“Oh no,” she muttered when he started to slow down. “No you don’t.”
“But—” He closed his eyes, and she felt his jaw move against her cheek. She shivered against him, arching and flexing against his hard, damp body, sliding back and forth so he pressed against her little sweet spot.
“Come on…show me what you’ve got, Declan,” she whispered in his ear. “You promised to show me— Oh!”
They both cried out, one after the other, as he slid home with one last, violent thrust. He collapsed against her, holding himself away until she pulled him down on top of her, welcoming the heavy, solid, salty weight of him.
She throbbed delicately, happily around him, her heart thudding, her toes curled, her eyes closed. All of her was warm and sated and felt very cared for.
“That was…pretty amazing,” she said when she felt like she could form coherent words. It was after a long while…after he’d eased away, disposed of the condom somewhere aside, and gathered her up against his magnificent body.
Legs tangled, toes mingled, breaths fenced, eyes closed. Limbs relaxed…pulses slowed.
Until the sound of a door slamming jolted them abruptly awake.
Sixteen
Declan bolted up and off the bed, nearly taking a header into the dresser because the sheets and blanket had somehow wrapped around his legs.
Holy shit. Holy frakking shit—what is Stephanie doing home?
He stumbled around like an elephant and yanked on his jeans—narrowly missing zipping up his very happy cock—and managed to find a shirt.
All the while, he was aware of the sounds from his daughter: “Dad? Are you home? Dad? Who’s here?”
Leslie was goggling at him with wide eyes and a mouth open with horror and silent laughter as she too pulled her clothes back on. He had a moment of regret when she covered that lovely ass with drooping leggings, then pulled on her sweater, sans bra and tank.
“I’m here,” he called when he heard the ominous sounds of Stephanie making her way down the hall. The last thing he needed was for her to bust into his bedroom. Not that she would…but one never knew with a fifteen-year-old.
Oh God, did he smell like sex? Could he even go out there? Would she know?
“Whose shoes are these?” Stephanie called just as Declan opened the door and came out into the hall. He closed it behind him in one last bid for privacy.
“Hey, Steph,” he said, forcing himself to sound as casual as possible. “I was just—uh—”
“Who’s here? Is that Leslie—I mean Ms. Nakano’s car out there?” Stephanie had an extremely suspicious look at her face. “Are you— Were you— Oh my God!” Her face turned pink then bright red, and she gawked from Declan to the closed bedroom door. “Oh my God! Dad!”
Declan had no idea what to say or how to react. He stood there, open-mouthed and confused as his daughter continued to repeat the same refrain as she turned in a circle in the hallway, alternately covering her ears, then her eyes, then her mouth.
The bedroom door opened and Leslie came out, looking as cool and unruffled as she would have in the boardroom. “Hi, Stephanie. I guess you got done with pom practice early today, hm?”
“I— Yes, I— We did. Coach Sandra was sick, so she sent us home early.” Stephanie was still looking back and forth between them, and her eyes were still wide, but she didn’t seem quite as flabbergasted.
“I’m starving. Want something to eat? Let’s see what we can find.” Leslie started toward the kitchen—as if coming out of Declan’s bedroom in the middle of the day, then deciding to raid his kitchen was the most natural thing in the world—and Stephanie turned to follow.
Declan looked after them for a moment, then went back in his room to…well, to pull himself together. He went into the adjoining bath and put himself to rights, splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, washing up—all the while realizing he was shirking his parental duty by allowing Leslie to handle the moment.
But he was just simply so mortified. Yes, he was an adult. It wasn’t so much a moral thing as the fact that his teenaged daughter—whose friends ogled him, by the way—knew he had just had sex.
Oh. My. God.
He looked up at himself in the mirror and suddenly grinned like a maniac.
Oh yes, indeed, he’d just had sex. He’d just had mind-blowing, intense, sweet, amazing sex with a gorgeous, smart, sassy woman. And he couldn’t freaking wait to do it again.
And with that very happy thought as fuel, he grew a pair and went out to face the music.
“I wouldn’t recommend it, frankly,” Leslie was saying. She and Stephanie were sitting on stools at the small square kitchen island sharing a bag of nacho chips and salsa. “No matter how hot he is. I was young and very naive.” She gestured with a chip. “It could have turned out to be a real career killer if people found out or it went on long term. Especially since the bastard was married and never told me. But he was very attractive and extremely charming. Difficult to resist.”
Declan looked from one to the other. He didn’t think he wanted to know what they were talking about. But apparently, what he wanted didn’t matter…
“We’re talking about the pitfalls of sleeping with your boss,” Leslie informed him as she languidly dragged the chip through the salsa. “I told her I don’t recommend it.”
“But sleeping with your daughter’s boss isn’t really a problem,” Stephanie added pertly, then crunched into a nacho as if to punctuate her statement—while giving him the stink eye. Her cheeks were still dull red, but apparently food had won out over awkwardness.
Declan didn’t respond to her comment. Instead, he took refuge in the fridge, opening the door and peering inside to see if there was any sort of rescue therein. The only thing remotely close to an escape was a single bottle of a B-Cubed lager, and even that didn’t look promising.
