Filthy Secrets: A Steamy Romance Boxset Collection

by Nova Rain

  The steel staircase creaked underneath my feet as I climbed the stairs. The railing was vibrating with every step I took. I could never understand why Jessica wouldn’t move out of this crappy building. And with my story with Sean still weighing on my mind, I felt anger taking over me. I rang my friend’s bell, eager to tell her off. Jessica answered her door and looked at me for a few seconds, before opening her mouth.

  “What, no ‘Diana Ross’ jokes this time?” she wondered, pitching her voice higher.

  “Why the fuck do you still live here?” I groaned, striding in. “Even rats would have more pride than to die here.”

  “That’s why you wanted to stop by?” Kate emphasized, squinting her eyes at me, “to bitch about her building?”

  “Come on, Kate,” Jessica urged, a touch of disapproval in her tone. “I thought you’d have her all figured out by now. You and I both know she’s not upset about my building. It’s something else.”

  “That’s true,” I confirmed, standing against her kitchen counter. “God…” I sighed, palming my forehead. “Why did I even go out with him in the first place?”

  “Dr. Stud,” Jessica silently mouthed to Kate. “What happened between you two, girl?” she asked, shifting her gaze over to me. “Did he hurt you or something?”

  “No,” I spoke in a weak voice. “He took me to a racetrack in Yonkers. You won’t believe how much fun I had over there. Then, we went to his place. I seduced him in his bathroom. Long story short, he gave me one the best days of my life, and I dumped him with a letter. I just didn’t have the heart to explain the situation to him.”

  “Okay, that was not cool.” Kate commented. “You should have been honest with him. You owed him that much.”

  “Not really,” Jessica shook her head in disagreement. “Sure, he’s been good to her, but…”

  “But what?” I interrupted her, my voice gaining in volume. “Do me a favor. Remind me who’s been good to me these past seven years. Can you remember anyone at all? Because I sure can’t.”

  “Jess, what did you say he did when he found you two on his lawn?” Kate asked, her tone relaxed as she stepped closer.

  “He, um…” Jessica swallowed hard. “He kissed her.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t get just a little bit jealous,” Kate urged, intensifying her stare. “I did when you told me about it. I mean, he’d run into a couple of girls stalking him, he didn’t freak out and kissed her? By the way, how was that kiss?”

  “Wonderful,” I replied, recalling the moment. “I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to take him inside and rip his clothes off and show him what a naughty girl I can be.”

  “I bet you showed him last night,” Kate presumed, flashing me a bright smile.

  “Yeah, I’m sure she talked dirty to him throughout the whole thing,” Jessica guessed, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I hate to disappoint you both, but I did neither,” I informed them, my tone firm. “I just…” I paused. “Let him do all the work. Don’t ask why. I don’t have a freaking clue.”

  “I do,” Jessica puffed air out of her cheeks. “You didn’t want him to think less of you, which means you have a crush on him. Thank God you put an end to this.”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Kate grumbled, furrowing her brow. “Jess, are you kidding me here? She hasn’t been in love in like forever, she finally meets someone decent, and you just praised her for ditching him?”

  “Yes, honey, I did,” Jessica gave an emphatic nod. “There’s a lot more at stake here than Monica finding a proper boyfriend.”

  “She’s right,” I said to Jessica. “I hope you understand why I’m so upset now.”

  “I do,” Kate softened her voice, gazing deep into my eyes. “Mon, I know you probably won’t like this, but if I were you, I wouldn’t let him go. Some people spend their whole lives searching for the right fit. You sound like you’ve found it, and you’re giving it up? Anyway, I’m not going to try to change your mind. Just think about it.”

  “I will,” I sighed, nodding in acceptance. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Take care.”

  I glanced at them one last time, and then strode off. Unlike in the past, they hadn’t been much help. It was like I was listening to both sides of myself. One of them was advising me to get back with Sean. The other was commanding me to stay put.

