Secret History of a Good Girl

by Aimee Carson

  Paulo loosely shrugged a shoulder, as if it were no big deal. “So, I want to learn more.”

  His casual attitude toward the issue grated, and irritation flared, reflected in her tone. “The rest is none of your damn business.”

  He leaned back in surprise, whether from her cuss word or her response, she wasn’t sure. “You’re my employee,” he said.

  As if that entitled him to dig into her most private moments.

  “I’m your partner,” she said.

  “I told you,” he said easily. “I don’t do partners. Especially ones I can’t trust.”

  Irritation made way for anger, skewering her insides further. Ten years later and the whole world refused to let her move on. Tethered her to the past like she was a mangy dog. No matter how hard she worked, it meant nothing. Emotion had the words tumble unchecked from her lips, her accent strong.

  “I made some mistakes. I paid for my crimes.” She sat up higher in her seat. “But I can produce the kind of events that will knock the socks off your guests. If you’re going to fire me, Mr. Domingues, then do it. Otherwise—” she sent him a frown “—quit jerkin’ me around.”

  He lifted his lips into another crooked smile. “I don’t want to fire you.”

  The words knocked her off kilter, defusing her anger with a single sentence. Her brow shot upward of its own accord. “You don’t?”

  “Do you still steal?”

  Confused, she frowned harder. “No.”

  His smile grew bigger. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

  He wasn’t going to fire her like the others.

  Dumbfounded by the unexpected turn of events, she slowly settled back against the bench and turned her face toward the crowd, feeling overwhelmed. No matter how much she hadn’t wanted to care, a part of her had always been hurt by the clients who changed their minds about her when they learned the truth. Sad they couldn’t see beyond her mistakes to the hardworking woman she was now. She had poured everything she had into her business.

  Impatient with herself, she blinked back the sting of tears, refusing to let him see her cry. She didn’t want his pity. Concentrating on the scene, she watched the band began to warm up, listening to the chords as the lead singer strummed his guitar.

  Paulo was her first client not to boot her to the door after the news. Of the three others, two had given her a false smile and excuses about why she wasn’t right for the job, while the third had been more up-front. She preferred the honest approach. After two years of suffering at the hands of her snooty, rich college classmates, she had no patience left for false airs and pretense. But, rich as he was, Paulo Domingues didn’t fall into that category.

  Honestly, she had no idea what category he belonged to anymore.

  She finally composed herself and found her voice. “If you aren’t going to fire me, why are you pushing me so hard for information?”

  He leaned forward, his face lit with curiosity. “I want to know how you got hold of that file.”

  So it wasn’t her record that bothered him. It was not knowing how she’d pulled off her cheat. Despite the lingering emotion, delight spread through her body. At this point she’d work for him for free, just for the fun of keeping him on his toes. She widened her eyes innocently. “What file?”

  His lips quirked as he stared at her a moment more. “Never mind. The details aren’t important. I’ve learned enough for today.” He shifted on the bench, his knee pressing against hers, and a nervous thrill skittered along her limbs. “Like the way your drawl gets heavy and that cool exterior slips when you’re angry.” His gaze traveled across her face, and the transformation to lazy charm was instantaneous. “It also happens when you’re fighting the attraction between us.”

  Her heart tripped before picking up speed.

  With a hard swallow, she refused to look away. Because that would be admitting he was right. And as she met his gaze, she could feel the old awareness rise from the ashes like a phoenix. She clutched her cone, back rigid, as a breeze blew her hair across her face, partially veiling her vision. But Alyssa couldn’t move. And, no matter how much he knew, acknowledging it out loud had to be a bad idea.

  “I think you’re confusing irritation with attraction,” she said, shooting for a lofty, confident air, but knowing she fell horribly short.

  His eyes went dark. “Am I?” he said as he swept the hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

  A shower of shivers coursed down her spine, and the resulting blaze melted the tension in her back and muddled her brain. She was vaguely aware ice cream dripped onto her fingers. But the cold droplets did little to extinguish the heat in her body. She sat, paralyzed, as his eyes dropped to her lips, increasing her internal Fahrenheit reading to the boiling point.

