Sinful Temptations (EBOOK)

Chapter One

The sky outside had grown dark, gearing up for another storm and matching the cloud that had settled on me since my mother sent that photo. I’d never seen her like that, all gaunt and frail.
Mother had always been the life of the party, usually smiling. Even when she had been angry with me, she’d yell, then follow that up with a smile, signifying an end to the fight.
Like that would have made things better.
I jumped at a blaze of lightning streaking across the blackness. Grabbing my wine glass and phone, I strolled outside. The tiny balcony barely fit one chair, but that was all I needed. London was gray. The sky. The buildings. Even the trees looked gray.
It was the perfect setting for my tumultuous mood.
I gulped a huge mouthful of wine. It was usually my favorite drop, but today the bitter liquid stung my tongue and throat as I forced it down.
My phone buzzed, startling me. Sitting, I breathed in deeply, praying that the message was from Zali or Roman before I flipped the screen over.
It was Mother—with another photo. I didn’t open it. Instead, I stood, wine glass in hand, staring out over the rooftops. For four years, I’d managed to keep her from my life completely. But she had said she’d found me because of some stupid photo on Facebook.
I frowned.
How was that even possible? My phone number was never listed on my profile.
My brain skidded to a halt.
Mother had mentioned Vacation Dreamz. Because of that stupid tag on Facebook, she’d found out where I worked. She must’ve contacted the office. I bet fucking Bruce gave her my details.
I wanted to scream.
I gulped my wine instead, letting it burn all the way to my stomach.
I’d been careful. Oh, so careful. The last thing I needed was my fucking mother crawling her way back in. Yet here she was, sending me another photo.
I returned to my seat, staring at the phone.
I didn’t want to open it. But it was like watching those rotten social media posts where they show mistreated animals . . . and as much as I knew it was going to be hell to see, I couldn’t help but look. It was one of the reasons why I’d stopped using Facebook.
And because of my mother’s fucking stalking.
Unclamping my jaw, I clicked the photo button.
It took me a second to realize it was a breast scan showing a large white mass with tendrils spreading out from it like poisonous jellyfish tentacles. The message below it said simply, ‘here’s your proof’.
But was it proof? Mother was notorious for her lies. She’d fooled many men into her bed with deceit and bullshit. Dozens of people had given her money because of her convincing dishonesty.
Me included. Many times.
After the last ugly incident, I’d vowed there and then that I’d never speak to her again.
For four years, I’d succeeded. It was supposed to be forever.
A fat raindrop hit my knee, and I turned my gaze skyward. Two jagged forks of lightning streaked across the sky.
It represented the debate raging through my mind to perfection.
What should I do?
Return to Australia to be with Mother for her dying days?
Or finish out my visa in Europe and explore more of her and her stunning men?
My brain flitted from one image to the next. Mother’s gaunt frame. Luca’s muscular torso. The dark bags under Mother’s eyes. Pierre’s chocolate irises and how they devoured me. Mother passed out with a needle in her arm.
The images flashed in and out like I was trapped in a panic room with a faulty light.
I’d seen Mother drugged out of her mind with that needle often enough. Only now the needle would be morphine. Does that give the patient a high? Even in the hospital, Mother would probably find a way to get her fix.
Rain burst from the sky like it’d been released from a dam, drenching me in seconds. Grabbing my glass and phone, I scurried back inside and shut the glass door. Rivers of water streamed down the glass like tears.
After drying my arms, I topped off my wine and returned to my little breakfast table.
My notepad, with my list of firsts, caught my attention.
It was still hard to believe what I’d done this month.
First oral sex.
Oh yeah. Luca’s hot tongue had been incredible. I still couldn’t believe it’d taken me twenty-nine years to discover that little delight. Luca . . . A warm glow washed through me as I pictured his rock-hard abs and his treasure trail—the line of coppery hair that ran from his navel to his cock.
I wanted to see that again. I wanted to see Luca again. And Pierre. Hmm . . . Pierre.
But it wasn’t just the men I wanted to see. It was Europe. And more of London while I was between tours.
I wasn’t ready to leave. Not Europe, and I didn’t want to leave Roman.
I wanted to help him so bad it hurt. He needed me.
But if Mother’s photos were real, and she really was dying, then she needed me too.
Damn it! Why did I even care about her?
She’d never cared about me.
Yet it niggled at me. I felt like I should see her.
This was a job for Zali. She’d know what to do.
Grabbing my phone, I jabbed out a text.
She’s dying
Edna!!
Damn. Of course she’d think of my landlord. I’d told her enough times about the poor woman’s crippled frame.
Sorry. No. Mother
Again!!!
I wondered if it was karma. Perhaps all those times Mother had pretended to have cancer actually gave her cancer.
She sent me the doctor’s letter and a photo of the scan. She has breast cancer. She wants me to go home and help her
I stared at the phone, and when Zali’s response wasn’t instant, a bolt of guilt shot through me. Here I was bitching about Mother dying when Zali had had to change her entire life to look after her sick mother. With confusion weighing me down like a concrete blanket, I jabbed the FaceTime button.
