Dirty Little Secrets: Romantic Suspense Series (Dirty Deeds Book 2)

by AJ Nuest

  “Are they gone?” His voice rasped like he’d chewed a handful of glass. Nice. No tip-off to what she’d done to him there. As if his Class-A boner didn’t take care of the guesswork.

  “Yeah, right.” She grabbed his wrist and held tight. “Like I’m supposed to see straight after that?”

  A husky chuckle shook his shoulders, and he shot a glance behind them. Checked the end of the block and the opposite side of the street. All clear. In fact, pretty much everyone had vacated the area. He laughed again but it came off rusty, as if he hadn’t done so in years.

  “Charlie.” He met her lips. Slanted his head and tasted her again. If the rest of her was as sweet, he’d be spending the rest of his life in some serious deep shit. “Come to Chicago with me.”

  He needed her out of this city. With him. So they could lay low for a few days and he could wrap his brain around whatever trouble she was in. The best place to do that was Smith Manor. The security Malcolm had in place could make breaking into Langley look like a cakewalk. “Come with me, and I promise you we’ll figure this out together.”

  She blinked, her eyes darting over his face. Her gaze fell to the center of his chest, and his hands slipped from her hair as she backed out of his arms.

  “Okay.” Closing her eyes, she sighed, and whatever relief he’d been prepping to enjoy was short-lived.

  Something about the misery in her voice… His jaw firmed. Jesus, hearing that from her did nothing but cause him all kinds of grief.

  “Okay, Xander. I’ll go.”

  Chapter 7

  Her seat dropped out from underneath her, and Charlie smacked her hands to the armrest with the same force her ass hit the cushion. Dammit. She clicked her seatbelt together and jerked on the strap. Whatever idiot had been in charge of delaying the flight instead of canceling it altogether should be fired.

  “Give me two seconds, Chuck.”

  Swiveling her head toward Xander’s aisle seat, she darted a frown between the concentration creasing his brow and the weird letter-number-symbol combo that had been scrolling across the screen of his open laptop ever since the wheels had left the tarmac.

  And what, exactly, was he planning to do? Part the storm with a wave of his hand? “I didn’t realize your super powers came with the ability to control the weather.”

  One side of his low-down dirty mouth curled in a devilish smile, but his focus stayed glued to the monitor. “It’s important or I wouldn’t even be on. Hold tight. Almost done.”

  And then what? He could get all grabby like he’d been inside the airport? Try calming her fears by insisting they hold hands or perhaps tucking her arm through his?

  Hey, great idea. She squinted at him out of the corner of her eye. While he was at it, why not put his arm around her? Maybe he could play with her hair as he leaned in for a kiss.

  Then he could yank her against his rock-hard body like he’d done outside the hospital, and set about liquefying her bones until she kissed him right back.

  God. She pulled a measured breath and slowly exhaled. As if she wasn’t already walking on enough pins and needles to rip out every seam in her wardrobe.

  The plane shimmied like it had hit a set of railroad tracks. A few passengers traded nervous glances and adjusted uncomfortably in their seats.

  The second Xander had taken control of that kiss, every tectonic plate on the planet had shifted under her feet. If she’d had any doubts, those had vanished the moment they’d returned to her apartment and found the door hanging open, everything inside ransacked from the resulting quake.

  Broken dishes, dislodged mattress, clothes strewn all over the place and furniture upturned.

  Charlie closed her eyes, but the only thing that accomplished was setting the perfect back drop for the post-apocalyptic images flashing through her head. Coming home to that catastrophe had been like walking into a war zone. She blinked and stared down at her lap, the seatbelt cinched so tight the tension threatened to cut off the circulation to her legs.

  One step inside, and Xander had freaked, and it would’ve been an outright lie if she didn’t admit so had she. All night, she’d struggled to keep her panic in check while the two of them had dealt with the clean-up, reminding herself that at least whoever had been there hadn’t found the laptop. For once, her luck had held out and she’d been smart enough to slip the flash drive in her pocket before heading out the door.

