Dirty Little Secret (15 page)

“Where are we—”

Cailin used a fingertip to stop Alex’s question. Instead she drew him behind the evergreens, standing at least ten feet tall, backed him into the fragrant wall, and sank hastily to her knees.

“Cailin?”

Fingers trembling at the audacity of what she was about to do—and at the overwhelming desire to do it—Cailin reached up and placed both hands on Alex’s crotch. He choked even as his length hardened beneath her touch. The power she seemed to hold over his body awed her. Right now she’d use it to her advantage, for his pleasure.

Knowing seconds counted, she opened the button of his jeans by shoving her hands under his untucked button-down and giving a single flick to the top button. She didn’t even bother to lower the zipper all the way, just lowered it enough to maneuver the head of his shaft through the gap. His breathing bellowed in her ears, his pulse jumped between her fingers, and her mouth watered as she opened enough to take him in.

Fast. Frantic. She poured everything she had into pleasuring him, needing only the taste of his release on her tongue to satisfy her. She couldn’t tell if the sounds Alex was emitting were laughter or sobs. Either way, minutes later he was exploding in her mouth, his hands clutching her hair as he strained to empty every last drop into the moist cavern surrounding him. His salty release hit her tongue, and molten pleasure blinded her for long moments. Only Alex’s pulling back and the slide of his cock from her mouth returned her to the present.

“God, Cailin,” Alex said, strangled laughter making his words choppy, “what was that about?”

Standing, she helped him straighten his clothes until he was as presentable as they could make him in the almost nonexistent light. “It’s about surprising you,” she replied.

“I’d surprise you too, but I don’t think we have time for me to reciprocate.”

“Don’t have to. This tour was gift enough. Thank you,” she whispered as the sound of the others approaching filtered through the trees.

“You’re welcome, and yes, I do. And I will.” A hard, thorough kiss, then, “Just you wait.”

Cailin had a feeling the rest of the tour would be a blur with that promise ahead of her. She was right. Though a crowd of people surrounded them, somehow the sensations Alex conjured overwhelmed her senses. He led her down the street in their guide’s wake, his knowing fingers trailing along the valley that bisected her back and sending shivers—the good kind—down her spine. Goose bumps pebbled her skin as Alex stood behind her in Painter’s Alley, her bare neck sensitive to the lingering of his breath against it. St. Mary’s and the story of the priest found inside its walls made nothing more than a vague impression as Alex’s hands molded her hips, kneading, rubbing, sometimes dipping low—and behind—to distract her from every word. And boldest of all, the press of his fingers against the sides of her aching breasts, already tender and throbbing from the attention he’d lavished on them all weekend, as they lingered in the darkened parking lot outside the famous Ryman Auditorium.

Cailin’s senses were drunk on Alex; there was no need to visit one of the many bars that waited at the end of the tour. Instead a rushed good-bye and “thank you so much” for their guide, and they were hurrying back to the hotel, anxious for each other and nothing else. No one else. Just the two of them, lost in a world of their own making. Lost in the hunger they had for each other, a hunger the “real world” would have them deny.

* * * *

Sunday morning, the sun brought reality home to Cailin. She woke, safe and warm, the heavy weight of Alex’s arm and leg thrown over her body. She snuggled against him, the feel of his crisp chest hair abrading her back evoking a tenderness she’d never experienced before. Evoking something else she wanted to deny but couldn’t: love.

She loved him. The thought struck like lightning there in the quiet of a perfect, peaceful new day. It stunned her. It overwhelmed her. And as amazing as it was, as quick as it had been, it just felt right.

In the short two months since they’d first met, she knew Alex better—his body, his emotions, the way his mind worked—than she’d ever known her ex-husband. Tears pooled. Though she’d tried, there had been nothing she could do to save her marriage. You couldn’t know someone who didn’t want you to know them, or to know you. Alex shared himself wholeheartedly, both in bed and out. He healed her; loving him healed her. She felt whole. Happy.

Hungry.