  With a heart drowning in confusion, I decided to go home. There was no point in me lingering out anymore. Staying in the city was not going to solve any of my problems. It would just invite more trouble, because there was a good chance I would give in to temptation: a tall, sexy temptation, called Sean Granger.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sean

  The end of my shift signaled the beginning of my quest for Monica. Immediately, I ran into a problem. Without her address, tracking her down would be very difficult. The fact that she didn’t work complicated things even further.

  On my way to the parking lot however, I had a brainstorm. According to protocol, Monica had to provide an address at the reception gate house of the racetrack. Miles Bennett, the receptionist could not give away such information, due to company privacy policy. Nevertheless, he and I had been friends for a while, and he had seen us out on the track together. I just had to ask him for a favor.

  About an hour later, my instinct was proved correct. Miles had no problem showing me the sheet with Monica’s personal information. As I read her address though, I felt shockwaves shaking my existence.

  “629, FDR Drive, Sands Point”

  The village of Sands Point was home to some of the richest people in the state. Celebrities, big shot lawyers, and politicians were among its three thousand or so residents. How was it possible for a street racer to live there? Furthermore, Monica could barely make ends meet. There was no way she could afford a fancy house in that village. After all, her need of money had forced her to attempt to steal my car.

  Or had it?

  Was it something else? Was it something that had somehow slipped my attention?

  I spent hours wracking my brain, searching through moments, replaying our dialogues. Yet, this search came up empty. She was a simple girl. She didn’t wear any jewelry whatsoever. Neither did she like anything too expensive, other than cars. A crazy scenario was born in my mind. Was this one of those age-old stories, where a rich princess starts a relationship with a commoner, hiding her identity from him? In other words, did Monica hide her wealth, because she wanted to see if I would be interested in her, and not her money? What a ridiculous notion… If that was the case, she wouldn’t have broken up with me. Neither would she have tried to dissuade me from pursuing her.

  A few minutes before midnight, I set out from New York. My destination; Sands Point, Long Island. Even this detail didn’t add up. Why would Monica be spending the best part of every day almost thirty miles away from home? Was the village too quiet for her, or was there something else at play? More riddles. More reasons for me to go back in time, in case I remembered a clue that would help shed some light on the case.

  But the harder I tried, the more I realized that I had been dealing with someone very, very careful. Not once had Monica disclosed anything about where she lived. She stuck to her favorite topic: cars. Whenever we didn’t discuss engines, she was friendly and demanded my attention in bed. Of course, I couldn’t turn that down.

  The first images of Sands Point confirmed its reputation: lush greenery, massive estates, and expensive cars on streets and in driveways alike. I considered myself to be living in a nice neighborhood. Most of my neighbors were middle-class, well-off people. Most of them could afford luxuries such as pools and second-hand supercars, but this was far beyond that. I was looking at the gigantic plots around me, when a gray Bugatti Veyron roared past my M3. Those people had taken extravagance to a whole different level. The Bugatti was actually a hyper car, which cost more than one million dollars: a million dollars. I could say that a hundred times, and I’d still find it hard to believe that someone
would spend that insane amount of money on a car.

  The neighborhood layout gave me cause for concern. Houses were few and far between, separated by the occasional empty plot of land. There couldn’t be more than five or six homes on each street. This meant that residents knew what each other drove. My BMW would blend in just fine, but, if Monica’s neighbors didn’t own one exactly like mine, I would have a serious issue. Therefore, I chose to ditch my vehicle in a grove, just a few yards from Monica’s street.

  Finding myself among some tall, balsam fir trees, I switched off the engine and went outside. A sea breeze hit me, bringing its distinctive scent to my nostrils. Padding up the grove, it dawned on me that the beach had to be very close indeed. Otherwise, the scent of the trees wouldn’t be that weak.

  The ground in front of me leveling out, I stepped out of the dirt and onto the asphalt. A glance down the road to my right confirmed my suspicions. There were just three residences on FDR drive. A blue sign with the number “615” outside the first house shredded any notion of disappointment. Huge, stone walls surrounded the property, rendering it impossible for me to get in. Further down the road, I realized that Monica’s house was the one closest to the beach. Her neighbor’s number read “622.”