  But Xander… Lifting her head, she sighed. Every defensive instinct the man owned had screamed into hyper drive. Always keeping her within sight. Wearing out the floorboards as he paced between the windows and door. And the worst part was, there was no longer any denying he was right. Not after being clobbered over the head with that mess.

  Whoever was after her was growing desperate, and stealing that laptop from Ryan’s penthouse had put her in the middle of something that was beyond bad. If she hoped to survive in one piece, her only choice was to cut her loses and get the hell out of New York.

  So, fine. She’d followed his orders and changed for the funeral, packed whatever she could grab, and they’d headed for the airport the second they were ready. Now, if she could just get him to knock off the stupid, over-protective charade of them as a couple, maybe she could get her head together and formulate what came next.

  Honest to God, who did he think he was fooling?

  No one was buying it, and neither was she.

  “I didn’t know you were afraid of flying.”

  She slowly turned. Leveled an arched eyebrow at the side of his clean-shaven face. Seriously. Why were men so dumb? “This isn’t flying. This is us being tossed around in a lotto wheel like a ping-pong ball.”

  He grunted a laugh, but his eyes kept scanning. And come to think of it, where did he get off acting so chillaxed? Yes, she’d agreed to go with him, but the way he slouched in the seat, he may as well have been enjoying a flick in his living room. Thighs spread, one long leg sprawled into her foot zone. Elbow pinned beside her white-knuckle grip as he dragged his index finger across the seam of his lips.

  A jarring bump clacked her teeth together, and she muttered a curse.

  Okay, the moron who’d cleared them for takeoff—he was fired.

  She drew a deep breath against the stifling fit of her full-body girdle and re-crossed her legs. The garter clips dug into the backs of her thighs. The zipper-pull pinched the tender skin under her arm. Lightning strobed outside the window, and a wall of driving sleet flashed past the end of the wing like static from an old RCA television.

  And the dumbass who’d agreed to pilot the plane—get him off payroll, too.

  The double row of black fringe sewn around the hem of her dress parted over her knee, and she fidgeted in her seat. She’d only meant for the moment to last a few seconds, dammit. For Xander to do his job and help her draw enough attention, whoever was following her would get the hint and back off.

  He knew that. He’d admitted it right to her face. No, wait, he’d admitted it against her lips. Yeah, smooth move, Rico Suave. And then, without giving one thought to their friendship or what it would mean moving forward, he’d gone ahead and turned that kiss into something they could never take back. Never forget.

  For a card-toting member of Mensa, he’d sure let his membership lapse. Didn’t he know the next three days were going to be long and hard enough? Like, reciting Homer’s Iliad long enough? How was she supposed to work with the guy, spend all her time with him, with that panty-melting kisstastrophe hanging over their heads?

  No. Absolutely not. If the man knew what was good for him, he’d learn how to keep his yummy, sensuous, someone-has-to-be-frickin’-kidding-her lips to himself.

  A bing sounded throughout the cabin as the fasten seatbelt sign winked on.

  Dear God. She slumped. Someone please tell her the crew was not just getting that now.

  The curtain parted, and a tall, willowy flight attendant sashayed down the aisle, her steps even despite the see-sawing floor. Looking left then right,
she doled out reassuring smiles, the same as those miniscule cookie packets she’d handed to the passengers after liftoff.

  “Excuse me, sir?” She stopped at Xander’s elbow and draped her palm along his shoulder. “We’re preparing for our approach into Chicago. You’ll need to shut down your device.”

  “Yep, just finished.” He tapped a few keys, jabbed the power button and closed his laptop with a decisive snap. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem.” Her fingers slipped to the hard curve of his bicep, straining against the weave of his midnight blue dress shirt. “Is there anything I can get you before we land?”

  He faced Charlie and cocked a brow. “Need anything?”

  Yeah, she needed that skinny bitch fired. “I’m fine.”

  The flight attendant’s gaze slid to Charlie and a tiny crease formed between her brows. She glanced at Xander. Back to Charlie.

  Exactly. Charlie crossed her arms. That was the look right there. The hesitant disbelief that explained everything down to a tee.

