Dirty Sexy Sinner Read online

  She gave him a sassy little smirk. “Yeah, that, too.”

  He slid onto the last cushioned stool at the bar, and she followed him from the other side of the counter. The lighting at this end was more muted, which made it feel more private. At least for now.

  She set a cocktail napkin in front of him. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  He glanced at the selection of premium liquor on the top shelf behind the bar and was surprised that he found the high-end brand he was searching for. “I’ll take the Bushmills 21 neat.”

  She tipped her head inquisitively, bringing his attention once again to the small, sexy diamond stud winking at him from her upper lip. “We don’t get many requests for the Bushmills, considering most of our clientele in this area tend to order the cheap and dirty drinks, but I should have guessed a sophisticated guy like you would go right for the most expensive brand of liquor we’ve got in the place.”

  Standing on the tips of her toes, she reached up to grab the distinctive bottle of alcohol, and his gaze automatically gravitated to the enticing swells of her ass once again. Fuck, she was hot. He lingered longer than he’d intended on what was quickly becoming his favorite view, and when she turned back around, he knew he’d been caught in the act. And he was now looking at that sweet spot at the juncture of her slender thighs—an equally captivating sight that had his body humming with heated awareness.

  There was no denying what he’d been staring at, and without an ounce of remorse, he lifted his eyes back up to hers. Yep, he’d been busted, but the glimpse of amusement he saw dancing in those stunning blue irises and the arousing-as-hell flush on her cheeks told him that she hadn’t been the least bit offended by his perusal of her ass.

  No, she certainly wasn’t shying away from the attraction simmering between them, nor was she playing hard to get like other women he’d dated—female games that bored him or made him suspicious of their motives. He liked flirting with Tara. Liked that there were no contrived pretenses in their interactions, and he in turn could just be himself, as well.

  “If you don’t sell a lot of this particular brand, why carry it?” he asked casually as she poured his drink with a quick, deft hand. From a business perspective, it seemed like a waste of space and money to him.

  “Because every so often, Clay or Mason will indulge in their favorite whiskey, and that would be the Bushmills 21.” She placed the lowball glass filled with the amber liquid on the napkin in front of him. “That’s the only reason it’s on the shelf. Just goes to show that you really are Clay’s twin.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Just in case my looks didn’t convince you?”

  That sweet, addictive laugh escaped her lips once again. “You’re the spitting image of your brother, but I’m pretty sure the two of you couldn’t be more different in most other ways.”

  “Such as?” he wanted to know.

  “Well, for one thing, the only time I’ve ever seen Clay in a suit was when he got married, and you look like you wear one on a daily basis.” Her gaze took in his facial features, then his hair. “I’m guessing you live in the city and have some kind of corporate career, while Clay hates downtown Chicago and is definitely not the kind of guy to work a nine-to-five shift. I’m guessing your general lifestyles are pretty opposite.”

  He didn’t get the impression that she was judging him in any way, and quite honestly, her speculation about him was pretty spot on based on his outer appearance. But Jackson hadn’t grown up in the lap of luxury as she probably assumed, nor had there been any emotional support that might have helped guide him toward the kind of future most parents would want for their kid.

  Far from it. Jackson had been motivated to build a successful life for himself based on his anger and resentment toward the man he’d believed was his father but who had never treated him like a son. He’d grown up feeling worthless and insignificant compared to his younger brother, and not knowing the why of his father’s actions had spawned all sorts of insecurities. Doubting himself, and feeling like he didn’t belong no matter how hard he tried to please his father, had been the most painful.

  Once he’d turned eighteen and left home, Jackson had achieved every single goal he’d set for himself—starting with college and the school loans he’d paid for himself over the years, through an internship at a prestigious architectural firm, to finally being hired on in a full-time position with Schmidt and Kramer and becoming partner, to making a respectable six-figure salary, with impressive quarterly bonuses. He’d invested his money well and had a solid seven figures to his name.

  From anyone on the outside looking in, it appeared that he’d built a fucking fantastic life for himself, and he had. But everything he’d accomplished and obtained had never filled that empty hole inside of him. His marriage certainly hadn’t lived up to his expectations of what he thought would bring him ultimate happiness. He wondered if anything ever would.

  Tara had gone back to prepping the bar while he’d been lost in his thoughts, and he sipped his whiskey as he watched her move with purpose as she stocked glasses, replaced liquor bottles, and organized things to her liking. Other staff members were milling about, some of whom were blatantly staring at him with shock as they glanced his way. Obviously, Amanda, the other bar waitress, had let staff members in on the fact that Clay had a twin, and they wanted to see him for themselves.

  After a short while, Tara came back to his end of the bar to check on him. “You doing okay down here? Would you like another drink?”

  He swirled the last bit of liquor in his glass and shook his head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.” The one drink had been just enough to somewhat relax him, though he was still a bit anxious about meeting his siblings. He didn’t think there was anything, legal anyway, that would quell that particular nervous anticipation thrumming through him.

