Dirty Little Secret Page 6

  “I need those updates you promised me,” Bethany said, toweling the sweat off her forehead.

  I’d successfully dodged her questions all day about my “date” with Cooper this past weekend, feigning that I was too busy to get into it, but now she knew no one was at home waiting for me, and my time was hers.

  Turning to face her on the mat, I pulled my knees to my chest. “It was actually really nice. He was a perfect gentleman, easy to talk to, and we got along well.”

  “Did he kiss you?” She grinned.

  A tiny rush of butterflies hit my belly. “He did. It was . . . nice.” I hadn’t been kissed softly like that, so tenderly, in what felt like forever.

  “What’s next?”

  “I have an event I’m supposed to attend with Gavin.”

  “Look at you. Just jumping right in. I love it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know this is—”

  “All for the house,” Bethany repeated in a mocking tone. “Right, I’m just saying, getting your toes wet is good. It’s going to help you take the big leap into real-life dating.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath.” I grabbed my own towel, but used it as a pillow to collapse back onto my yoga mat.

  “Em, it’s almost been a year since—”

  “Don’t say his name,” I blurted. Then, realizing how silly that was—what was he, Voldemort?—I sat up and said, “Look, I’ll date eventually, but this isn’t dating. It’s a business arrangement to fix my grandmother’s brownstone and bring it back to its former glory. Seriously, who in their right mind would agree to be a tether ball between two intimidatingly hot and oversexed brothers?”

  Who, indeed?

  Despite my words, I was only half convinced that my own reasons were quite as pure as I was making them out to be. What if I was just a glutton for punishment?

  I flopped my arm over my eyes as Bethany let out a squeal.

  “So, they’re oversexed? And intimidatingly hot, huh? I knew it.” She raised her eyebrows.

  I let out an agitated sigh. “I can’t say anything around you, can I?”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll let up, but tell me this. Are you nervous?”

  I considered her question. When I logged in to my bank account this morning and saw the thousand-dollar deposit from FD Industries, I’d felt strange, but not strange enough to call the whole thing off.

  Money like that was going to restore all the moldings in my house and maybe even get a few of the rooms a new coat of paint. And that was just from one night. If I could get through ten dates, the place could really be the home I wanted it to be—the safe, warm space I remembered.

  And after Nathan? I needed someplace safe and warm.

  Even more of a reason to stay the hell away from Gavin Kingsley, a little voice in my head whispered.

  I shut that voice down and focused back on Bethany, moving my arm from my eyes to consider her question.

  Was I nervous?

  “Not exactly.”

  “Anxious, then,” Bethany countered.

  “Nope.”

  But as I thought of Gavin’s brooding sexuality, his intense stares and cool demeanor, a rush of goose bumps broke out over my skin. He wasn’t warm, wasn’t like the sweet, smiling Cooper, and there was no hope of a fast-food date afterward. Worse? I wasn’t sure I wanted there to be. Part of me was growing addicted to the seasick feeling inside me when I thought of him. Like an ache so deep, there was only one way to make it stop.

  I swallowed hard and shook my head. “Why should I be?”

  Bethany’s brows pulled together. “Because they’re like . . . sharing you?”

  A hot shiver raced over my skin that had absolutely nothing to do with my workout. “Like I said, I’m a hired companion. I’m not dating them both.”

  She nodded, still looking unsure. “And they’re both okay with this?”

  Bethany knew the entire arrangement. My first instinct had been to guard their proposal like a secret, but I knew I needed advice and someone to turn to in case things got messy. Bethany was that person for me. It’s not like I could tell my mother about Forbidden Desires and the men who ran it.

  I chewed on my lip. “Yeah. It’s not sexual or romantic. I’m just like a walking billboard. That’s all. I have to smile and be pretty, and then they fork over the cash to fix my place. Simple.”

  She stretched her arms over her head. “Right . . . but if real feelings start to develop, I doubt this arrangement will continue to work. Someone will be left odd man out, and if these guys are even half as alpha—or how did you put it—oversexed and intimidating—”

  I shoved her in the side, but she pressed on, laughing.

  “—as I think they are, that won’t work. No one likes to be runner-up.”

  That wouldn’t happen. So what if Cooper had given me a little peck on the mouth? That hardly meant they were competing for me.

  Bethany went on, heedless of my silence. “What’s this event you’re attending with Gavin, anyway?”

  “I really don’t know much. It’s a charity thing. Honestly, I’m not sure what to wear. This is all so out of my element.”

  “What did you wear to the first one?”

  We rose to our feet, heading to the locker room to retrieve our car keys and cell phones.

  “Cooper sent me a gown.”

  “Nice. No gown from Gavin?” she asked, one brow arched.

  “No.” Gavin didn’t strike me as a send-a-gown type of guy, and somehow it didn’t seem okay to wear the same gown Cooper had given me on a date with Gavin. I’d probably head to the department store and see if I could find anything suitable on the clearance rack.

  “From what you told me, it seems that Cooper is the sweet, thoughtful one. So, why do I get the feeling that you’re more drawn to the alpha-hole?”

  “The alpha-hole?” I asked, fishing a dollar bill out of my wallet so I could pay for a water on the way out.

