Secret History of a Good Girl

by Aimee Carson

  “Good,” he said as he tightened his arms around her waist. “Because the whole point of the morning after is to indulge in more of what went on the night before.”

  “I don’t know if I want to repeat all of tonight.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “How about just the best parts?” he said with a sexy rumble.

  A second smile touched her lips. But despite the incredible memories his words had resurrected, the awkward moment with his brother and ex-wife flashed in her mind. Obviously that was one part of the evening he didn’t wish to repeat. He hadn’t broached the subject of their encounter with his family, and she was positive he wouldn’t bring it up. Watching his tight face during the encounter had been difficult.

  Alyssa absently rubbed her fingers against his arm, the rough hair coarse. “I’m sorry about the run-in with Marcos and Bianca.”

  A few moments passed before he replied, “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her fingers stalled on his arm. He’d been nonchalant about the subject before, and this discussion was never going to be easy, but surely, after everything they had just been through he would feel more at ease talking to her now?

  “It had to have hurt when she left you for Marcos.” When he didn’t respond, she went on. “And your brother’s actions must have hurt your relationship with him, too.”

  His harsh scoff came out close to her ear. “The only thing Marcos and I ever shared was an unfriendly competition at work.”

  Alyssa twisted in his arms to look up at him. “You two were never close?”

  Another jagged flash of lightning lit his face, complete with a Rochester-esque scowl that would’ve had Jane Eyre swooning in her shoes. When the accompanying grumble of thunder finally arrived, Alyssa waited for the sound to pass, and then his reply. But the silence was only broken by the increasing force and frequency of pattering rain.

  Paulo rolled onto his back, his left arm still beneath her waist, and finally spoke. “Six months before I left the business, I approached my father about creating a boutique line within the company.” It wasn’t an answer to her question, but Alyssa waited, knowing the story was important. “I wanted to take our older, smaller hotels and renovate them. Restore them to their original designs.” The light was dim, but as he stared up at the ceiling she could just make out the frown on his mouth. “And I wanted the Samba to be the first. But, as usual, Marcos and I…” He hesitated before going on. “We disagreed about the idea.”

  She sensed those disagreements had been heated. “So what happened?”

  “My father had a stroke, throwing the company into chaos. And then, four months later, while Marcos and I were still arguing about my proposal, Dad died from complications.”

  The story was recounted with as much emotion as it took to read a grocery list. But the loss of his father must have been tough. “I’m sorry.”

  His reply was wooden. “Don’t be.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was glad his dad was dead, or missed him terribly, or any of the countless variations in between. And his refusal to talk was daunting. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, she boldly pressed on. Persistence was her only ally. “If Marcos and Bianca’s relationship doesn’t bother you, why are you refusing to talk to your brother about the trust?”

  The frown grew deeper. “Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Her forehead crinkled with concern. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t want the money.”

  Alyssa propped her head on her hand. “Why not?”

  The fingers beneath her hip growing tight. “Because I don’t need it.”

  “But don’t you feel an obligation to honor your father’s last wishes?”

  With his free hand, Paulo raked his hair from his forehead. And as she waited the frustration grew. One night of feeling unbelievably close to him had rocked the very foundation of her world. She was different. Irrevocably altered. Hadn’t it changed anything for him? Hadn’t he felt the slightest shift in their relationship?

  Feeling an overwhelming need to press the issue, she went on. “Why won’t you answer the question?”

  Paulo pulled his hand from her waist. “It’s been a long day. And we’re both tired.” His voice was low, laced with fatigue. He rolled over to face the wall. “Get some sleep, Alyssa.”

  She stared at his back, listening to the sound of the rain pummel the window, confused. And hurt. After letting every ounce of her soul pour out for him to see, he still didn’t feel comfortable talking to her.

