Bound Beneath His Pain: A Dirty Little Secrets Novel (6 page)

The pictures of the houses on my monitor are beginning to blur. One hour of searching the Multiple Listing Service (MLS) for new listings and then scanning through Holt’s private database of new houses coming onto the market, and I’m still finding nothing better than what I showed Jenny this morning. Apparently the houses I found were only good houses in my eyes, not hers.
It’s too small, the layout is weird, the paint colors are horrible;
Jenny complained about it all, and I had to force myself not to roll my eyes at her.

First-world problems, indeed.

I rub the ache out of my eyes; I can’t keep looking at this screen hoping the perfect house pops out at me. Frustrated at being back at square one with the Lowes, I rise from my desk, desperately needing some fresh air, and remember the patio Liv told me about earlier.

The floor is dead quiet as I move slowly down the hallway. There are a couple other offices with lights on, telling me I’m not the only insane person here tonight. I make it up the stairs in no time, hurrying outside, letting the door shut loudly behind me.

A lovely garden, with grass and shrubs, surrounds me, looking more like a small park than a rooftop of a high-rise. I follow the cobblestone pathway with the solar lights lining the sides, heading straight for the balcony.

The night is dark and clouds are covering much of the sky, hiding the stars and moon, but I inhale a long breath anyway, staring out at the skyline, pretty sure there’s not a skyline in the world better than San Francisco’s.

I exhale the long breath, as a light breeze carries over the patio, and I shiver, wrapping my arms about myself.

“You’re cold.”

I jump and swing around, taking in the view of Micah, finding myself speechless. He looks different now, all stretched out on a wicker love seat, a glass of scotch in his hand. Definitely more relaxed, and maybe less intimidating, too.

He rises from his seat and takes off his blazer, offering it to me. “Come, take this. You’re cold.”

I’m thinking I don’t need his coat, watching him undress warms me enough. How a man can look that sexy in a vest, dress shirt, and slacks is utterly beyond me. I’m starting to believe it’s a gift from God, and Micah is well gifted.

I shiver again, but I’m not entirely sure that’s from the cold. Most things in my life I can explain. My reaction to Micah I can’t. Everything inside of
me
lights up around him.

Sensing my pause becoming awkward, I move to him and accept the jacket, draping the fabric around my shoulders. “Thank you.”

Micah returns to his seat and opens the side table, revealing a cooler. “We’ve got scotch, vodka, or beer. What’s your flavor?”

I snort. “Looks like I need a drink, huh?”

“A little.” He grins.

“Scotch, please.” Something stiff sounds good right about now.

Micah pours a shot into a glass then hands me the drink. I take a sip, the liquid sliding down my throat, instantly relaxing me. He settles into the corner of the love seat, turning to face me and propping his shoes on the coffee table, one ankle over the other. He’s watching me in that way he does. Like he’s trying to magically discover all my secrets.

The discomfort I feel at his examination—no, study—of me forces me to break the silence. “I’m surprised you haven’t left for the day. Do you have a suite here or something?” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Images of Micah naked in his bed flood my mind. I sip my scotch, hastily erasing them.

The side of his mouth arches, a telling sign that he
knows
I’m thinking lewd thoughts about him. And why shouldn’t he—I imagine most women think these things in his presence. “No, I’m leaving soon, but wanted some air first,” he eventually says.

That I understand. “Don’t like to take work home with you, right?”

He nods.

“I do the same.” Another surprise. We actually have something in common. “So, do you have a house close by, then?”

He takes a longer sip of his scotch than I do, all the while watching me, of course, then he finally decides to answer, “I do have a house, but it’s near the bay. I stay at
the Phoenix
during the week.”

The name rings a bell, and soon I realize he’s talking about a hotel. “You live at a hotel?” When he nods in confirmation, I snort. “Now, that’s the dream.”

He chuckles softly. “I stay there during the week because it’s close to Holt. It saves me from an exhausting commute, considering I typically put in long days.” He holds his glass up, watching the amber liquid spin within. “Besides, my busy schedule doesn’t leave me time to cook or maintain a property myself, so it makes sense.”

