Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Sara Cate

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design: Cover Art by Coverinked - www.coverinked.com

  Created with Vellum

  For my Patron Saint

  Dear reader,

  The story you’re about to read is about forbidden love. And what is more forbidden than a priest who finds himself torn between his vows and his sins in the face of love and passion? If you are sensitive to blasphemy and tested faith, you might find yourself offended by the vows he breaks. So be warned. He breaks them. A lot.

  Enjoy.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  EPILOGUE

  Thank you

  Keep turning for a sneak peek of Delicate…

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  Chapter 2

  Sierra

  Keep reading…

  Also by Sara Cate

  About the Author

  One

  Cadence

  Clint has dark curls on the top of his head and a smile that wins elections. And right now, he’s aiming those million dollar ivories directly at me. Under his glowing stare, I see a story we could tell our grandkids, set to a picturesque film reel of European settings.

  We met in Amsterdam, one of fifty on a bus tour with a horde of young Americans. We had our first kiss in Paris the day before he snuck his hand up my dress in the Chunnel on our way to London. Shortly after I went down on him in a red phone booth, we decided to leave the tour that brought us here from Los Angeles. We stayed with the group on the ferry that brought us to the Emerald Isle, but then it was just Clint, me, and a group of his closest friends. A couple guys and girls with smiles as bright as his.

  “We’re going rogue,” he announces as we huddle into the cramped rental car I covered with my stressed out credit card and take off across the Irish landscape in search of absolutely nothing but feeling on top of the world. It’s only been four days since we met, and already I see our wedding, magazine-worthy with a line of bridesmaids and his best friends in a lush green garden where he’ll break down in brave tears when it comes time to say his vows to me. He’ll talk about this day, our first day on our own, hands linked across the center console of this Opel Astra.

  Every few moments he looks over with that twinkle in his eye, and I know that I’ve found it. I found what my sister has, and this time it’s real.

  “Babe, you’re going to love this place. It’s known for the music, and not like Coachella music either, babe. Like real traditional artists, you know. The authentic shit.”

  “I can’t wait.” I gleam toward him.

  There’s not a hint of fear in my heart when I’m with him. I don't care that I just forfeited my seat on the plane back to California or that I barely know him. When you know, you know. And every single thing in this past week has been practically transcendental.

  I want to tell him I love him, and I know that’s insane, but it’s insane to let a moment like this pass.

  One of the girls from the back leans forward to tap Clint on the arm to show him something on her phone. She has it aimed so it’s out of my view, but not intentionally. He laughs, and I look out the window so she doesn’t feel awkward for not showing me.

  It’s past nine when we finally pull into a small town, and the sun has already set, leaving the area in darkness so that the only thing I make out when we drive in is a grand house with three floors and a large porch. It’s beautiful.

  It’s so quiet when we get out of the car that I can hear distant waves rolling from out of the darkness. Clint waits at the front of the car for me and takes my hand so we can go in together. At the top of the porch is a sign on the wall: Ennis Beach Bed & Breakfast

  It’s quiet inside but brightly lit. There are voices coming from a room in the back, and one of the girls we’re with shouts a loud “yoo-hoo” at which point the chatter in the back stops.

  “Bloody hell,” a gruff voice mutters as the ominous stomping comes nearer until a tall man in all black walks into the lobby. He looks annoyed with us, and I quickly avert my eyes, hoping he doesn't think it was me that so rudely called them up. Behind him, a young woman brushes past and rushes to the desk.

  “Good evening,” she says in a sing-song chime as she takes her place behind the desk. “Welcome to Ennis Beach.”

  “We’re checking in,” Clint says sweetly. “Last name, Thorn.” He sends me a wink, and there’s something about him saying my name that makes my insides flutter.

  “Ah yes,” the woman answers softly as she starts typing on the computer.

  The tall man is still standing in the doorway, his eyes surveying us. I make myself busy by looking around the room, noticing that the house looks very much like a regular house, with old timey pictures along the wall. If it wasn’t for the tall counter and computer and a stand with pamphlets in the entryway, you wouldn’t even know this was a hotel—or technically a bed and breakfast as the door said.

  I step away from Clint for a moment to stare at the pictures, noticing one with a stone gray church in front of a grassy field. The young couple standing in front makes me feel the warmth of romance, and a smile creeps onto my face.

  Feeling eyes on me, I turn toward the doorway to the dining room and notice the tall man is now watching me. His brow is curved slightly inward, creating a deep crease down the center of his forehead as he leans against the wide doorway, arms crossed.