  “A challenge like that is impossible to resist,” he murmured.

  Alyssa’s breath paused in her throat while he slowly lowered his head, as if he was reconsidering his actions along the way. But when his mouth touched hers, he came alive and opened her lips wide. Boldly invading the soft recesses. Taking what he wanted. And the demand for submission kicked her reaction into overdrive.

  She leaned into the kiss. The taste of sweet vanilla mixed with rich chocolate as his tongue mated with hers, an act that left her achy with need. Fire swirled like a tornado in her stomach, creating a force that pulled the warmth down, concentrating the heat between her legs. Lordy, her body was melting…

  Wanting more, needing more, with a groan she gripped his shirt, her response taking on a quality too sinful for a public place.

  And then Paulo pulled back, his breathing heavy, his eyes darkly curious. “Exactly how long has your ban on dating been going on?”

  Every nerve working overtime, she released his shirt and tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers trembling from the shock and awe to her senses. She swiped a napkin down the hand holding the cone, pretending to be concerned about the drips of ice cream before recovering enough to meet his gaze. “That’s none of your business either.”

  “I disagree,” he said. “It’s very much my business.” He lifted a meaningful brow. “Because your sweet-as-molasses drawl is thick when you’re turned on.”

  It was just a silly little kiss.

  Fingers wrapped around the handle, Alyssa stared into her open refrigerator, the cool air seeping in her direction. But her body was still hot. She wasn’t hungry for breakfast, and gazing blankly at the shelves, continuing to pretend she wasn’t affected by yesterday’s events, wasn’t helping. With a frown, she finally closed the door.

  Time to admit the kiss hadn’t been little and was far, far from silly. But it was only a temporary lapse. A one-time slip-up. Obviously abstinence was affecting her reactions.

  Fortunately, after listening to the first couple of songs, Paulo had decided the band was perfect, and Alyssa had been more than eager to leave. Sitting next to him, trying to concentrate on the music, had left her antsy. When he had offered her a ride home, she’d politely declined and taken a taxi.

  Unfortunately, the scorching encounter had left her coiled tighter than the box springs beneath her mattress. Sleep had been impossible.

  If she wasn’t careful, her business would start to suffer.

  Her cell phone buzzed on the dining room table, and she crossed the kitchen to pick it up. “Elite Events.”

  “Lyssa.”

  At the familiar sound of her mother’s syrupy voice, Alyssa knew the conversation wouldn’t be quick. She clamped her phone between her ear and her shoulder, gathering her things for work.

  “I popped by the Samba yesterday to see you,” her mother went on. “But the manager said you’d already left. A darlin’ man, though a tad too serious. And I told him he’d better treat my baby right.”

  Alyssa scrunched her eyelids closed. Her mother’s mouth had always been set on “shoot to kill and ignore the questions later.” Through the years, working in a country and western bar as a waitress had honed her manners to
a sharp point, while Alyssa’s business had necessitated softening the edges. And now Charles, Paulo’s Chief of Operations, a man Alyssa hadn’t even met yet, had been reprimanded by her mom.

  Perfect.

  With a quiet sigh, Alyssa reached for her keys. “Mom, please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Oh, relax, Lyssa. He probably thought I was joking,” her mother said. The whoosh of a melodramatic exhale came from the phone. “It’s just this new job of yours makes me nervous.”

  Alyssa ignored her own doubts and tossed her keys into her purse. “Paulo Domingues already knows about my record.”

  “It ain’t your record I’m worried about.”

  Of course not. Alyssa slowly shook her head, a baffled grin creeping up her mouth. Her mother’s attitude never ceased to amaze her. “Mom, I was convicted of shoplifting.” She set her purse on the table. “Twice.”

  “Oh, who cares about that?” her mother said with a dismissive tone, as if the arrests were irrelevant.