  With an ominous feeling, a massive caution light was blinking in her brain. Flashing brighter than the lightning that streaked across the night sky. And if she were smart she’d start paying attention. Problem was, when it came to Paulo nothing about her was smart. And she realized she’d gone and made another mistake. Another horrible mistake.

  She’d fallen in love with Paulo Domingues.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AT 2:00 a.m., Paulo leaned against the wall of the patio outside his bedroom, staring at the shifting lights in his pool. The storm had passed, leaving the smell of damp earth and a heavy humidity, and it pressed in on him. Despite the rain, it was still hot. And the temperature, the black night, along with the moisture in the air, all combined until it became a wet, oppressive box. Inside the house, it was air-conditioned and cool, but Alyssa still slept in his bed, and he didn’t want to wake her.

  He felt bruised. Battered. And beat up.

  When he’d brought her to his home he hadn’t counted on being completely gutted by her story. The unbearable need to put her world right. Much less the alarming look of absolute trust she’d given him. And when she’d finally unleashed her wild side, a hellcat in bed, it had knocked his control out of the park.

  Once that wall had been breached, he was powerless to stop it.

  Restless, he crossed the small porch and leaned his elbows on the rail, frowning as he watched the pool light shimmy, flickering blue ghosts against the trees. He should have ended their affair when she’d continued to question him about his family. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it. Instead, like an idiot, he’d told her about the argument with Marcos. Granted, it was a diluted version of the story—like watered-down Scotch, it didn’t sting as much going down—but he’d thought it would satisfy her. But it hadn’t been enough.

  Would probably never be enough.

  And the more he gave, the more Alyssa would want. She was tough. Tenacious. With her childhood, she’d had to be. But as she’d continued to push and push, the warier he’d become…and the more she’d sounded like Bianca.

  Stifling him. Cutting off his air just as surely as a constraining wedding ring around his finger. Over the course of his year of marriage Bianca had grown pushier, needier, and that circle of gold had grown tighter, until it had felt like he was choking.

  And he was choking now.

  He sank into the patio chair and scrubbed his face in frustration.

  From the moment he’d met Alyssa he’d been in over his head. What he needed now was space. Room to catch his breath. Things had gotten out of hand and way too intense. It was time to back off for a bit. With any luck, by putting a little distance between them and this evening, he could ease them back into the simple affair this was meant to be.

  And if that wasn’t enough for Alyssa, then it would be time to move on.

  Three days later Alyssa sat on her couch, a shot of whiskey in her hand. The publicity from the wedding reception had taken on a life of its own, and her cellular had been ringing non-stop. And thank goodness, too, because she was left with nothing but work to keep her busy.

  After the life-altering evening with Paulo, he’d told her to see Charles with any problems and then left for Boca Raton to check out a hotel for sale. This afternoon he’d called to ask her to meet him at Nick’s club tomorrow. The conversation had been short, with Paulo avoiding every question she’d asked.

  With a sigh, she tucked her bare
feet beneath her. Things were going so well at work there was little doubt Paulo now had complete faith in her abilities as an event planner. She’d reached her goal. Secured her dream job. And she’d ruined it all by falling in love with a man who didn’t do wedding rings anymore.

  Love.

  Damn, girl. Don’t pretend you didn’t see this parade of pain coming.

  Her breath whooshed out in a hiss, and she traced the furrow between her brows. He’d offered a few weeks of fun and sex, and now she wanted more. And there was a vast void that spanned the space between a casual fling and forever.

  A sharp knock was followed by a jingle of metal. There was only one person who had a key to her apartment.

  Her mother entered and spotted her on the couch. “Oh, here you are.” She closed the door and tossed the keys on a chair. “I dropped by the Samba to find out your plans for dinner…” Her gaze fell to Alyssa’s glass, and her movements grew slow, as if sensing the negative vibes. “I think I’ll join you.” She headed into the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, returning to plop down next to Alyssa. “So, what’s wrong?”