Surprisingly, I actually don’t mind his answer. He doesn’t buy more for himself than what he needs. He’s using what he has already. Okay, another surprise. He doesn’t act totally spoiled.

One brow arches. “You can’t imagine ever living at a hotel?”

“No, sorry, I can’t,” I reply, hoping I don’t offend him. “A house isn’t just a house for me; it’s a home, it’s a feeling. And you can’t buy that feeling.”

He’s watching me intently again, like he’s trying to get a read on me. There’s something very sexy in the way he takes his time, almost like he really pays attention, never rushing through anything.

Finally, he asks, “Call me curious, but why did you look ready to smash something when you first walked out here?”

“Oh, I showed Mrs. Lowe a few houses today.” I glance down at the glass in my hand, seeing I’ve made a good dent in my drink before looking at him again. “Sadly, they weren’t her cup of tea.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re amazing at what you do, and I imagine Jenny has no idea what she wants.”

Just like that, another check mark’s gone at Micah’s support of me.

“Besides,” he adds, “if she takes too long, Peter will make the decision for her. He won’t want to drag this out.”

I’m staring into his eyes while I sip my scotch, and he’s
still
watching me closely.
He’s kinda likable,
I admit.

My belly warms with a slow-building heat, but I don’t know if that’s from
him
or from the scotch. I begin wondering how his sculpted lips would feel on mine. How those strong hands would feel dragging across my sensitive flesh. How that finger that’s gliding over the rim of his glass would feel circling my puckered nipple. And how those smoky eyes would look when they smolder.

I gulp back the scotch, cringing at the aftertaste, as his low and smooth chuckle slides over me in a delicious promise.

“Tell me, Allie: why did you get into real estate?” he asks, avoiding the topic we both know we’re thinking about:
Us. In Bed. And very naked.

I look up at him through my lashes, feeling my cheeks flushing
hot,
and hoping to hell the patio’s lighting isn’t illuminating my skin. “I like finding people homes and giving them somewhere to make memories.”

He tilts his head, eyes curious. “You sell homes because you hope it gives people happy memories?”

I get the feeling I’ve surprised him. “It’s nice, you know, being a part of that process and knowing that you’re helping someone find the place where they’ll create
their story,
whatever that might be.”

“Hmm…” is all he says.

I’m a little lost in the way he’s examining me now. To be the center of
this
man’s focus is a bit mind-boggling, but to have him look at me like I’m a lost treasure he’s finally found is out of this world. I sense my breaths growing shallower and the rise of my chest becoming more evident.

He’s observing me, I see it.

I see the way his eyes are taking note of all my reactions to him. Every breath. Every tremble of my hands. Every nibble on my lip. He lowers his feet to the grassy ground, leaning forward a little, resting his arms on his knees. “I didn’t receive the flowers back from you today, so I take it you found them acceptable.”

“They were beautiful, thank you.” I can’t look away from him. The entire world somehow disappears around me. It’s me, him, and this insane energy flowing between us. Every hair on my body stands straight up and my legs are unconsciously squeezing together against the building warmth between my thighs.

The silence is stretching out between us, and it is saying so much without saying anything at all. I should move, but I don’t. I should say something, but I can’t. I should do a lot of things, but all I’m doing is breathlessly staring at him.

He’s moving closer to me now and I can smell the woodsy hints of his cologne. My chest is rising and falling fast with my deep breaths. I’m being pulled forward into him like we’re magnets. I can’t ignore
this.
I can’t ignore
him.

His lips are right near mine, so very close, and with the scent of scotch on his breath, my mind snaps firmly into place. I recoil, shooting straight to my feet. “I gotta go.” I yank his blazer off, thrusting it at him. “Thanks for the drink.”

He drapes an arm across the back of the love seat, grinning at me. “Not cold anymore?”

Damn, he’s so cool and collected, it’s irritating, because I’m totally out of control, and tongue-tied. I turn away, refusing to look at him again, because that’s when I get into trouble.

I hurry through the door, entering the stairwell, getting far,
far
away from him, reminding myself to never forget the two lessons I learned tonight.

Never be alone with Micah.

