Enticing (Red Lips & White Lies Book 3)

You’ve come so far, don’t give up now.

—Addie’s Secret Thoughts

Dermot Kennedy sings about what he wants as my fingers fly across my keyboard, and I up the tension between my hero and heroine. Sparks are sparking, clothes are flying, and the simmering tension I’ve spent hours building has reached its boiling point.

This is what I love about writing.

This point right now.

When the characters take control and their story spills from my fingers as if I have no choice but to get the words down on the page. When their voices are as strong as if they were right here in front of me and not just in my head.

Hello, my muse. You big, beautiful, finicky goddess.

Thank you for coming out to play.

Apparently, she requires a hockey god to lure her out of hiding.

And lure, he did.

It’s no coincidence as soon as Leo left, inspiration struck.

It always seems to where that man is concerned.

“Ouch.” I look up after a pink pacifier bounces off my forehead. “What the hell?”

Coraline stands on the other side of my desk with her hands planted on her hips, scowling. “I’ve been talking to you for five minutes, and you never even looked up. Have you even slept?”

“I . . . Wait . . . What time is it?” I ask and run my mouse over my clock app. I’ve been in work mode, so everything else on my computer is silenced, including my clock.

That can’t be right.

“Shit. It’s not actually six a.m., is it?” Shit. Shit. Shit.

Coraline nods dramatically. “Yup.”

“Lennox?” I questioned, sure I’d have heard her if she woke up.

“I didn’t get up with her. Did you?” Cori asks as she drops into the antique baby-blue Queen Anne chair across from me and runs her finger over the white butterflies embroidered in the fabric. She always loved this chair.

I lean my head back and close my eyes.

She did it. She slept through the night.

“Why are you crying?” My candle flickers as the last of the wax burns out, and my sister kicks my leg under the desk. “Don’t cry, Addie. She was fine.”

“I didn’t even realize I worked through the night.” My smile tugs at my lips, and I bite it down, relieved to finally feel this book coming together.

It’s hard to write a book. But when your first two books were bestsellers, it’s scarier to write book three than it was books one and two. Now there’s an expectation. A precedent set. I was beginning to wonder if it was all a fluke. If I didn’t have what it takes to be an author. To craft good stories. But now . . . it feels so good to be back in the groove like this. To feel it coming together. “Cori, I wrote eighteen thousand words last night. I haven’t done that . . . ever.”

The first laugh slips past my lips, breaking the seal, and once it’s out there, I can’t stop the rest. I laugh so hard, tears stream down my cheeks, and my sides hurt. And I still don’t stop. It could be five minutes or five hours before I get it together again and calm down. Eventually, I wipe my face and finally look at my sister, who’s currently staring at me like she’s one call away from having me committed.

“You okay?” she asks carefully, like she’s scared she’s going to set me off again.

I shrug. “I guess that depends on your definition of all right. I mean, my life is a mess, and I’m marrying a man I barely know. So it’s probably safe to say I’m not all right. But hey, the good news is my future husband seems to be like catnip for my muse, and the words are flowing. So I guess there’s a bright side in all of it.”

“If you say so.” She stands and studies me for a long minute. “Go to bed, Adelaide. I’ll take care of the kids when they wake up.”

I look lovingly at my MacBook and wonder if I could squeeze one more chapter in before I sleep.

“Don’t push your luck, sissy. Bed. Now. I’ll wake you up at noon.”

I open my mouth to ask if she’s sure, but she gives me a silent warning, then points to the door.

“Love you, sissy.” I move around the desk and kiss the top of her head. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she agrees, then smacks my ass. “And don’t think we’re not talking about hockey boy coming over last night when you wake up.”

I run my fingers over my lips with a hidden smile on my face.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to keep my heart out of all of this, Coraline,” I admit before walking out of the room.

And if I can’t keep my heart safe, how do I keep my girls safe?

It looks like someone asked Santa for a hockey hottie for Christmas and was gifted with their very own Sinclair brother. Whose lap do you think they had to sit on for that? And can I volunteer as tribute? Rumors are swirling after last night’s Revolution game saw one beautiful blonde kissing Leo Sinclair before the game. But wait . . . there’s more. Two women and two children were in number ten’s jersey. This reporter has some digging to do before we can decide exactly what is going on with the Revolution’s most eligible bachelor. Are we looking at a Why Choose situation? Because again, I volunteer as tribute.

#KroydonKronicles #HockeyHottieForChristmas #ISawMommyKissingLeoSinclair

Leo

I shove my phone in my pocket and walk into the jewelry store and cringe when my dad turns around and stares at me. “Hey, kid. What are you doing here?”

I look around to see if anyone else is with him, but it’s just him and the owner.

“I thought you were leaving for the game today,” I try to change the subject. There’s doing what I’m doing, and there’s lying to your old man’s face while you do it. Especially when that man is Declan Sinclair.

Dad holds up a black bag with fancy gold font curled across the front. “Had to pick up your mother’s Christmas present before I left. How about you? Aren’t you leaving today for Oregon?”

“Washington,” I correct. “I guess I needed to pick up a present too.”

“For the woman you brought to the game last night?” he asks as he moves next to me, and I know I shouldn’t be surprised he already knows. My plan worked. The Kroydon Kronicles picked it up, and so did all my siblings.

Social proof.

“Yeah. Something like that,” I admit. My plan is to use as much truth as possible in what I tell my family.

“Kind of a big statement, having her and her family at the game last night. Would have been nice if you’d have let your mom know you were seeing someone before you let the Kroydon Kronicles run with it.” There’s an edge to his typically easygoing voice. He’s not thrilled.

“I didn’t⁠—”

“I’m not stupid, son. Don’t treat me like I am. You kissed a woman while she was wearing your name before your game. In this town, with that name, there was no way it was going unnoticed. Bring her to the house. Let your mother meet her.”

“You pissed?” I ask, not really liking the idea of him feeling disrespected. Most guys have a chip on their shoulder when it comes to their fathers. That’s pretty hard to have when your dad is as good a man and great a father as mine is. He’s also the GOAT of professional football, and now, he coaches the damn team he took to the Super Bowl more than any other team in history. So I guess I can thank him for my athletic ability too.

“Not pissed. Curious.” He looks around the store, then smiles. “Get her something nice, Leo. Then bring her over. See if she still wants to date you after she’s met your family. Your brothers and sisters are enough to scare a saint.”

I laugh. He’s not wrong.

“I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner the day after Christmas. Her sister is in town too. You okay if she tags along?” I already know the answer, but I ask it anyway.

“As long as you bring her and her kids, you can bring whoever the hell else you want, son. Have a good game tomorrow.” He pulls me in and smacks my back.

“Have a good game on Christmas, Dad.” I wait for him to leave, then turn to the owner. “I need an engagement ring.”