  Trying to tamp down his restlessness, he glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed since she’d made the phone call to Clay. The place was still empty of customers since it was ten minutes until opening time. Tara didn’t move away. Instead she started pushing bottles of beer into the ice bin on the other side of the counter where he was sitting, and he decided to take advantage of any knowledge she might want to share about the Kincaid brothers.

  “So, what are the three of them like?” he asked before he changed his mind about prying. He wasn’t asking for deep, personal secrets. He just wanted to know a bit about their personalities before he met them to put him more at ease. Yeah, he knew it was an unfair advantage to learn about his siblings before they even knew he existed, but it was three against one in the upcoming introduction, and he needed all the leverage he could get.

  Tara glanced up at him, her eyes filled with emphatic kindness, as if she understood his concern about meeting the men he knew absolutely nothing about. “Well, the three of them are tight, and life for them hasn’t always been easy,” she said as she wiped her damp hands on a white terry towel. “In fact, they’ve gone through a lot of shit together since they were kids, so don’t be too disappointed and don’t take it personally if they’re a bit distrusting when they first meet you.”

  He nodded. “I figured as much.” Despite them sharing a birth mother, Jackson was still a stranger, after all. He wasn’t expecting them to welcome him with open arms, but he hoped they would at least give him a chance to get to know the three of them better.

  From his sitting position at the very end of the counter, he watched as a young couple entered the bar and took a seat at one of the round tables in the main area. They were the first customers of the evening, which meant Clay was that much closer to arriving. He finished off his Bushmills and pushed the glass away.

  “Clay is a little rough around the edges,” Tara went on as she tucked the towel into the waistband of her jeans. “But he’s a really great guy once you get to know him. Around here, he has the nickname of Saint Clay because he’s something of a do-gooder.”

  He rested his arms on the counter, his curiosity
getting the best of him. “A do-gooder, huh?”

  She picked up his empty glass and put it in the sink beneath the counter. “Yeah. He’s someone who genuinely wants to help out other people because he knows what it’s like to struggle. Most of us who work here were hired because we really needed the job for one reason or another.”

  The underlying gratitude toward her boss in her tone spoke volumes and hinted at Clay’s influence in her life. “Including you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, including me,” she admitted softly.

  He wondered about those shadows in her eyes, wanted to know where they’d come from and what she’d been through, but she quickly blinked them away before he could analyze those emotions any further.

  “Clay’s like a brother to me,” she said with a shrug, her words helping to explain her loyalty to her boss. “Actually, all three of them are like family. They’re very protective, but it’s kind of nice knowing that someone has my back, and I always know that they’ll be there for me if I need anything at all. That’s just the kind of guys they are.”

  He didn’t miss the fact that she said nothing of her own family. “And Mason? He owns a tattoo place, right?”

  “Yeah. He’s the hell-raiser out of the three. Smart mouth. Womanizer.” She set a glass pitcher on the base of a blender, continuing her bar setup as she talked. “Well, he was a player until he finally came to his senses and realized that his best friend, Katrina, was the only woman for him. It’s actually quite amusing to see him so mellow and wrapped around Katrina’s finger.”

  The fondness in Tara’s voice made Jackson smile.

  “Then there’s Levi, who couldn’t be more different than his brothers,” she continued, more animated now. “He’s a police officer with Chicago PD. He’s quiet and reserved but intense in his own way. He may not say much, but he doesn’t miss a single damn thing going on around him.”

  All interesting facts about each brother that Jackson made a mental note of. He had a feeling all those details would come in handy very soon.

  “Tara,” a deep male voice called out from the other side of the bar. “Where’s this person who’s here to see us?”

  The beautiful bartender standing across from Jackson had been so caught up in their conversation—hell, he’d been just as engaged—that her entire body visibly jolted in surprise when someone called her name. Before Jackson lifted his head to glance toward the entrance area behind her, Tara’s big, wide eyes already told him who had arrived. Clay. And judging by the word us that he’d just used, he’d brought his brothers with him as she’d requested.

  He exhaled a calming breath as Tara turned around and addressed the three men waiting to find out who their visitor was. She took a small step to the side, blocking their view of Jackson to give him another moment to collect his composure before they caught a glimpse of him. It also gave him the chance to slide off his stool and stand up so he was on an even playing field when he came face-to-face with his twin.

  “He’s down here, guys,” she said, her voice steady and even, but the way her fingers were twisting around the hand towel she’d tucked into her jeans gave her own nervousness away.

  A handful of seconds later, the three men rounded the bar at the far end, and Clay came to an abrupt stop when he looked at Jackson’s face, which was an exact reflection of his own. Just as suddenly, his brothers halted beside him as they realized the same thing. Hell, even Jackson was taken aback by the identical appearance of the man standing in front of him, and he’d had warning.

  Physically, they were the same tall height, their bodies the same solid build. Both of them had dark brown hair, though Clay’s was a bit longer and more disorderly than Jackson wore his. They possessed the same color eyes in a dark shade of brown flecked with gold, but it was their prominent facial features that provided irrefutable evidence that they’d shared the same womb at the same time over thirty-two years ago—the exact same rugged angle of their jaws, the strong line of their noses, and the shape of their mouths. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a reflection of himself.