  Schooling her features in a mask of polite professionalism, the flight attendant faked a smile. “We should be on the ground in a few minutes.” The tips of her nails whitened as she squeezed Xander’s arm. “Thank you for your patience.”

  “Sure thing.” He leaned forward to snag his laptop case off the floor.

  Charlie huffed as the woman sauntered away. At this point, maybe she should just try to get used to it. Pretend those little signals went right over her head. God knew, this wasn’t the first or even the fifth time someone had skipped a beat.

  Checking in at the airport, standing in line at security, waiting for the all clear to board the plane. Everywhere they went, it seemed folks paused, their brows lifting in appreciation the moment their gazes landed on Xander, and then dropping in confusion as soon as their focus shifted to her.

  And the best part? Charlie rolled her eyes. The guy drew so much attention, it was impossible to get a bead on who was looking to make some idiotic judgment call on their Facebook status, and who might be checking them out for other, more nefarious reasons. A couple curious glances from the blue-haired grandma sitting in seat #4A, and Charlie had been ready to call the woman out for being a terrorist.

  Her jaw firmed, nostrils flared. Without question, biting her lip while Xander tried faking everyone out had to be one of the dumbest decisions she’d ever made. From the very beginning, she should’ve known shamming it up right along with him would do nothing but make her insecurities rush to the surface.

  Yeah, yeah, she got it. She already knew. A girl like her didn’t belong with a guy like him. And this was a newsflash since when?

  He stood to stow his laptop in the overhead compartment, and every female head in the cabin swiveled in his direction. Righto. Have some of that hotness hypnosis, ladies. With those shirt sleeves rolled past his elbows, dark slacks perfectly tailored to showcase the tension in his ass and thighs. The way he’d unbuttoned his collar and loosened that striped silver tie to expose the thick muscles in his neck. Coupled with the snug gray vest emphasizing the masculine vee of his torso, the way he’d darkened his hair to a natural blond and slicked it back in place, the dude came off like some dangerous, smexy, James Bond doppelgänger.

  Tipping to the side, she peeked past Xander’s waist at the woman across the aisle, her attention locked on the flex and shift of Xander’s fully snackable glutes. Loudly clearing her throat, Charlie smiled and twiddled her fingers. The woman’s eyes snapped up, widened, and she quickly refocused on her Kindle.

  Uh-huh. Good luck getting that image out of your head. Xander filled out clothes in way that made most women weep.

  She, on the other hand, resembled a stuffed sausage. The casing charred black.

  Xander resettled in his seat and secured his seatbelt, stretched his left arm in front of him and shoved his shirt sleeve down to his wrist. Turbulence jostled her boobs like a plate of Jell-O Jigglers, and she slapped her death grip back to the armrest.

  Sweet baby Jesus. They could not get on solid ground fast enough.

  Working his second sleeve, he snuck a peek toward her and shook his head. “Okay, you’ve been stewing ever since we got on the plane. Did I do something wrong?”

  Wonderful. They were careening toward their deaths, and he’d chosen this moment to pretend they were in couples’ therapy. Then again, whenever and wherever he picked probably wouldn’t have made a difference. She was just too upset. Everything inside her was all mixed up. And trying to pick out one specific item so she could dust it off, hold it up and formulate a rational explanation was bound to make her sound like a psycho.

  That kiss, the potential harm it could bring to their friendship. The constant threat of some unknown asshole watching her every move, and her worries about what lay ahead…

  Shit, she was a total hot mess.

  “No.” She stayed focused on the tray table in front of her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just…” Terrified, confused, in the middle of a nervous breakdown—he could take his pick. “Not in a good place. And on top of everything else, I’m pissed the weather is making us late for the funeral.”

  She knew herself, dammit. Had spent a ton of time and effort growing comfortable in her own skin. After she’d left her brother, she’d sworn her days inside a cell of inadequacy were over and she’d never let anyone lock her back in.

  A sarcastic blast of air shot from her nose. Well, she could tell herself that as much as she wanted to, couldn’t she? She could go ahead and pound her fist on that pulpit all goddamned day.