Azalia’s face appeared on the screen. Her skin was pale. Her blonde hair was a scrambled mess with a dark stripe through the middle, and her eyes confirmed just how tired she was. “Hey there. This is a nice surprise.”
When she smiled, my guilt hit a whole new level. Zali didn’t need my pathetic shit adding to her already miserable life. “I’m sorry, babe, need to chat. Are you busy?”
“Never too busy for you. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I lied. “How about you? How are Kane and your mom?”
“Kane’s great. Mom not so much.”
“Oh no, Zali. I’m so sorry.”
Puffing out her breath, she flicked her hand. “Ahh, it’s nothing. She’s got a rash on her leg that won’t go away. The damn itching keeps her up all night, driving both of us crazy.”
My guilt grew heavier. “Oh, jeez. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop it. Now tell me. What’s this shit with your fucking mother?”
In one rambling monologue, I told her about Mother’s messages and how she’d found me on Facebook.
“So now the bitch wants you to look after her.”
“Yeah, well, she has nobody else.”
“And we both know why that is.”
“She’s dying, Zali. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Hmm.” She cocked her head, and her eyes grew dark.
“You did it,” I said. “You’ve sacrificed years looking after your mom.”
“Yes, but my mom is the most beautiful woman in the world. She did everything for me. Your mother did jack shit.”
I nodded. It was true. From the age of about six, I’d been making my own meals. Meals? Ha, that was a joke. If there wasn’t bread and vegemite, I’d scramble for anything to eat. Often, I’d have cereal for dinner. Provided there was milk, that was. At nine years old, I was doing my own washing and cleaning my parents’ clothes. Sometimes it was like our roles were reversed and I’d be the one providing for the family.
“Don’t do it, Daisy.”
“Huh?”
Zali shook her head. “Don’t give up everything for her.”
“What exactly am I giving up?” I flicked my hand and scanned the sparse room that I called home. “I don’t have anything.”
“Bullshit.” She sat up straighter. “You listen to me. This month is the first time in ages that I’ve seen you smile. And I don’t mean that I’m-fucking-okay smile. You’ve been really happy, and it’s because of all that sex you’ve been getting.”
“Oh, great.” I wobbled my head. “Sorry, Mother, I can’t visit you in the hospital because I want to fuck some random dudes.”
Zali burst out laughing. “Exactly. See? This is karma. How many times did you miss out on dinner because that bitch was fucking some random dude?”
Oh. My. God. The blood drained from my face. I am just like my mother.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Zali barked at me, waggling a finger. “Don’t you go thinking you’re like her. You were a kid. She’s not. Your mother has spent her whole life using people. Right?”
I puffed out my cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Now she just wants to use you all over again. She doesn’t deserve you, Daisy. Besides, you’ve only got five months left in Europe. You can see her after your visa finishes.”
I reached for that letter. The one the dictated that I leave Europe on the 7th of January . . . Mother’s birthday. It was like I was destined to see her again. “The letter says she only has eight months to live. It was dated two months ago.”
“Doctors know nothing. Trust me. Mom’s fucking doctor is always changing his mind. You’ve got heaps of time.”
“Hmm, but what happens if—” I couldn’t finish. Mother was the only living relative I had. Despite all the crap she’d put me through, it seemed important to hang onto that thread. Like I’d be nothing, a nobody, should I lose my only link to my heritage.
“Look, how about this for a plan? Cancer doesn’t kill you overnight. And it’s not like she’s bedridden, right?”
“She didn’t say so. And trust me, she would have if she was.”
“Okay.” Zali’s voice ramped up in pitch. “So, forget about her for now and carry on enjoying yourself with all those guys. And Roman, don’t forget about him. He needs you, remember?”
I nibbled on the inside of my lip, rolling her comments around my brain.
She was right . . . most cancers didn’t kill instantly. And Roman did need me.
“You can check in on your mother each week or something. If it looks like she’s gonna pop her clogs, then you can get on the first flight home.”
I half laughed. “Pop her clogs?”
“Yeah, keel over, belly up.” She said it so matter-of-fact. But if it were her mother we were talking about, it’d be a different story. Then again, she loved her mother. My love for my mother had ebbed away from an early age and was completely obliterated on my fourteenth birthday.
“What are you thinking?” Zali’s voice was gentle.
Pausing, I sipped my wine. “I don’t know. I’ve got so much going through my mind, I’ve got nothing.”
“You thinking about Roman?”
“Yeah.”
“And Pierre and that hottie horse guy?”
I chuckled. “Luca.”
“Oh, my god. Yes him. Do you think you’ll hook up with him again?”
My sexy stable manager’s rippling abs flashed across my eyes. It was impossible not to smile.
“There you go. That’s what I’m talking about. Take it one month at a time.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Tick. Tick. Tick.
“I know so. Don’t go making any hasty moves. Make next month a repeat of this month and go fuck some hotties.”
“Hmm. It was good.”