  Clay blinked and shook his head, his expression dumbfounded. “What the hell . . .” Confusion deepened his voice as his words trailed off.

  Tara bit her bottom lip, her gaze shifting from Clay to Jackson and back again to her boss, who was still staring at him in stunned silence, as if his brain was trying to catch up to what his eyes were actually seeing.

  “Clay, this is Jackson Stone,” Tara said, breaking the strained silence that had descended between them. “Your twin brother.”

  “My twin brother?” Clay exclaimed incredulously as he looked him up and down, taking in his expensive suit and no doubt judging Jackson before even knowing him. “Jesus Christ, how is that even possible . . .”

  “No fucking way.” The sibling with the sleeves of tattoos on both arms—Mason, he guessed—stared at Jackson as if he were a sideshow freak.

  The brother with the lighter blond hair—clearly the cop—remained quiet, but he was no less aware as he observed Jackson through those shrewd, light green eyes of his.

  Taking advantage of Clay’s shock, Jackson stepped forward and extended his hand toward the other man. Hesitantly, Clay shook it, but Jackson didn’t miss the immediate wariness darkening his gaze, just as Tara had warned him would happen.

  “It’s good to meet you. All three of you,” he said, looking at each of the brothers flanking Clay as he released his twin’s hand.

  “We don’t have a brother, so who the fuck are you, really?” the tattooed one said, his posture defensive and guarded. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  Jackson was tempted to laugh at the absurd question, but knowing that Mason was grasping at an explanation for what he was seeing, he didn’t so much as crack a smile. “No. I promise, this isn’t a joke.”

  “Jesus, Clay,” Mason said, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair, his disbelief still evident. “He looks exactly like you.”

  “That’s because I’ve got a goddamn fucking twin,” Clay replied, his raspy voice rising in volume as the reality of the situation finally started to sink in.

  “How about we take this somewhere quiet and more private?” the other brother, Levi, suggested in a rational tone.

  “That would be great. Thank you.” Relief flooded through Jackson. At least they weren’t kicking him out of the place or refusing to hear what he had to say. Hell, they could still decide that they didn’t want to have anything to do with him, but once they learned the truth about the past, he hoped they could at least form some kind of relationship.

  At the moment, though, these three men seemed anything but welcoming. Not that he could blame them for being cautious.

  As his brothers turned around and motioned for him to follow, Jackson cast a quick glance at Tara, who’d witnessed the whole exchange. He didn’t miss the worry creasing her brows, and he smiled to put her concern at ease.

  “Good luck,” she whispered to him.

  Her support warmed him. At least he had one person on his side.

  “Thank you.” He mouthed the words back to her. He had a strong feeling, with these three close-knit brothers, he was going to need all the positive reinforcement he could get.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as the four of them entered a small office in the back area of the bar, Clay closed the door for privacy and waved a hand at one of the two chairs in the room.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” Clay’s tone was business-like as he rounded an old, scarred wooden desk and settled himself into a worn leather chair.

  Lowering himself to one of the armchairs, Jackson made himself as comfortable as possible considering he felt as though he were facing a firing squad. Levi sat to his right in the other vacant seat, while Mason had brought in a wooden chair from the bar to sit in. He turned it around, straddled the seat, and rested his arms across the top, a frown on his face.

  There was nothing fancy about the cramped, windowless room they were
in, not compared to Jackson’s luxurious private office in downtown Chicago, complete with a million-dollar view of Lake Michigan. Everything about these three men spoke of hard-working, blue-collar roots, and he suddenly felt very out of place in his tailored suit, designer tie, and shiny Ferragamo loafers.

  Shit. Maybe he should have changed from his work clothes into something more casual before coming to the bar. Too late now, and judging by the way Mason was eyeing him up and down through his narrowed gaze, the other guy had already sized him up and come to his own conclusions about Jackson.

  “What proof do you have that you’re our brother?” Mason asked abruptly, confirming that despite Jackson’s identical looks to Clay, this other sibling wasn’t going to make anything easy on him. “And what the fuck do you want with us?”

  “Jesus Christ, Mason,” Clay barked out in a sharp, reprimanding tone. “Cool it with the interrogation, will you? You’re looking at irrefutable proof that he’s my twin.”

  Mason glared at his brother, then turned that hard stare back to Jackson that was steeped with distrust and suspicion. “I want to know why he’s here and what he wants.”

  “I don’t want anything from any of you,” Jackson said, his own voice brusque. “I’m here because I thought maybe you’d like to know that you had another brother.”

  Levi sighed, as if they were used to dealing with Mason’s hotheaded behavior. “Look, I know we all have a lot of questions, and I’m sure Jackson will answer them, but how about we have this discussion in a civilized manner?” he said, deliberately directing the words toward his testy sibling.

  “Then by all means, Mr. Calm and Rational Cop,” Mason said, sarcasm lacing his voice, “since you’re the expert, why don’t you lead the interview?”

  Oh, yeah, definitely a smartass.

  Levi smirked and gave a whatever kind of shrug before glancing back at Jackson. “How long have you known about us?” he asked, his question much more logical, and far less confrontational, than his brother’s.