  Bottom line was, Danny had been right. Their rat bastard of a stepfather was still inside her head. Even after fifteen years, his line of bullshit continued to mess with her self-image, and no matter how much she wanted to blame the world or Xander or anyone else, the fault for that was on no one but her.

  “Hey.” Xander pried the rigor mortis from her hand and flutters pin-wheeled through her stomach as he threaded her fingers through his. “Eden will understand why we’re late. And I’ll stick close during the reception, Chuck. Through the whole thing, I promise.”

  But that was just it. A confirmation of the shortcomings that had been beaten into her since she was old enough to remember.

  Regardless of whether that kiss was real or faked for the benefit of her stalkers, it was clear Xander had conquered whatever issues his time on the streets had dealt him. For that alone, he’d earned someone who wasn’t carting around so much baggage. Someone who hadn’t invited a headache into his life by repeating the same dumb mistakes she’d made as a kid.

  Friendship, yes. That was something she could do and would fight for if she had to. Anything more, and he’d be opening himself up to a world of hurt he didn’t deserve.

  “Listen, I need to tell you something.” He lowered their hands to his thigh and she zeroed in on his knee as it started bouncing.

  No. Please, by everything that was holy, no more. If he was prepping to spew some heartfelt confession all over her lap, odds were good she’d lose her shit.

  His gaze met hers, and she braced. Stopped breathing. “I haven’t been totally honest with you, but I plan to change that moving forward.”

  Oh. She studied his face, the unease flickering in his amazing sea-blue eyes. Oh-h-h… She nodded.

  He was referring to that kiss. And thank God he was willing to put the whole thing behind them. To hear he honestly hadn’t intended it to go that far was a load off. “You’re forgiven.”

  His brow twitched. A beat later, the side of his mouth curled in the same lopsided smile that had always been her undoing, and he tightened his grip on her hand. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

  Yes, she did. And even if she’d misread his meaning, she wasn’t sure it mattered. He wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. The laptop, Ryan’s formula, Ellis, Danny, and all the hurts she carried from her past. Whatever skeletons Xander had in his closet, she’d bet her last thin dime they didn’t ho
ld a candle to hers. “Trust me when I say you don’t need to worry about it. If you’re looking for absolution, it’s yours.”

  “God, woman.” He chuckled, searching the front of the plane, lifted her hand and pressed a hard kiss to her knuckles. “You slay me, you know that? Hell, Chuck, you just gave me a big ol’ less than three.”

  She frowned. Less than three as in…a heart emoticon?

  Oh, damn.

  He repeatedly bumped the back of her hand against the solid wall of his chest, grinned at her and shook his head as if she’d somehow unlocked the mysteries of the universe.

  Her stomach sank as she jerked her face forward. But it was too late. Something about the happy shine in his eyes told her she’d just stumbled straight into Xander Dade’s delicious, inescapable trap.

  The door to Smith Manor swung open, and Charlie’s brows jacked under her bangs at the gorgeous hunk of man flesh standing on the opposite side of the stoop.

  Holy hell. She slumped. Time to put her out of her misery because she’d already had more than enough.

  She hurried up and smiled. As bad as the flight had been, the drive from the airport had been worse. The awkward tension inside the town car Xander reserved had been thicker than pea soup, and she knew damn well most of it had come from her.

  Yes, he’d done his best to reassure her. Kept repeating she didn’t need to worry. They were almost at the house and he’d stick with her every step of the way. But with the heavy sleet icing the back windshield, it’d been impossible to tell if they were being followed.

  Not that the limited visibility had stopped her from repeatedly checking over her shoulder. Or from fighting a serious case of the willies as if a hot, thick breath panted against the back of her neck.

  And now a cop. Answering the door of Smith Manor.

  For God’s sake, what was next? Asteroid shower? Alien invasion? “Hi. Is Eden Smith here?”

  Though not as tall as Xander, the dude came off just as buff. Dark wavy hair nearly grazing the black suit jacket idolizing his broad shoulders, thick five o’clock shadow and a set of piercing blue eyes that belonged in glossy spread advertising men’s high-end cologne. Toss in that easy cool he was rocking, and most people probably assumed he was the front man for whatever band hovered near the Billboard Top Ten.