And definitely don’t ever drink scotch with him.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry,” I mutter, exiting Holt’s elevator the next morning, banging into the four large men occupying the space. As the doors shut behind me, I exhale a long breath, stifled by all the testosterone that surrounded me on the way up to my floor.

I push the hair off my face, reminding myself of the text Liv sent me ten minutes ago.
Go see Kevin—he’s got a lead that might work for the Lowes. Our department. Fifth office on the right. He’s waiting for you.
I find the reception area surprisingly quiet, and hurry past, making my way down the hallway, but the offices are empty, too. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s been a zombie apocalypse I don’t know about, when I stop in front of the fifth office on the right, glad there’s a person inside. “Kevin?”

A twenty-something young man sits behind his desk. He lifts his head and smiles. “Hi. Allie, right?”

“Yup.” I enter his office, taking a seat in front of his desk. His office is quite a bit smaller than Liv’s and mine, confirming that Micah gave us a bigger office to keep us together. At least, I hope that’s why and it’s not because he thought impressing me would win him a date. Pushing my paranoia aside, I cross my legs, pulling my white skirt over my knee. “Liv tells me that you have a lead on a house coming onto the market.”

Kevin adjusts his red bow tie against his plaid dress shirt, sighing at the stacks of paperwork on his desk. “Yeah, I do. Or I might, I should say. My clients are on the fence if they want to sell now or wait for the fall. But when Liv sent the email around for what your clients want, the house I have fits their needs perfectly.” He rummages through the pile of papers on his desk. “Give me a sec. I’ve got it here somewhere.”

I fight my smile, beginning to understand why Holt merged with Richardson. My old boss had proven to know the magic in the residential side of real estate. Holt needs to step up their game, if Kevin is any indicator of their agents.

“Aha,” Kevin finally exclaims. “Here it is.” He offers me a wrinkled piece of paper.

I smooth it out and glance at the newly renovated two-story house, scanning over the details. I mentally check off all of the Lowes’ wants. “You’re right. This is pretty much perfect.” I look away from the paper to Kevin. “Why are your clients hesitant to sell?”

“Money, of course.” Kevin picks up his cellphone and clearly types a response to a message before continuing. “They wonder if they’ll get more in the fall, even though I’m telling them they won’t.”

“I take it, then, they want full asking price?” Which is four million.

Kevin nods. “They won’t budge, not even by a penny. But the house is worth it, so no one is getting screwed over here.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “And your clients? Are they easy to work with?”

I half shrug. “I showed them a handful of houses that I thought were perfect yesterday, but Mrs. Lowe is pickier than she initially let on. No wiggle room here. I need to find her exactly what she’s looking for, and it has to have the
wow
factor.”

Kevin draws in a deep breath before speaking again. “All right, having a potential buyer set up might push my clients to make a move.” He pauses, brows furrowed until he slaps a hand on the desk. “Let me talk to them, and if they’re interested we can set up a showing. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” I smile. “A win-win for Holt.”

Kevin laughs, giving a soft nod. “The higher-ups love when we represent both sides of a deal. We’ll each get a gift certificate for dinner if the deal closes.”

“Really? That’s nice of Holt.”

“Not Holt,” Kevin corrects. “The gift card comes directly from Micah.”

My open mouth shuts, words lost to me. I guess I didn’t expect Micah to be so in tune with his employees. Usually the higher-ups don’t deal with the employees who make all the money for them.

Another surprise from Micah.

Another damn check mark unchecked.

“You two are late. Better get moving.”

I glance over my shoulder, finding the receptionist Anna standing in the doorway. She frowns at Kevin, her topknot bun pulling her forehead tight. “You know how Mr. Holt feels about anyone working during this time.” Her gaze slides to me, creases on her mouth deepen. “You don’t, so I’ll tell you: Mr. Holt gets really annoyed if he finds anyone working during Holt’s Day. Past employees have been written up.”

I scrunch my nose. “Holt’s Day?”

Kevin rises from his desk, moving around the side and heading toward the doorway. “Ah, you haven’t been to a Holt’s Day before. Come on, I’ll take you up.”

