watch me the way he likes to and runs his deliciously rough hands up my body until he cups my breast and pinches my nipples, knowing exactly what he needs to do to get me there.

I come on a beautiful moan, my pussy throbbing around Nixon as he follows me over the cliff, and my name leaves his lips like a hallowed prayer only he’ll ever say.

I drop my forehead to his and breathe in his breath. Needing to be closer.

“Yes,” I whisper softly against his lips.

He lifts his head and looks at me with a new awe in his eyes. “Yes?”

“Really?” My normally crazy-confident man says, sounding a little shocked.

“Yeah, Nix. Really. I think it was always supposed to be us. It just needed to be our time. And we might have had a little push from my mom, but I don’t want to cry right now, so I’ll tell you about that later, okay?” My words are soft and sacred.

“It will only ever be us, baby.”

“I love you, Nixon Sinclair,” I tell him as I lay my head against his chest.

“I can’t fucking wait for you to be my wife, Mac.” He runs his hand over my hair, and I practically purr with contentment. “You gonna be Dr. Sinclair, baby?”

“Nope. I worked my ass off to be Dr. Hayes, Nix. I’m not giving that up. But I’ll consider Dr. Hayes-Sinclair.” I kiss above his heart, loving the sound of that.

“As long as you call yourself mine, you can call yourself whatever else you want, Mac. But you only wear my name from now on.” His hand runs over my ruffles again. “And maybe these panties.”

“Guess it’s a good thing there’s so many Sinclair jerseys to choose from,” I tease, and he spanks my ass.

“My name. My number, baby. Unless we’re at a football game. Then I might make an exception, but you better be wearing a big fat diamond ring by then.” Fuck, I love possessive Nix.

“If I say no, will you spank me again?” I tease, ready for this man again.

“Where do you want to be spanked?” he asks, his voice deepening.

“How about we go to bed, and I’ll tell you.”

He rises with me in his arms and licks into my mouth.

Fuck, I love this man.

“Nix,” I call into the bathroom where I left him in the shower. One of us has to get to work. “Your phone is ringing.”

Where the heck is my other shoe?

I hate rushing around. I like to be early for things. For everything, really. But waking up in Nixon’s arms makes it incredibly hard to want to get out of bed and get the day started. I’m okay with starting things, but they mainly involve the bed . . . and the shower.

Note to self—showering together does not save time.

That’s a myth.

A fun myth to test out . . . one that involves multiple orgasms because my man believes in going big or going home. But a myth, nonetheless.

I squat down to see if maybe Gordie took my seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollar, purple tweed Manolo Blahnik and decided to make it his personal bitch of a chew toy under the bed. Wouldn’t be the first shoe I’d lost to him. Probably won’t be the last.

Shit.

I knock Nixon’s phone off the bed when I pull the blanket off the floor.

“Nix . . . It looks like Hunter left you a text.” I recognize his agent’s name. He’s Easton’s agent too. Only as I set the phone on the nightstand in order to continue my hunt for my missing shoe, I see the text preview on Nix’s phone’s lock screen.

Hunter

I need to know today if you’re taking the trade. You asked for this. Now you need to deal with it. Take the trade, man. It’s a lot of money.

My world tilts on its axis, and I slide my ass down to the floor as Gordie trots in with my shoe in his mouth and drops it in my lap.

Nixon walks in and looks from Gordie to me, then curses. “I’m sorry, baby. Did he eat another shoe?”

I look down at the expensive heel that’s strangely unharmed and silently shake my head.

Nixon squats in front of me, concerned. “You okay, Mac? You’re white as a ghost.”

“I guess it only took a day.” I run my hand along his cheek, then shove him back on his ass and stand up. I think about throwing my shoe at him but don’t want to risk accidentally hitting Gordie.

“What the hell, Mac?” He doesn’t move, just sits there, stunned.

Yeah, me too, I want to yell.

“I thought the universe brought us together. Serendipity, right? I mean, how many people replace the love of their life in middle school at their best friends’ house? But fate wasn’t bringing us together. Nope. It was tempting me to take a chance so it could smack me back down and remind me what a cruel bitch it is.” I level Nixon with an icy glare as he stands and reaches for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I warn him.

“What the hell are you talking about, Mac? I’m not following here. Help me out.”

My anger grows like a wildfire catching on the Santa Ana winds, and I throw his phone at his face. Nixon’s reaction time is better than Leo’s, and he catches it before it can crash into his nose.

“When were you going to tell me about the trade, Nixon?” I don’t realize I’m yelling until it’s too late, but I’m so worked up, there’s no stopping it now. “You promised you’d catch me. You asked me to marry you.”