  Alyssa gaped mutely at the cellular. Did she really think no one did? Then again, in the world according to Cherise Hunt reality was optional. As a matter of fact, it was often actively discouraged. Only fourteen years older than Alyssa, her brash personality was an eclectic combination of both soul sister and quirky parent, and Alyssa was never sure which role her mom would assume.

  Her mother went on. “Between Paulo Domingues with his money and a hotel full of hoity-toity guests, well…” Her voice trailed off.

  Alyssa gripped her phone with her hand. Was she worried her daughter would screw up again?

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, baby,” her mom said.

  The concern in her voice melted Alyssa’s heart. As frustrating as her mother sometimes was, as many mistakes as she’d made, it had always been the two of them against the world. She’d taught Alyssa how to skirt a security camera, and she’d fought tooth and nail to keep their two-person family going during some desperate, destitute years. Alyssa owed her everything. And, while her mom sometimes made things more difficult, she always meant well.

  Alyssa’s tone grew soft. “I won’t get hurt.”

  “Good. Because watching those highfalutin’ college classmates of yours treat you like dirt near broke my heart.”

  Alyssa’s fingers clamped harder around her cellular as a self-directed slap of anger surged. “Things are different now.”

  She was different now.

  No longer was she the delinquent eighteen-year-old who’d believed people would give her a second chance after her first conviction. And although the narrow-minded behavior was always disappointing, it never surprised her anymore. Which was why she still couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact Paulo hadn’t fired her. Did he really not mind, or was he just stringing her along, waiting for a more opportune moment to lower the boom?

  Confused, Alyssa dropped into a chair at her dining room table. “I’ve got to get ready for work, Mom.”

  “Good luck, baby. I’ll bring you dinner tonight to celebrate your fancy new account.”

  Alyssa signed off and set her cellular aside, staring at her computer on the dining room table. Maybe it was a bit premature to be celebrating.

  Because, no matter how hard Alyssa tried, she couldn’t shake the thought Paulo still might use her past against her. It didn’t seem the sort of thing he would do, but she’d learned long ago to never take anything for granted. It was one of many luxuries she couldn’t afford. And arming herself with knowledge via a friendly bout of internet searching couldn’t hurt.

  After powering up her laptop, Alyssa tapped Paulo’s name into the keyboard and hit Enter, dismayed by the list that popped onto the screen. The number of entries was so large she could read for a month and never reach the end. Apparently it wasn’t just his star factor as the industry’s cutting edge, unorthodox entrepreneur that made him hugely newsworthy.

  Frowning, she typed in Paulo’s name and “Domingues International Resorts,” and another long list of articles was displayed. She scrolled through several screens until one from a local tabloid instantly caught her eye.

  Paulo Domingues Ditched by Wife for Brother.

  The headline punched with a powerful force.

  Damn. Alyssa sat back and stared at the screen. She wanted a little dirt on the man, a tidbit to throw back in his face should he decide to investigate her further. But this kind of news was too low for her to use. No one should have something so despicable and painful wielded as ammunition against them. Her eyes dropped to the next headline.

  Local Hotel Magnate Removed from Country Club by Police.

  Now she was getting somewhere.

  This one was on the same date as the caption above, and she doubted it was a coincidence. Unable to stop the snooping about his breakup now, she clicked on the article and began to read.

  At lunchtime, Paulo made his way into the empty hotel parking garage. The sun was scorching, and the sidewalk along Ocean Drive was full of female tourists in short shorts and midriff-baring tops. But his mind was stuck on a bland suit filled with the luscious body of Alyssa Hunt.

  He hadn’t stopped by to see her yet today, wanting to delay their meeting until he felt more in control. The makeout session yesterday had left an indelible heat that couldn’t be washed away with a hundred cold showers. Paulo was still steaming from that one, chock-full-of-trouble kiss. He’d spent a good part of his morning being interrupted by fantasies starring Alyssa. Most of them involved him entering her office, hoisting her onto the desk, and taking her, right then and there.