  “Americans?” he asks with his thick Irish accent.

  “Yes, sir,” Clint answers proudly.

  “I’ll need a credit card for the account,” the woman says with a courteous smile.

  Clint pats his pockets. “My wallet’s in the car. You’re not charging it yet, are you?”

  “No. We just need one on file. You pay when you check out.”

  “Babe, would you mind?”

  I almost get lost in the dimples in his cheeks that it takes me a moment to catch up to his question. “Oh, of course.” Quickly, I open my purse and pull out my poor, battered AmEx to pass it to the woman. Clint pulls me against his body and places a kiss against my temple. The low hum he makes when he kisses me sends electricity down my spine.

  “Okay, you’re all booked for two rooms. They’re both on the second floor. Rooms 201 and 202.”

  “This one is ours,” Clint says as he takes one of the keys and pulls me toward the stairs. I let out a laugh as he pinches my ass. We rush up the stairs together, leaving the rest of his friends to sleep in the second room. I couldn’t care less. This is our
first real night alone in a hotel room. Right now, all I care about is him. I am living for only him.

  Once we’re alone in the room, Clint is fast to kiss me. He pulls my face up to his and his mouth hungrily devours mine.

  “Oh baby, I can’t get enough of you,” he moans into my neck as he pulls up my dress, his fingers yanking my underwear aside. It’s all happening so fast, I can barely breathe.

  As he pushes me down into the bed, pressing himself between my legs, I want to pinch myself. I’m no idiot. I know our days won’t always be this perfect, and there will be trials in our future, but with a start this passionate, I know there is no chance that it will ever completely fizzle out. Clint and I connect on another level.

  The passion between us is so intense that it doesn’t take him more than a few pumps inside of me before he’s coming, jolting between my legs. In terms of reaching an orgasm myself, I guess it would have been nice if the passion fizzled out a little...just enough to give me a chance.

  He pulls back and kisses my nose. “Sorry, baby. You just do something crazy to me.”

  I love that southern accent of his, so I smile and kiss him back. I’ll take care of myself in the shower later.

  “Come on, beautiful. We’re going to the pub down the street.” He climbs off of me and pulls his pants up.

  “Okay,” I answer with a forced smile. In truth, I’m exhausted. Today was exhilarating, but I just need time to slow down for a second.

  “You’ll come with us, right?” He leans down and kisses the top of my head.

  “Of course,” I answer sleepily.

  The pub is lively, enough to wake me up from my sleepy haze after that quick romp with Clint in the hotel room. It’s not at all what I expected. We’ve been to clubs and bars on this trip, but this is something else. It’s a small space, full of people without feeling crowded. There is music coming from the other side of the pub, but as we squeeze through, Clint finds us a table and tells me to sit while he gets me a drink. Sitting alone, I look around at the crowd, noticing that it literally ranges from children to elderly. The table behind us has a carseat carrier in the booth with a baby fast asleep, no matter that it’s loud as hell in here.

  Leaning back, I see the music is coming from one of the tables squeezed in the corner. The musicians sit around the beer-soaked table with their instruments in their laps. Something about it makes me so happy that I'm glad I came out tonight.

  A pair of bright green eyes catch my attention while I’m looking around, and I notice the man from the hotel is sitting at the bar with a pint of dark beer in his hands as he stares at me. That blank expression is still plastered on his face, and I send him an awkward smile and wave.

  I don’t have the guts to just stare at him the way he’s staring at me, but as my eyes skim over him again, I realize that he’s probably in his late thirties and a lot better looking than I noticed at first. Those round cheeks and full lips probably get all the ladies for him, but he’s a little too rugged or me. His clothes look worn with a layer of dust over his black pants.

  When he catches me staring again, he nods at me, and I quickly look away. Thankfully, Clint and his friends return in the next moment with the drinks, and I have to force down my dark beer.

  The rest of the night turns into a blur. I blame the exhaustion and excitement from the day.

  After one round, we’re up dancing with the locals.

  After two rounds, the room is spinning.

  After three rounds, Clint is helping me as I stumble down the cobblestone road toward the hotel. I don’t remember getting to the room or taking my clothes off because as soon as we started up the stairs, everything went black.

  Two

  Cadence

  Water.

  It’s the first thought in my head when the blinding sun beaming through the large windows wakes me from my twenty-feet-under sleep. Why is waking up with a hangover so abrupt? It’s like being shot out of a canon and landing in an active volcano.

  I need water.

  Opening my eyes, I try to replay the events of the evening. I don’t know how I ended up so drunk. I don’t even remember drinking that much.