  Alyssa rubbed her glass with her fingers. “Work has been busy, and I wanted to relax.” As she summoned the energy to tell the truth, she watched her mother pick up the almost full bottle of whiskey from the coffee table and pour herself a shot.

  “It’s six o’clock and you’re already home.” Her mom narrowed her eyes, her gaze dropping back to Alyssa’s hand. “You’re not turning into an alchy, are you?” Without waiting for an answer, she plunked the bottle on the table. “I think you need to slow down. Lord knows, the pace you keep would drive me to drink.” She brushed at her bright blond feathery bangs, frowning at her own glass. “Though I’d prefer a beer to this stuff. Anyway, my friend told me about this new rehab clinic down on—”

  “Mom,” she said, unable to take it anymore, “I’m not an alcoholic.”

  Her mother settled deeper into the sofa, as if preparing for a long story. “So what’s the problem?”

  “I slept with Paulo Domingues.”

  “Lyssa.” Her mother sat up, twisting to face her on the couch. Alyssa braced for her reaction, and after a moment of shocked silence her mom reached out to touch her hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Flabbergasted, Alyssa rested her glass on her jean clad knee. “After five years of working hard to build my business, you’re proud of me for sleeping with a client?”

  “You took a risk. You put yourself out there.” She gave Alyssa’s hand a final pat. “Good for you.”

  Alyssa briefly closed her eyes. Not so good for her. She’d taken a risk and fallen hard. Her voice went low, and she asked the question that had been swirling in her mind since Paulo had left town. “How am I supposed to work with him now?”

  “Well, if you quit, would it be horrible of me if I dated his manager?” As Alyssa absorbed the news, her mother tried to look innocent while sipping her whiskey. “Charles asked me out to dinner.” For the first time ever, Alyssa saw her mother blush. “He’s really very sweet.”

  Sweet. Charles. Sweet? Alyssa blinked, trying to picture it, and then finally gave up. Some things were just beyond her comprehension. And, since her mother was one of them, perhaps the two were meant to be.

  Unlike her and Paulo. A piercing fear robbed her of her breath.

  “I reckon that’s enough about me. What do you want?” her mother said.

  The impossible, apparently. “I want Paulo,” Alyssa said. “I love him.”

  “Then go after him, honey.”

  “He doesn’t want commitment.”

  “Fiddle-faddle. Men don’t know what they want. It’s up to us to show them.”

  Alyssa sent her a wan smile. She’d inherited her mother’s stubbornness, and her accent, but she didn’t come close to touching her confidence. As time ticked by, Alyssa couldn’t think of a response, and a sober look slowly washed over her mother’s face.

  “I was too young to be a parent,” her mom said. “And I know I made mistakes.”

  Alyssa went still, stunned by the expression and the words. Her mother rarely admitted to anything. She preferred to pretend all was well even when things were falling apart, which had been constant when Alyssa was little. “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You did the best you could.”

  “Maybe. I’m real sorry my choices made your life so difficult.” She shook her head, her massive hoop earrings swinging. “But I never regretted having you.” The fine lines around her eyes eased as her expression softened. “That’s all I want for you, baby. A life without regrets.”

  A lump formed in Alyssa’s throat, and she swallowed hard, trying to clear it.

  “So,” her mom said, the easy-breezy smile returning to her face. “How ’bout I swing by the Samba tomorrow and take you to lunch?”

  Amused by the lightning change, Alyssa sent her a tiny smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Good.” Her mother pushed up off the couch. “Now, while you think of a way to straighten out your boyfriend, your momma is gonna make us some dinner.”

  Watching her go, Alyssa slumped against the couch and twirled a lock of hair in her finger.

  A life without regrets.

  It sounded good, but where did she go from here? Just thinking about her feelings for Paulo left her lungs tight and a sick feeling in her stomach. And after tossing and turning all night the only thing she knew for sure was that she couldn’t give up. But how did you reach a man who refused to talk about his feelings?