  Man, he was slipping.

  With a grunt of disgust, he threw his leg over the back of his motorcycle. His frown grew deeper when he heard Alyssa’s voice.

  “I learned a few things about you today,” she said.

  Paulo looked up and watched her approach, her heels tapping on the concrete, the sound echoing off the walls. But it was the sight of her prim navy pantsuit that wiped the frown from his face, because he’d learned something, too.

  Alyssa was all passion, kept tightly contained within a package of sassy Southern priss.

  But that didn’t mean he should linger in her company. He reached for the helmet hanging from the handle of the Ducati. “What did you learn?”

  “Apparently you’ve had a run-in with the law yourself.”

  He froze in the midst of lifting his headgear, and slowly lowered his hands back down. “Decided to do a little research to get even?”

  “Not to get even. That would be petty.” She came to a halt beside the bike. “I figured it was only fair I knew more about you.”

  She would. And it amused him. “And did you succeed?”

  “I guess I was busier the first year of my business than I thought. I missed out on quite a few stories about you in the local newspapers five years ago. Several in the Miami Insider.”

  The amusement instantly died. Leaning back, he schooled his face into an easy expression. “Don’t believe everything you read. Journalists like to embellish. Especially ones at that tabloid.” He shrugged easily, as if the topic didn’t disturb him. “Conflict sells. That’s why I don’t answer reporters’ questions.”

  “Never?”

  With a growing need to escape, he pushed the start button, and the Ducati came to life with a purr. “Never.”

  She raised her voice over the idling bike, the purring sound reverberating in the deserted parking garage. “I just have one thing I want to ask.”

  Staring at her, he considered driving off. He’d spent a whole year of his life fielding questions about that day. Being chased by the paparazzi. Journalists camped out, waiting for him to walk by. Pouncing as soon as he appeared. The only safe havens had been home and Nick’s club, but that was only because Security there had been trained to recognize every reporter in town and toss them out the door.

  And hell if he’d start answering questions now.

  Hoping to knock her off course, he sent her a scorching look, his gaze sweep
ing down her pristine suit to her designer shoes and back up, lingering along the way. By the end, he was wound tight again. And he wondered if the look got her as worked up as it did him. “I’ll answer your question right after you drive this motorcycle.”

  Her hesitation was incredibly brief. “Deal.”

  Paulo slowly raised his brows. There seemed no end to the ways this woman would surprise him. She’d called his bluff again. And, as usual, he was too captivated to resist. He shut off the motorcycle, the silence vibrating around them.

  His statement came out as more of a question. “You’re going to drive the Ducati.”

  “After you show me how.”

  He bit back the smile. “I didn’t realize that was part of the conditions.”

  “It is now.” A fleeting look of concern crossed her face. “And I have one more. No kiss.”

  He allowed a small grin to lift the corner of his lips. On that subject they were in perfect agreement. “Absolutely no kiss.” He crossed his arms, eager to see how she’d pull off driving his motorcycle. No doubt with her pinky lifted, as if holding a delicate cup of tea, all the while cussing under her breath. “So what’s the question?”

  “Is it true the police were called to kick you out of the country club?” she said. “For fighting with your brother?”

  The mention of Marcos skidded helter-skelter down his spine, leaving skidmarks of anger along the way. He sent her an indifferent look. “It wasn’t like I was arrested.”

  She colored slightly and scowled at him. “You caught a break because of your wealth.”

  “Maybe. But it wasn’t my fight that got me thrown out.”

  “So why did they boot you out the door?”

  His answer came out smooth, but only because he’d had a year of practice giving it. “I got kicked out because I refused to put on a coat and tie.” He shrugged. “Too bad, too. Missed out on a good meal of lobster and prime rib.”

  She stared at him, her gaze scanning his face, as if looking for more beneath his expression. “That’s what you told the Miami Insider reporter.” She placed a hand on her hip and looked unconvinced. “So it had nothing to do with the fact you’d just learned your wife left you for your brother?”