“Exactly. Just ring your mother before you go and when you get back. No! Don’t ring her, text her. She’ll still be there, shoveling that bullshit guilt at you. Don’t make it easy on her. God, she never made it easy for you.”
Zali was right about that. I nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”
“Right. Now that we have that shit out of the way . . .” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “. . . let’s talk about all these men. I need some fucking pictures, babe. I’m dying of boredom here.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m not taking pictures.”
“Dick pics, babe. I want ’em.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll have to ask google.”
“Bloody hell!”
I chuckled.
“You’re so mean.” She pouted her lips.
“No, I’m not.”
“At least send me a photo of Roman. I need to check this stud out.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Next tour. I promise.”
Zali’s smile lit up her face. “We should FaceTime more often.”
“I agree. I miss you.”
“Yeah, I miss you too, babe.” She adjusted her bra strap. “Oh hey, while I think of it, you still wearing those fucking ugly bolder holders?”
I chuckled. “Of course.”
“Toss those fucking things out and get yourself some sexy lingerie. Time to spice it up, girlfriend.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Wish I could come shopping with you. The only bras I’ve been wearing are these fucking maternity ones, and trust me, they’re as ugly as white stockings on a naked obese man.”
“Oh jeez. Thanks for that image.”
“I know, right? Disgusting. I mean it, babe. It’s time for you to pamper yourself. God knows you deserve it. Let your hair down.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Oh, and tell me you’re practicing safe sex.”
I paused. My mind tumbled to Oscar tearing open that condom packet.
“Daisy! You don’t want to add VD to your list of firsts.”
“I know. It’s just I never thought—”
“Fucking hell. Not thinking will have you ending up a single mom like me. Or worse, with pimples the size of volcanos on your vagina.”
“Oh, God. Okay, I will. I will. I’ll buy condoms today.”
“And go to the docs and get the pill. Double it up. Hell, get an implant too while you’re at it.”
She giggled, and I laughed along with her. “Don’t worry. I will.”
“You don’t want me coming over there and spanking that non-existent ass of yours, do you?”
I twirled a curly lock around my finger. “Actually . . .”
“Daisy! Ha, I love it, babe. It’s so nice seeing you smile.”
“Thanks.”
“Mom, what’re you doing? Mom!” The image on the screen wobbled sideways and landed on Zali’s ceiling while she talked in soothing tones to her mother, attempting to get her to sit at the kitchen table.
A minute or so later, Zali returned to the image. “Sorry, babe. Mom just got up.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
“Shit!” She rolled her eyes. “Gotta go. Mom’s rummaging through the cupboards. She’s probably looking for the dog biscuits again. Silly bitch eats them.”
“She doesn’t?”
“She does. Not sure how many she downed last time before I found her. She said they taste like chicken.”
Even though it was wrong, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Quick, go save her. Love you.”
“Love ya too. Dick pics. Need dick pics. Bye.”
Chuckling, I ended the FaceTime.
I eased back onto the wooden seat, twirling the stem of my wine glass between my fingers.
My mind rewound eighteen years. I was eleven years old, and Mother had been furious at me for being sent home from school. She’d had plans. And me being home was not one of them. She’d repeatedly yelled that she’d wallop me if I was faking it.
I hadn’t been. My throat had burned like hell. My eyes had too. I hadn’t been able to sleep, yet I couldn’t stay awake.
Mother’s plan had been a guy called Gary. He’d turned up with slicked-back hair and reeked of cologne.
While I was sweating in my bedsheets at one end of the caravan, Gary had looked uncomfortable as she’d led him to her bedroom at the opposite end. But based on the noises barely minutes later, he’d snapped out of it pretty quickly.
Ironically, it was Gary who’d convinced Mother to take me to the doctors. Tonsillitis had been the diagnosis, and Mother had made a show of being a doting parent at the clinic. Driving home, though, she’d scolded me for the doctor’s fees and fucking medication she couldn’t afford.
I gulped the rest of my wine.
Zali was right. Fuck Mother.
She didn’t deserve me. I was not running back to her just because she’d asked. Mother needed to earn my respect and trust first. I would never love her again. We’d gone way past that.
Besides, love was a fallacy. It didn’t exist.
Except when it came to friends like Zali. And Roman—not that I loved him. Pfft. No, no. But even though we’d only known each other for twenty days, I could already tell we were going to be great friends. Especially once I helped him get over his ex.
This is going to be fun.
I stood and reopened the doors to my balcony. The rain had subsided, and little drops spilled from the railing hitting the metal below like an erratic metallic heartbeat.
Across the terracotta rooftops, the full moon had materialized on the distant horizon. As I followed its slow crawl upwards, providing a warm glow over the drenched streets of London, I had the strange feeling it had meaning. Like it was showing me that no matter what happened, life went on. Or maybe that big, bright light represented me standing up for myself, being bold.
That was it! It was time for me to look after me.
Mother could wait.
The next five months were about me. And Europe.
And sexy men.
And sex. Lots of sex.
And Roman. Definitely Roman.

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