I start pacing with one shoe on my foot and the other in my hand, my mind racing. Anger and heartbreak and disappointment all warring with each other.

“Oh my God. I said yes, and you still didn’t think you needed to tell me you’re leaving.” My raised voice scares Gordie enough that he runs under the bed. “What is wrong with you?” I look around the room, searching for an answer I’m not going to get. “What the hell is wrong with me? How . . . how could you do this? I trusted you.”

This time I do chuck my heel, but I aim for his foot.

“You fucking dick. I love you so much I don’t want to hurt you, even though I want to kill you. Look at me.”

“Baby . . .” he takes a step forward, and I move away.

“Don’t you fucking baby me.” I wipe my eyes, refusing to let any tears fall.

“Mackenzie. Shut up and listen to me.”

My back snaps straight, and I think rage might be a visible thing because I’m seeing it in front of my eyes. If I could reach my shoe, I’d throw it harder this time and aim for a softer spot. Like his face.

“I asked about a possible trade before you even came home from DC.” He takes a step forward and waits to see how I’m going to react. I am wearing another shoe, after all.

“I asked about it. I never said I’d take one. I wanted to know if it was possible. I wanted to know if putting a little space between myself and the Sinclair name in this town . . . the legacy that’s expected. That needs to be lived up to. I thought some space could be a good thing. If it would help me figure out my own shit.” He takes another step forward and reaches out his arms for me, but I don’t move.

“I asked before you, Mac. And when Hunter flew in the other day to discuss options, I knew there was no option. I was staying here because you are my fucking home. If you’re here, I’m here. When I told Hunter I wasn’t interested, he refused to take my answer. He said to think about it and give him my answer today.”

My shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, and when he takes the final step toward me, I don’t back up. I don’t touch him or let him touch me, but I don’t move away. Not exactly relieved, but at least with a better understanding of where he’s coming from.

“Once you came back into my life, I knew I couldn’t take it, Mac.”

I shake my head and shove him away. “How could you ask me to marry you and not tell me, Nixon? I’m not a little girl waiting to be told what to do. I might like bossy in the bedroom, but everywhere else, I’m strong enough to handle myself.”

“You won’t even tell Dr. Dick to back the fuck off or report him to HR, Mac.”

My head snaps back like I’ve been physically slapped.

“Fuck you, Nix,” I yell at him as my heart breaks inside my chest.

“You don’t like confrontation,” he backpedals. “And let’s not forget that neither of us have been in a relationship before. You’re not the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think it mattered since I turned it down.”

I shake my head and move around him toward the door and pick up my discarded shoe. “An apology should never contain the word but, Nixon.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, and I stop in my tracks and look over my shoulder.

“I have to go to work,” I snap at him, then slide on my shoe and walk into the other room, looking for my bag and keys.

“This isn’t over, Mac,” he insists, and he’s not wrong. “We’re not over.”

It takes every ounce of strength I have to turn slowly to face him and keep my calm while I do it. “No. It’s not over. But I have to go to work, and you have a flight to catch in a few hours.”

“I’m sorry, Mac.” He moves in behind me and wraps his arms around me. “I love you.”

I close my eyes, completely overwhelmed. “I love you too, but I’m still furious with you. We can’t keep things like this from each other if this is ever going to work.”

He rests his chin on my shoulder, refusing to let go. “Does this mean you’re not leaving me?”

“It means I’m pissed as hell. And I’m not sure how long it’s going to take to get over it. But I have abandonment issues, Nix. I’ll never just walk away. Now let me go, so I can be fucking pissed all day at work and you can get on the damn plane.”

“I’m sorry, Mac. No buts. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.” I turn to look at him, still so fucking mad. “Have a safe flight and a good two games.”

He moves in to kiss me, and I back out of his hold. “I’ve got to go.”

“I love you, Mac,”

“I know,” is all I’m able to say before I leave.

Damn it.

Well damn, Kroydon Hills. I’ve never wanted to be the meat in a triple decker sandwich before, but it’s official. You can call me bacon and slap me between three slices of bread, because seeing all three Sinclair brothers together on the ice last night has this reporter rethinking her stance on the more the merrier. Because those three men look like they could make a girl very merry.

If the video currently circulating on social media is to be believed, which I happen to think it is, the oldest of the Sinclairs’ very own puck pack could be off the market.

It’s a shame, if you ask me. I’m not sure a single woman could ever turn that man down again after practically impregnating the entire female population with one single kiss.

Sorry, ladies. He’s taken. But he does have two brothers.

#KroydonKronicles #PuckPack

#TripleDeckerSinclairSandwich