But reality hit when she sat up. The first thing she saw turned out to be her suitcase, waiting on the luggage rack. Today she would fill it, pack up the clothes and memories and happiness, and head back to Atlanta, where Alex didn’t belong to her but to Sara Beth. Where their relationship hid in the shadows and every kiss, every touch was furtive. Alex had told her that living with the secret would be hard; she hadn’t understood exactly how hard it would be until now, until she’d tasted the freedom of living without it and realized how she truly felt about him.

It was the love she now recognized that would help her do whatever it took to stay with him, secrets or not. Amid that alphabet of sins, she had to have some good traits, right? Well, strength was one of them. Determination. They would make it. They’d figure out something.

“We will, I promise.” Alex’s breath hit her shoulder a moment before his lips.

“Will what?”

“Figure something out.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “I guess…”

Alex rubbed his chin lightly along her shoulder. “I know Sara Beth and I didn’t exactly think this thing through, but that doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out.” Tugging her around, he looked solemnly into her eyes. “I want to be with you, Cailin. Only you. Just be patient, please.”

Cailin nodded, but already the heaviness had settled over her. The next few months, possibly years, would be hard. She just prayed she had the strength and determination she thought she did.

Chapter Eleven

Alex rushed into the office early Monday morning, anxious to see Cailin after their night apart, only to be brought up short at the sight that greeted him.

“About time you showed up,” John Keane stated sourly as he stood at the window opposite Cailin’s desk, the backlight giving his military-cut white hair a totally inappropriate halo. One glance showed Cailin pale and trembling. Shit. John had obviously been his usual charming self, and there was no way to comfort her. John would notice. The man didn’t miss anything.

“John, what are you doing in Atlanta?”

“Working, unlike you. Heard you took the weekend off. What the hell were you thinking, gallivanting off for the weekend with the consortium less than four weeks away? If you weren’t my son-in-law, I’d fire your ass.”

Alex forced himself not to do anything disrespectful like roll his eyes. Instead he ushered the older man into his office, returning to give Cailin a frantic request to call Sara Beth in and a look of sympathy that was far too short before returning to contain the problem as best he could.

“So where were you?” John asked.

Alex bit his tongue, forcing himself to silence.

“Hmm.” John’s gaze could level entire armies, but Alex stood firm against it. Then, “It’s not a woman, is it?”

“God, John. Sara Beth is your daughter. I love her.”

John harrumphed again, his expression skeptical. “And you’ve had her far more than the six months you’ve been married. A man has needs; I know. I am one. But you’ve never disappointed me, Alex. Don’t start now, especially not over a hot piece of ass.”

Choking on the need to strangle his father-in-law, Alex counted slowly to ten; then, when he could get the words out without the urge to kill being obvious, he said, “John, you’re going to keep talking, and we’re going to have words. You’ve been like a father to me”—
a really bad one
—“so for both our sakes, shut up.”

Anger lit the green eyes so like Sara Beth’s, though their personalities were miles apart. Something in Alex’s expression must have gotten through, however, because John subsided just as the office door opened and Sara Beth hurried in.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Why the hell is everyone asking me that? He isn’t president yet, for Christ’s sake,” John grumbled, pointing at Alex. “You’d think I wasn’t wanted in my own company.”

No, just not in this office. Why do you think we moved so far away?

“Of course you’re wanted.” Sara Beth enveloped John in a warm hug, her generous spirit reaching out to her father in the way only Sara Beth had. Over her shoulder, Alex stared daggers at John, daring him to hurt the woman he held in his arms.

Letting go of her father, Sara Beth stepped immediately to Alex’s side, tucking herself under his arm. Her body trembled against him, squeezing his heart. He’d always hated the way John treated her, the conflict it created. She needed the man’s approval in some deeply hidden part of herself, the same way all people searched, sometimes fruitlessly, for the approval of their parents. That John would never truly grant that approval was a given; Sara Beth accepted it, and so did Alex. It didn’t stop that little-girl part of her from surfacing in John’s presence.

Pleasantries were lost on John; they both knew it, but Sara Beth tried anyway. After learning the weather in California was miserably hot and no one they’d known there was worth remembering, she gave up. With only a slight look of exasperation—which was amazing in itself—Sara Beth offered a tour. “You haven’t seen the new offices yet. Let me show them to you.”