  A view of the rough sea entered my line of sight as I continued on the downhill road. The half-moon cast its lush light upon the surface, helping me notice smaller and bigger puffs of sea foam across the water. Big waves, one after the other, were hurtling towards the beach. It was a beautiful scene; no doubt about that. Still, I hadn’t gone to Sands Point just to admire the view. I was there for a much more important reason than that.

  Slowing my strides, I looked over at Monica’s house. I could feel the moisture of the sea on my skin. A downhill stretch of asphalt led to an underground garage. Right above it, was a massive lawn, with a wide, limestone pathway in the middle. Towering palm trees were on either side of the pathway. The estate was separated by a white, picket fence. Perhaps its residents didn’t go for a stone wall, because it would block their view to the sea…

  I was puzzled for a moment. I had the right address, but nothing even indicated that Monica actually lived there. There were no cars in the driveway whatsoever. She owned a very expensive car, but, for some reason I couldn’t fathom, it was nowhere to be seen. Nonetheless, I wasn’t given any time to guess why. A loud clang shattered the stillness of the night as the garage door buzzed. Car headlights peeked through the gap between the door and the ground, revealing numerous droplets of water. Spotting a bush in front of the fence, I ran off towards it. I dropped to my knees behind it, and turned to face the road. Waves of cold sweat were washing over me. I was expecting to hear the typical grumble of a powerful engine; yet, I was in for a surprise. All my ears could pick up was the sound of an everyday car. A massive, black limo turned left and into the road. Watching it roll by through the leaves, I counted four, separate windows on its side.

  Alright, what the hell is going on here?

  If I was curious when I left New York, I was dying to find out what was up now. I waited long enough for the limo’s taillights to disappear into the darkness, and then rose back up to my feet. A strong gust of wind blew through the palm trees, their rustling rising above the sound of waves crashing onto the sand.

  With a heart filled with determination, I abandoned the road. In a matter of seconds, I was jogging along the pathway, my gaze fixed on the ground floor. I could make out a feminine figure through the window. She disappeared behind a concrete column, and then emerged from another window to the left. As for her identity; I was too far away to tell.

  About thirty yards from the front door, I decided to change my approach. I had no idea if the woman in that house was alone or not. Judging by its size, the owner was bound to have help. So, I turned left, and headed to the corner, throwing glances at the interior. Pressing her phone to her ear, the woman was talking to someone, her side to me.

  I spotted the aluminum porch door as I turned around the corner. Its beige curtains were drawn to either side. And it was then that I discovered the correctness of my information. The woman was no stranger to me. She was none other than Monica Townsend. Facing in my direction, with her phone still in her grasp, she stared at me in utter disbelief. I tapped my finger on the glass, my heart pounding faster and harder against my ribcage. Monica shook her head sideways, biting her lower lip. That was definitely not the response I was waiting for. Since a face to face conversation was out of the question however, I yanked my phone out of the pocket of my coat and called her.

  “Let me in, or I swear to God, I’m going to smash through the fucking glass.” I grumbled, keeping my eyes on her.

  She heaved a sigh, before tossing the device down on the couch. Gripping the handle, she opened the porch door, and looked away from me.

  “What are you doing here, Sean?” She spoke in a wobbly voice. “How did you find my address?”

  “I have friends,” I rebutted, a stiff expression dominating my face as I noticed a large chandelier on the ceiling. “Tell me something. Do all rich girls like to steal or is it just you?”

  “You have every right to be mad at me,” she uttered, her tone weakening. “I lied to you about who I am. I’m so sorry, but…” she faltered. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Why?” I groaned, throwing a vicious glare down at her.

  “Follow me,” she suggested, shuffling off down the hall.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice bouncing back from the walls as I indulged her.