  “Alpha asshole.” Bethany shot me a knowing wink. “But don’t dodge the question. Which of them do you like better?”

  Avoiding her eyes, I handed a dollar to the front-desk attendant and accepted a water bottle in return, but my brain was elsewhere. A wave of icy nerves prickled my skin. Once we were outside, I shielded my eyes from the sun and met Bethany’s gaze.

  “They’re all so different, to be honest,” I said, hedging as best I could. How was I supposed to reply to a question I didn’t even know the answer to?

  “All,” she asked, her eyes widening. “How many are there?”

  I laughed. “Three. And all three Kingsley brothers are drop-dead gorgeous. I met their older brother, Quinn, at the event too.”

  “Can I have the spare?” she asked, chuckling. “Unless, of course, you’re going to date him too.”

  “Stop it!” I said, my cheeks glowing with heat. “I’m totally not. And it’s going to be fine. I told you, we’re going on dates, but none of us are dating.”

  “Hmm.” Bethany nodded, contemplating. There was something in her hesitation that nagged at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’ll just be interested to see where this all goes, that’s all. I want you to be careful. After Nathan and all—”

  I cut in with a nod. “I will be.”

  And with that ominous warning ringing in my head, we said our good-byes and I headed for the bus stop. All the way home, Bethany’s urging to be careful played through my brain.

  Cooper had been sweet and thoughtful, sending me a beautiful gown to wear accompanied with a handwritten note. So, why was my mind squarely focused on Gavin? There was something about his steely demeanor that called to me. It was like being given a locked box and being told not to open it. You’d quickly become obsessed with getting inside it.

  Which of them did I like better?

  There was no doubt my date with Cooper had been everything a date should be. He was easy—charming an
d fun. But more than all of that? He was thoughtful. I liked that. Liked it more than I was willing to admit.

  But that didn’t change the fact that I’d been lusting after Gavin for almost a year. And it had been a year spent wondering if he was smart, strong, and confident—only to discover he was so much more.

  He was dominant and gruff and mysterious. Everything Cooper wasn’t. If it weren’t for their stunning good looks, I might never have known they were brothers.

  Not that any of it mattered. I didn’t have to like either of them, and I certainly wasn’t getting involved with either.

  In fact, I was going to stop thinking about them both.

  Starting now.

  Chapter Ten

  Gavin

  “Fucking Cooper,” I muttered under my breath.

  Dragging the towel off my hips, I swiped away the steam covering my bathroom mirror. The reflection staring back at me was laced with frustration.

  I blew out a pissed-off breath and fought to erase my scowl. Sonja was always saying it was going to age me early. She joked that I’d need Botox if I kept that up. I assured her I didn’t give a shit about that, yet her nagging had apparently gotten through. I relaxed my features and took another deep breath.

  I wanted to pretend the reason I was pissed was because I’d let Cooper talk me into this. But I knew it was a little more complicated than that. Fuck. Okay, a lot more complicated.

  After stepping into a pair of black Armani boxer briefs, I shrugged into a crisp white dress shirt and left it unbuttoned as I strode into the formal dining room and straight toward the liquor cabinet. This room was rarely ever used, I think I’d only eaten at the table once, but the large oak cabinet opposite the dining table held all my favorite bottles of liquor.

  Selecting a cut-crystal glass, I let out another sigh and rolled my shoulders.

  I’d tried to shake the feeling, to convince myself that it was all in my head, but something about tonight felt too much like the way things had started three years ago. With Ashley. I hadn’t been truly involved with an escort since we’d been together. Not that I allowed myself to think of her often.

  Something about Emma stirred up those same feelings inside me, and this situation was eerily similar. Of course, I would never have let Cooper touch Ashley. She was mine. Which was exactly why Emma couldn’t be. I couldn’t go down that road again.

  So then, why did you blow up his phone the other night trying to find out about their date?

  Fucking idiot. It wasn’t like I could ask him if they’d fucked. It was none of my business, but part of me hoped that when I heard his voice or he responded that I’d be able to tell. There would be some mocking note there, or a swagger.

  The point was moot, though, because the prick never called me back that night, and didn’t say a word about her all week. Which was fine.

  Again, none of my concern.

  And remembering Ashley now only drove that point home.

  As I poured myself a measure of bourbon, my brain cataloged the similarities between her and Emma. Sky-blue eyes that were so bright, they were striking. Long, shiny dark hair. A feisty but decidedly submissive nature—it was that last part that got my blood roaring south.

  The way things ended with Ashley were messy, and I couldn’t go through that again. Yes, there were many things I loved about her, her fondness for rough sex not the least among them. Her fondness for prescription drugs, though? That had been a deal breaker.

  She’d been a ballerina who’d aged out of the system, as gorgeous and graceful as anyone might expect with cheekbones that could cut glass. She and her fellow dancers had never been shy about partying and smoking, but when all her friends went back on tour and she was left alone? That was when the trouble began.

  It was my fault from the start. I knew better. The girls were for fun and fun alone. But deep down, in my own way, I knew I had loved her, even if I’d never told her. In the end, I couldn’t save her, and even now, years later, that wound still burned white hot whenever my thoughts turned to her.