I rise and wait for him to exit his office first, and as I’m following him and Anna to the elevator, I find the other receptionists gone from their desks now. I’m so confused my head is beginning to hurt. “Where is everyone?” I ask.

Anna glances over her shoulders, rolling her eyes. “They’re at Holt’s Day.”

Kevin smirks, pressing the top button of the elevator. When Anna looks away to step into the elevator, he mouths,
“Bitch.”

I smile and nod, following him into the elevator, and stepping in behind Kevin as he uses his keycard to access the top floor. Silence surrounds me until the doors open and then a wave of laughter and chatter wash across me.

Anna hurries away, quickly leaving us without saying a word.

Kevin exits the elevator, and when I step out next to him, he turns to me. “I’ll be in touch soon. Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. Sounds good.” I’m trying to get my bearings. Children are running by me in fast blurs and the screams of joy are deafening. My mind is racing, searching for answers, while I notice a waterfall wall behind the reception desk with
Holt Enterprises
written in silver bold letters across it. There are offices to both the left and right, but the greater difference than the floor below is the laughter flowing throughout the hallway. Clowns, magicians, and other entertainers are in the reception area, bouncy screaming children surrounding them.

“You’re late.”

The low voice spiraling down my spine sends a shiver along with it, and I spin around to face smoky eyes, instantly reminded I almost kissed Micah last night in a moment of weakness. “I never got the invitation,” I tell him.

One brow lifts. “No one told you about Holt’s Day?”

“No, it wasn’t mentioned.” My stomach clenches, heat instantly pooling low in my body, kicking my nerve endings into overdrive. It’s his eyes; they get me every damn time. They hold secrets and dark promises, and they’re wreaking havoc on my control. “But I’m here now,” I continue. “So, what exactly is Holt’s Day?”

“It’s my charity.” He smiles.

“Holt’s Hope?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Just recently, in fact.” From the softness of his expression, I can tell this charity means something to him. That softness does something so strange to me. It’s like a pull of energy, sucking me right in, making me want to be closer to him. It’s powerful. It’s strange. If I’m being honest, it scares me a little.

Three screaming children holding balloons run by me, breaking my eye contact with him. I smile at them before turning to Micah again. “How often do you bring the kids here?”

Micah pauses to examine me, staring at my mouth. I think he likes my smile. His eyes intensify whenever he sees it. “Every month the kids come in for the morning and we bring in entertainers.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, owning the space so naturally as his gaze is scanning the room. “The clowns are the favorites by far.”

A fluttering feeling swirls in my belly as I listen to him speak. The passion, the sincerity in his tone, it’s another damn surprise. I keep trying to lump him into the
spoiled-rich-jerk
category, but every time I see him, he’s showing me he doesn’t belong there.

Micah’s brow arches again, awaiting my reply, but my voice freezes. I find myself falling into
this
thing I see past the confidence he projects. There’s a certain kindness about him I somehow missed and am only now seeing. It’s genuine, and I’m feeling horrible for not noticing it before. “This is a really great thing you do for these kids.”

His smile is slight. “Believe me, I get more out of this than they do.”

The way his eyes go unfocused, as if lost in some dark memory, tells me he’s a deeper man than I took him to be. There in the depths of his commanding eyes, I see a grave sadness exuding from him, telling me this charity is personal for him. I have no idea how I know that. I just do.

My throat begins to tighten and I find myself scrambling to ask the right question or to apologize for being hard on him when he didn’t deserve it. I’m not empathetic, but my world is slowing, my chest is squeezing. Now
seeing
him, somehow I’m feeling his pain, too.

And in
this
moment his shields are down and his pain is bleeding out of him.

A child stops in front of us and his squeal snaps me into the present. “I got a dog,” the boy says to Micah.

I’m speechless at the warmth reaching Micah’s features when he lowers to one knee and pats the little blond boy on the head. “It’s a very good dog, Cameron.” The child lurches into Micah’s arms, and Micah’s eyes shut, a peace so visible to me reaching his face.

“My mom would like this dog,” the boy says, jumping out of Micah’s arms.

“Yes, I imagine she would,” Micah replies with a soft nod, then asks gently, “What will you name him?”