John was already shaking his head. “Alex and I have work to do.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. “Nothing to worry your pretty little mind about. Alex can give me a tour while we talk.” A head jerk indicated the door. “You run along, now.”

Alex braced himself against the fury surging inside. It didn’t do any good. John had long ago made his thought process clear: Sara Beth was a means to secure the company with a good man, nothing more. Trying to prove she was anything else was just beating their heads against a wall.

But knowing it didn’t stop Alex from getting angry. Or Sara Beth.

Her beautiful mouth tightened into a thin line of hurt and resentment. “What am I, twelve?”

Hmm, intervene or not? Nothing she said would affect John; the man’s heart seemed to be made of Teflon, if it even existed at all. Sara Beth, on the other hand…

Sara Beth interrupted before he could decide. “You do realize you sent me to a renowned business school—a very expensive renowned business school, by the way—to earn a top-notch degree to help run this company. I know our work as well as Alex does. There’s nothing we don’t discuss, no secrets in how we do things here.”

Alex nodded. That was how they rolled. Not only was it the fair thing to do, but Sara Beth had a great head for business, one he would never neglect to make use of even if she hadn’t been the owner’s daughter.

The pain in her words might kill him, though. Her voice actually cracked as she told John, “I’m the fucking head of your development department. Alex recognizes my value. When will you?”

A crease appeared between John’s eyebrows. “Alex is your husband. He will run this company. There’s a reason you married, remember.”

“Maybe I should quit then,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air. “My work here is obviously done. I’ve spread my legs for a man. Whoopie.”

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant? You’re emotional enough to be.” Ignoring Sara Beth’s shocked gasp, he continued. “And if you’re not, maybe home is exactly where you need to be. You’re obviously not spending enough time with those legs spread if you’re not breeding yet.”

“John!” Alex roared, unable to take any more. A single threatening step forward had John eyeing him warily. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. Talk to her like that again, and you can shove this company up your tight ass.”

Rage shimmered through him, only Sara Beth’s tiny, trembling white hand on his chest holding him back from tearing her father to pieces. Yes, he knew people depended on them; they weren’t more important than Sara Beth. He would never allow her to live with those kinds of insults again. It was why he’d married her, why they’d moved. Everything else was secondary.

Without a word, Sara Beth gathered herself, then turned for the door. One hand on the knob, she flung a final look at her father over her shoulder. Pain stared out from her eyes, a pain Alex knew was slowly turning to hatred. Her father didn’t see it, never would, but Alex could. The thought of Cailin, her eyes shadowed this morning, slipped into his mind. How much longer could they all do this?

“I’ll see you this evening, love,” he told her, silently urging her to go.

A careful nod and Sara Beth slipped out the door. John’s sigh was loud in the ensuing silence. Shaking his carefully styled white head, he said, “I still wish she’d been a man.”

And we all wish you were too, John. Unfortunately we don’t always get what we want.

“So,” the older man said, “what’s the problem with Ian? Why aren’t we ready to go? Take me to the man’s office. He obviously needs someone to light a fire under his ass.”

He’s not the only one.

* * * *

Sara Beth’s fingers were nimble on his bow tie. Alex had never gotten the hang of tying the damn things, so he always left the job to her. Tonight, though, he wished it were Cailin’s hands on the piece of black silk around his neck.

Sara Beth patted his clean-shaven cheek. “There you go. All set.”

Alex’s response strongly resembled a grunt.

“Oh hush.” A frown marred the smooth skin of Sara Beth’s expressive face. “I think we’re both suffering from a lack of…”

“A definite lack,” he agreed. With John staying here at the house, neither Sara Beth nor Alex had spent significant time with their other half. Sam couldn’t stay overnight, and the possibility of making it to Cailin’s with John watching his every move was nigh on impossible. The lack of relief—and comfort—added to the edge John brought to every encounter, meant they were both strung pretty tight. Fortunately the man was scheduled to return to California tomorrow. If not, Alex and Sara Beth might be forced to implement one of the fantasies they’d dreamed up in the long week past—fantasies involving John and an unmarked grave somewhere extremely remote.