About SIN WITH ME
The past she can’t remember. The secret he hides. And a love that’s worth risking it all.
After a devastating car crash stole both her family and her memory, Grace Stanton was left with no past and an uncertain future. Now Grace likes to keep things simple. No sleepovers, never date a guy more than a month, and never, ever fall in love. Which is exactly why Grace avoids Bad Habit’s lead guitarist, Brody Scott, at all costs. The green-eyed, sexy-as-hell musician has “trouble” tattooed all over him, and Grace isn’t taking any chances with her heart.
Brody knows he doesn’t deserve an amazing woman like Grace—her creamy skin, red hair, or that smart mouth that fuels his every fantasy—but there’s something between them that’s more than chemistry. Something real. He’ll just have to convince Grace that he’s worth the risk—and hide the secret that haunts his worst dreams. But when fate plays a cruel hand, Brody’s darkest sin suddenly threatens his last chance at redemption…and the life of the woman he loves.
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Nico turns his head and breaks into a grin. He says to someone out of my line of sight, “Glad you could make it, slowpoke.”
It’s interesting the way my pulse spikes when I realize he must be speaking to Brody. Interesting and annoying, because I’m not the kind of woman whose pulse is easily spiked. I was once robbed at gunpoint by a crackhead and my reaction was to look at him and calmly say, “I’m happy to give you money for drugs, but what you really need is a hot meal, a hot bath, and a hug.”
He took the money.
“You guys ran out so fast you left tire marks on the driveway.” Brody rounds the row of chairs I’m sitting in, trades a back-slapping hug with Nico and a nod to the other guys, and then asks Kat, “How’s Chloe?”
I’m too busy staring at him to hear the answer.
There’s just something about him that’s so . . . cool. I don’t know how else to describe it. He’s very good-looking, but in an approachable, boy-next-door sort of way. Unlike Nico, whose body looks carved “by Michelangelo from a perfect piece of granite, or A.J., who’s the size of The Hulk, Brody is slim and graceful like a runway model. His shoulders are lightly framed in muscle, his waist is narrow, his legs are long and lean. He has a lope like a wolf’s, a Cheshire Cat grin, and a husky laugh that puts you in mind of the bedroom. The man is just plain sexy.
He also dresses like a Johnny Depp GQ ad, which sets my lady parts aquiver. A well-dressed man simply slays me.
Today he’s wearing black Doc Martens and black designer jeans paired with a pale gray dress shirt—cuffs rolled up his strong forearms—topped with a fitted black silk vest. A leather cuff adorns one wrist. Around his neck on a leather cord is a small silver medallion. He’s got a silver ring on his right thumb, a silver stud in his left ear, and a wicked gleam in his dark green eyes—
I break eye contact with him and pretend to inspect the hideous still life of flowers on the opposite wall.
In a low voice, Brody says, “Grace.”
That’s it, just my name, but hell if it doesn’t raise all the little hairs on the back of my neck and make my nipples hard.
“Hello.” I continue to stare at the painting. Across from me, Chris and Ethan smirk around mouthfuls of burger and share a glance.
Apparently I didn’t sound quite as disinterested as I was aiming for.