  With the sound of pots clinking in the kitchen, Alyssa listened to her mother singing a country song. Despite their problems, she could always count on her mom. Her love. And her loyalty. And, although Alyssa’s childhood had been difficult, there was one thing she was beginning to truly understand: being wealthy didn’t necessarily make it any easier.

  She knew Paulo’s time at his father’s business had been tough. And if his family’s only concern was money and success, maybe communication wasn’t a priority at his home? Perhaps he didn’t talk about the painful parts because he’d never been shown how?

  Despite his horrendous treatment by Marcos and Bianca, it was his father that he refused to discuss. And maybe, just maybe, if she learned the secret to their relationship, convinced him to accept the money and get past whatever was eating at him, it might allow him to let her in, too. Outside of Nick, who was probably too loyal to share the truth, the only other person who might be willing to discuss the matter with her was Bianca.

  Alyssa dropped her gaze to her cellular, resting on the coffee table. When she’d opened the email from Paulo’s ex-wife, requesting her help again, Alyssa had planned on deleting it, but never got the chance. There was no telling what Tessa Harrison had said to Bianca, and Alyssa dreaded the thought of dealing with her plastic smile again, but it was one way to learn about Paulo’s father. A long shot, maybe. And, considering how Paulo might feel about it, definitely risky. But she was used to both.

  Alyssa twisted her whiskey glass on her knee, eyeing her phone with apprehension. When he’d called today, Paulo wouldn’t even elaborate on why he wanted to meet her at the club. Somehow she didn’t think it was to profess an undying love for her.

  With a sigh, she reached for her cellular and began her search for Bianca’s number.

  Bianca Domingues was the only woman Alyssa knew who made a white tennis skirt and a ponytail look chic.

  “I can’t thank you enough for helping me, Alyssa,” Bianca said.

  Her kindness was surprising, but so was Bianca’s request for help with her wedding anniversary.

  Alyssa’s apprehension had climbed higher at the news, and she’d hesitated. But after a few seconds of intense deliberation she’d proceeded anyway. Because, although she planned on trying to learn a little about Paulo’s dad, her arrangement with Bianca wasn’t personal. It was purely a business deal.

  And if anyone would understand that, it
was Paulo.

  After questioning Bianca for half an hour on the phone, Alyssa had landed on the perfect theme. When she’d arrived at her home today to present it, Bianca had graciously served up refreshments in her manicured backyard, the view overlooking the tennis courts and the Atlantic beyond.

  “The country club has been marvelously accommodating on such short notice,” Bianca said. “But their ideas were a little—” she wrinkled her nose, shifting the sprinkle of freckles on her sun dappled face, red hair gleaming in the light “—ordinary,” she finished. Her eyes lit with excitement as she leaned forward. “I absolutely adore your idea for a theme.”

  It was impossible to hold back a smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re pleased.” Alyssa took a sip of her iced tea before going on. “We were lucky the vendor’s casino tables were available. Passing out chips to your guests and indulging in a Monte Carlo fantasy will certainly be different.”

  Bianca’s smile grew bigger. “Marcos loved the gaming clubs during our honeymoon there.”

  Which hardly matched Alyssa’s impression of the man. Then again, nothing was turning out as expected. After all the time she’d spent fretting about meeting the woman again, it had turned out to be a wasted expenditure of angst.

  “Up until now, we always left town for our anniversary.” Bianca’s smile slowly faded. “After all the vile things the newspapers printed after we married…” She blushed, and with a delicate shrug abandoned the sentence. “But this year Marcos has been working so hard, has been gone so much, I decided at the last minute it was time to celebrate at home.” Bianca squarely met Alyssa’s gaze, as if daring her to question the decision.

  But Alyssa understood the need to stop running from the past. “I’ll finalize the plans with the vendor today.”

  Bianca reached out to touch Alyssa’s hand, her eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said. “I know I’m paying you for your time, but if there is anything I can do for you—anything at all—please let me know.”