  “You’ll see,” Monica replied, making her way to a staircase up ahead. I didn’t speak. It was obvious that she had no intention of telling me anything right then. During our short walk, I spotted a portrait on the wall. It depicted a graying man in a black robe, sitting down in an armchair. He had short, white hair and a thin moustache. Inevitably, this raised suspicion within me. Had Monica married someone almost twice her age for his money?

  Reaching the top landing, she turned left, bypassing a large bedroom. Just inches before another room, she gestured me towards it. I brushed past her and entered, before looking around me. A long counter was against the wall across from me. It reached almost all the way across, leaving a narrow space in the corner. Five frames of Monica and the middle-aged man in the portrait were on that counter. Three of those pictures depicted the redhead in a wedding dress at his side. He was rather short; he couldn’t be more than 5’9”. I scratched my jaw, and continued down the room. Once again, I was right. She was indeed his wife. Still, he wasn’t in the frames I came across later. They contained Monica, at a somewhat younger age, with shorter hair, and… a baby boy in her embrace. Facing the camera, he was sleeping in a blue, all-in-one vest. On top of that frame, was a yellow post-it note:

  “I would do anything for you, my angel.”

  A purple notebook lay between that picture and an empty pencil case.

  “Go ahead; read it.” Monica encouraged, her sniffle filling my ears. I sucked in a deep breath and pried it open with steady fingers, the anger festering within me vaporizing.

  “7-9-2013

  Hey, Timmy,

  How are you? I guess you’ve been okay. I can feel you moving inside me every day. You’ll grow up to be a tough guy. I know you will.

  I’ve got good news for you, sweetie. I was strolling around in Central Park this morning, when this huge guy approached me. His name is Carl Bender. He’s Robert Davidson’s bodyguard.

  They took me to a really nice place on Long Island. Mr. Davidson asked me to marry him. He's running for Congress, and Congress candidates have to maintain a specific persona. You’re too young to understand that, but you will later. Anyway, he promised to take care of us. I can’t believe I won’t have to give you up, honey. I will see you growing up. My God… This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

  You will never be in the system, Timmy. You will have what I didn’t: a mother. That’s something you’ll understand later, too. So, don
’t you worry about a thing, my boy. Mommy will always take care of you.”

  “Persona?” I gasped, lifting my gaze to look at her.

  “Keep reading.” One more sniffle escaped Monica, her arms folded across her chest.

  “11-18-2013

  Hi, Timmy,

  You’ve grown so big. It’s hard for me even to walk without stopping to catch my breath. I don’t mind, though. You’re just days from being born and you’re healthy.

  Mom is not doing okay. I helped Mr. Davidson become a Congressman, and now, he wants me to give you away to his brother. This is what I get for being good to someone. They want me to abandon my child. I have to sign a piece of paper, which says I’m transferring custody to Mr. Chris Davidson. If I don’t, his brother will kick us out of his house. I don’t care about me. I’ve struggled to get by before. It’s you I’m worried about, sweetie. You will get nothing out of a fortune.

  I’m so sorry, Timmy. It breaks my heart, but I have to do what’s best for you. You will have everything you need growing up. You won’t have to worry about food, or clothes, or a roof over your head like I did. Again, I’m very sorry, my boy. I wish I had a choice, but I don’t.”

  “Now you know.” Monica whispered, two tears toppling off the edges of her eyes. “I’m no rich girl, Sean. I’m just a prisoner.”

  I stared at her, mouth agape, adrenaline surging through my veins. I felt like I was standing in quicksand, with no one around for miles and miles. Thoughts flew into my mind, and yet, I could not put a single one of them into words. Her letters to her unborn son had taken away my ability to speak. I set the notebook back down on the counter, tearing my gaze away from her. A nasty sensation of guilt engulfed me. I hadn’t shared this with her, but, just minutes ago, I wasn’t her biggest fan. I believed her to be a gold digger. I considered her a manipulative girl who was just looking for a thrill, someone that wouldn’t hesitate to cheat on her husband.