  Taking a long swallow of bourbon, I appreciated the bitter sting on my tongue, needed it to ground myself.

  Emma wasn’t Ashley.

  And even if I did want to cross that line with Emma? To possess her and make her mine?

  I’d promised my brother I wouldn’t.

  Picking up my phone, I dialed my driver. “I’ll be ready in ten. See you out front.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kingsley,” he said before disconnecting the call.

  Drink in hand, I headed to the master closet to continue getting ready. Selecting a black tuxedo and a ruby-colored tie, I finished dressing for the event, then tossed back the remainder of my drink in a single gulp. After adding platinum cuff links and my watch, I flipped off the lights and headed out to meet Ben, my driver.

  The ride to her brownstone was a short and silent one. I scrolled through my emails, checking for anything new, but there was nothing.

  I typed out a text to Cooper.

  Can’t believe you talked me into this.

  His reply came almost instantly.

  Have fun, Cooper wrote. You remember what that is, right?

  Vaguely, I replied.

  She’s easy. You’ll have a good time.

  What the fuck does that mean? I typed before deleting it with a snarl. It was none of my business and exactly what he wanted. To yank my chain.

  How easy? I finally typed.

  I waited, feeling like a caged bear as three little dots danced across my screen. Finally, his response popped up.

  I wouldn’t know. Maybe you’ll find out and can tell me . . .

  His reply contained a winking face that made me want to punch the motherfucker square in the jaw. I hadn’t done that in years, not in at least a decade. Back then, our most bitter arguments were settled with our fists. Now we settled our differences like men, punishing each other with stony silence or degrading jabs exchanged over cocktails.

  I rolled my eyes. If he was trying to goad me into breaking our deal, it wasn’t going to work. I knew the rules, and so did he.

  But the realization that he hadn’t touched her . . . Shit. Why did that excite me so much? The idea of being the first of us to touch her, to hear her cry out in pleasure—in pain? I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. The limo rolled to a stop, and I shoved my phone inside my jacket pocket.

  It was go time.

  Ben opened the car door, and I climbed out just in time to watch a graceful Miss Emma Bell navigate the row of steps down from her ancient little brownstone. She was a woman who could appreciate fine details. I liked that about her already, although we’d barely exchanged six sentences despite our nearly year-long non-affair.

  I leaned against the black limo, sizing Emma up. She was in a wine-colored dress that fell to the ground and was tied in a bow behind her neck. It was simple. Elegant. Perfect.

  The curves of her hourglass figure made my palms itch. The desire to reach out and touch her, to see if her creamy skin was as soft as it looked, was a sharp pulse of need. One that I quickly tamped down. That would have to wait. We were headed out to support one of my favorite charities, not to slap our private parts together until we both came in a hot, sticky mess.

  Damn. Being an adult was a motherfucker sometimes.

  I forced out my most respectable tone. “Good evening, Miss Bell. You’re looking well.”

  She paused before me, dipping her chin so her eyes were trained on my shoes, her perfect submission frustratingly intriguing.

  “You are as well, Mr. Kingsley.”

  Finally, that blazing blue gaze came to rest on mine. I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw when she looked at me. Couldn’t help but wonder what she thought about during all those coffee-shop run-ins.

  “Gavin is fine,” I said, correcting her, and she nodded. “Shall we go?”

  I took her hand, helping her into the waiting limo before sliding in behin
d her. Once inside, Emma scooted to the far side, leaving a healthy space between us as Ben pulled out into traffic.

  “We match,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your tie.” She gestured toward me.

  I nodded. She was observant. “Tell me something interesting about you, Emma. Other than the fact you like tea.”

  She smirked like she knew something I didn’t. “Books are my passion.”

  “Reading them? Smelling them?” I offered her a small grin. “I’ve heard that’s a thing.”

  She returned my smile easily, her eyes crinkling in the corners. In that moment, she looked so young, so vulnerable, that for a second I almost called this whole thing off. Almost.

  “All of the above. Someday I’d like to write one too. I have about a dozen half-finished manuscripts sitting on my hard drive that’ll never see the light of day.”

  “What do you write about?”

  “Love,” she said, then apparently realizing that she’d exposed more of herself than she meant to, her posture straightened.

  “See, that’s where we differ,” I said.

  “You don’t believe in love?” she asked, her tone skeptical.

  “I do, actually. I just believe it to be rare.”

  “I agree with you. It’s a rare gem to be savored once you’ve finally found it. I believe that you could spend your entire life looking for it, and never come across it. I find that to be heartbreaking. But if you finally find it, maybe the rarity . . . doesn’t that make it all the better?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “And that inspires your writing?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said resolutely. Then she looked down at her delicate hands, the silence growing between us. “I probably sound so stupid, given what you do for a living. It’s not about love at all for you, is it?”

  I cleared my throat before responding. I appreciated the level of candor between us, how comfortable she was prodding me. I’d been on many dates with many escorts over the years, and ninety-nine percent of them sat silently on the ride to the event, quietly looking at their phones. In that tiny scrap of a clutch, I wasn’t even confident Emma had brought her phone along.