  “Clint,” I croak, reaching for him without moving my head. I’m afraid if I move at all, it will just split in two. The other side of the bed is empty. He must be in the shower or down at breakfast already.

  He came back to the room with me last night. Didn’t he? I remember him having to help me down the street because my wobbly legs couldn’t fight the gravity that wanted to pull me onto the cobblestone ground.

  God, I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself. I have a way of getting a little too friendly when I’m drunk. I do remember dancing with him, kissing him by the bar, resting my head on his shoulder in the booth. I’m still dressed, so I doubt we did it when we got back.

  After a long waking process, I finally peel my body off the bed and look for any sign of Clint. Glancing around the cozy room with its ornate furniture and cozy armchair in the corner, I search for literally anything that belongs to me or Clint. We left our bags in the car last night before we went out. I figured we’d just get it all when we got back.

  Maybe he’s bringing it up now.

  I need my phone. I don’t know why, but I just want to check it. But I don’t see my purse either. Fuck. Did I leave it at the pub? I wouldn't be surprised, although I’ve never managed to do that before.

  God dammit, Clint. Where are you?

  Convinced a shower will help make me feel normal, I climb out of bed, but first I stop at the window to look for Clint outside. Peeling the curtain back, I let out a gasp and not just because it’s so bright it feels like knives in my skull, but I’m finally seeing what I missed last night when it was too dark to see the landscape around the hotel. The front of the building faces a broad, long beach. But it’s not like the beaches I’m used to in California. The beach is vast, stretched far from the water to the shore, like a glistening floor of heavy dark sand that shimmers like glass.

  Just to the right of the hotel, I can make out the parking lot where we parked the car. Now there are only two cars sitting out there, and neither of them is our red rental.

  Heat crawls up my spine as I stare at the spot where our car used to be.

  Where did they go? Without me.

  That would be so strange for them to go somewhere without even waking me up. Maybe he tried, and I just drank too much. They’re probably out sightseeing or getting something they need.

  I force myself into the shower, but I can barely focus on the task of washing my body. My mind won’t stop running through possibilities that don’t result in something terrible.

  But it still hurts that Clint would leave me behind. He’s probably just downstairs, and I’m being dramatic.

  It dawns on me as I get out of the shower that I don’t have my bag, so I don’t have clean clothes. I’m forced to put back on my dress that smells like the pub. It makes me sick pulling it onto my body—degrading and disgusting—like how I feel.

  Slipping my sandals on, I walk next door and knock on the door Clint’s friends slept in. There’s no answer, so I go downstairs and the silence makes me nervous. Where is everybody?

  The house is exquisite, but I can’t enjoy that right now. Opposite the dining room, there is a sitting room with floor to ceiling windows that face the ocean. It’s full of dark wood and plush rugs, old looking decorations but clean and fresh smelling.

  I find myself staring out at the ocean because it is literally all I have at this point.

  “You missed breakfast.” A deep voice cuts through the silence. Spinning on my heels, I stare at the tall man from last night. Seeing his face suddenly brings back a flash of memory from the pub.

  He was there. I remember him staring at me like he is right now. Like he doesn’t approve of me, and right now, I’m not in the mood for it.

  “I don’t care,” I grumble. The thought of breakfast turns my stomach anyway.

&
nbsp; “Would you like some coffee?”

  God, that sounds good. I hate to admit it. “Yes, please.”

  He turns away, and I notice he’s dressed in black again. Black slacks with a matching button-up long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I find myself staring at his backside as he pours a cup of coffee from the tall silver machine. He really fills out those pants nicely, and I immediately feel guilt for thinking that. I should be thinking about Clint and worrying that he’s not hurt somewhere.

  “Do you happen to know where my friends are?” I ask as he brings me a steaming cup with a handful of creamers and sugar packets.

  “Have a seat,” he says flatly, placing the coffee on the round coffee table between two oversized arm chairs.

  “Okay,” I reply with curiosity, dropping into the large chair. Something about this man is unsettling. The kind woman is nowhere in sight. It’s literally just us in this house.

  “Your friends are gone.”

  “I know,” I answer as I pour two packets of sugar in my coffee. “Do you know where they went?”

  “No. They left last night, and they’re not coming back.”

  I swallow, staring at him without letting any emotion show on my face. It’s like his words make so much sense and absolutely no sense at the same exact time. Why is telling me this? And why is he so calm about it? He’s wrong.

  Finally, finding my wits, I shake my head with a forced smile. “No. Clint wouldn’t leave me. He’s my boyfriend.”