“Spot.” The boy gives a big grin with loving doe eyes at Micah before hurrying away, screaming at his dog balloon flying high in the air, “Spot, the wonder dog!”

Micah glances up as he rises and gives me the softest expression, so contradictory to the power he possesses. “Cameron’s mother passed away six months ago from lung cancer.”

I take that in for a moment, glancing around the space, seeing all these happy children, realizing what Micah does for them—the happiness he brings to them after they’ve gone through far too much. “How very sad,” I tell Micah, understanding these kids myself. I wasn’t as young when my parents died, but something inside changes when you lose your parents before you’re an adult yourself. For everyone it’s different, but for me, it taught me how short life is and to never waste a second of it.

Be true to yourself, and for cripes’ sake, do what makes you happy, whatever that might be—that’s my motto.

“It
is
sad,” Micah agrees. “I have a team here at Holt that reaches out to psychologists to find kids that need us.” A long heavy breath escapes him before he gives a tender smile. “Cameron’s doing much better now. He’s settling back into school and we’ve got him involved in some after-school sports.”

He’s not looking at me when he says that; he’s staring after Cameron, and there’s longing in his face—heartache too, for sure. I can only assume that Micah has felt what Cameron has, because
that
look,
that
pain on his face,
that
shared memory cannot be faked.

I should know. I’ve felt it, too.

He turns to me then and my breath catches in my throat. Micah is intensity, power, and heavy emotion, and it’s all-consuming, weaving over me like a warm blanket that I
need.

“Allie?” he asks softly.

I blink away from the spell of him, feeling every hair on my body rise, awareness of the man next to me overwhelming. “Yes. Sorry.” I smile, blinking twice more. “Drifted off there for a minute.” But I hadn’t. No, I realize so much now.

Micah’s not like the man my mother described as her ex-husband, he’s not even like my half-brother, he’s something
more,
and I can no longer deny the truth
.
With my judgment of him gone, all that remains is a flowing heat and electricity pinging between us, and so much
more.

His eyes narrow and he’s watching me intently. Part curiosity, part intrigue in my shift in mood toward him, I’m sure. But that intense emotion I feel coming from him interests me more, because for this to happen between us, he
needs
to be this guy I’m seeing without the armor he always keeps up. “This charity is clearly personal to you. Can I ask why?”

His jaw clenches, eyes darting. I instantly realize I’ve hit a nerve.

Then, “Holt prides itself on charity work.”

The people, the noise, the activity around me drift away as I watch Micah walk from me with wide steps. I see him drop down with a group of children doing magic tricks, addressing each and every child in the group by name.

I’ve felt a lot of things with men. Attraction, seduction, even friendship; this is something I don’t know. It’s forceful, yanking me in so fiercely I feel like I can’t stop it, and all I can do is feel my heart banging against my chest.

Somehow he’s reaching my soul, tangling curiosity around me so tightly.

“His hot level hit the roof, right?”

I startle and jerk my head sideways, finding Liv. “What?” I manage.

Her eyes are dancing as she gestures at Micah, who now has three boys wrestling with him, while he’s tickling them into hysterics. “Look at that hunk surrounded by all those kids. Like I said, if he wasn’t hot before, he is now.”

My chest aches when I look at Micah. I don’t agree with Liv, not that I’ll tell her that. Micah’s always been hot. The chemistry between us is undeniable. But
this
makes him real. He’s forcing me to see something I didn’t before.

I see the
man
behind Holt, behind the suit, and behind the money.

I see a man with ghosts.

Liv continues, awe in her tone. “Who would have believed that he’s so sweet.”

“Not me,” I whisper. But he is sweet. In fact, he’s more than sweet, I’m beginning to think.

Micah flops back on the ground, raising his hands in surrender and declaring himself the loser, sending the children around him running away, laughing and squealing in pride. I think I can’t possibly be more impressed by him, but I’m quickly proven wrong, when the cutest little blond girl, wearing a crown and a purple princess dress, begins to paint Micah’s fingernails sparkly pink.

I tilt my head, listening to their conversation. “I’m gonna make you pretty,” the little girl says with a big grin.