When the fridge began to ding its warning that the door had been open too long, he reluctantly emerged to find Stephanie and Leslie watching him.
“And he complains that I keep the door open too long,” Stephanie said with an expert roll of her eyes.
“So,” Declan said, getting out glasses to pour iced tea. Because he needed to be doing something. “How was school today? Any new projects or tests?”
“And just as important—any drama?” Leslie asked with a grin.
“Brooklyn Delton says her mom is really pissed at you,” Stephanie announced, looking at Declan. “Just wait till she hears about this.”
“Wait—what?” Declan nearly dropped the glass pitcher. “Now wait a second, Steph—you’re not going to be going around telling people—”
He stopped when his daughter began to laugh uproariously. “Are you kidding? As if I’d be going around telling people I walked in on my dad having sex.”
“You did not walk in on your dad having sex,” he said from between clenched teeth, his thoughts exploding wildly. How did he ever think he could be the father of a teenaged girl—by himself? How did he ever think he could begin to understand them? Women were an exotic species, but teenaged girls…even more so.
“Well, practically. And with my boss.”
Declan looked at Leslie, who seemed utterly unaffected by the whole situation. How was that even possible?
“I guess I should be going,” she said, sliding off her stool. Her eyes lingered on him for a minute, then moved on to Stephanie. “I’ll see you on Saturday, all right?”
“Right.” But Steph seemed a little hesitant, and that made Declan feel even guiltier. He hoped she wouldn’t quit her job because of this.
He walked Leslie to the door, then stepped out onto the porch where Steph couldn’t see them and closed the door. “Sorry about all that,” he said.
Leslie just smiled up at him, easing in so their bellies met. “It’s all right, Dec. I’m sorry it put you in a difficult position.”
“I’m not. It was worth every awkward moment.” He bent to kiss her, with both thoroughness and regret. “Th
is was not the way I hoped things would go—all rushing up and out of bed and scrambling into our clothes.”
“Oh really? Does that mean you’re interested in a second round?” she teased, her hands settled on the front of his shoulders, her smiling eyes only a few inches away.
“More like a fifth, sixth, tenth round,” he said. “At least.”
“Have a good night, Dec. I know I’ll sleep well.” She winked audaciously at him, then sauntered down the steps and to her car.
He turned and went back inside to face the music.
Leslie was still smiling and basking as she pulled up the driveway to Shenstone House. It was just about five o’clock, which meant she had plenty of workday left.
And she’d be doing it all with a grin of satisfaction and a gentle soreness from the excellent activity in which she’d been engaged that afternoon. Cherry might advocate yoga for physical release, but Leslie was partial to sex. Especially the toe-curling, explosive kind she’d had with Declan.
She let herself into the house and paused, calling for Rufus—whom she’d let out before leaving—to see if he was interested in coming in. No response, so she closed the door and dropped her keys, phone, and bag on the counter, then, smiling, walked into her suite to change into work clothes.
Ten minutes later, she was down in the speakeasy with two large work lights she’d bought that morning while out running errands. The extension cord had to be plugged in on the main floor, but at least she had full illumination for the first time.
“Now I can get down to business.” She knew—just knew—that Red Eye Sal’s jewelry cache was here somewhere. If it existed—which she’d already confirmed—and hadn’t been seen or known of since 1926, it had to be here in the house. And since she’d found an old newspaper in the speakeasy with that year on it, Leslie was certain that was the last time the secret room had been used—for whatever reason. Prohibition hadn’t ended for another five years, but there seemed to be no logical reason for a newspaper to be sitting on a table for that length of time in a room that was used regularly.
Leslie found the new lights both a blessing and a curse, for what they illuminated with their bright white bulbs was often something she’d have preferred not to see. A little mold here, the skeletal remains of more than one rodent, minor cracks in the foundation, and other details.
Still, she hummed and worked her way around the room, inch by inch, bringing one of the lights with her to blaze over the wall as she examined it for any sign of a hidden door or panel.
Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make the room comfortable and elegant, for the walls were all paneled. Beneath the solid maple paneling was cinderblock—at least as far as she could tell without removing every wall. She pried off a few random pieces, taking care to keep them intact so they could be replaced. Beneath the carpet, the concrete floor was slightly damp, and though there was no sign of past water damage, Leslie was going to have the basement waterproofed anyway. Just in case.
She’d been working for a good long time; she had no idea how many hours had passed, but her arms were getting tired and her eyes irritated from the dust that continued to be disturbed. She spent an inordinate amount of energy on the built-in sideboard china cabinet on one wall.
“There has to be a secret panel here somewhere. This is where it would be!” she said, determined.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise from upstairs. Pounding and shouting and footsteps.
Leslie bolted to her feet, her legs protesting from being cramped in a squatting position for so long, and staggered to the bottom of the steps just in time to hear her name being bellowed.
“I’m down here!” she called back, recognizing Declan’s voice.
Worried by the urgency in his tones, she began to run up the spiral stairs just as he appeared at the top of them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he demanded, “What the hell are you doing down there?”
Taken aback by his tone, she paused, collected herself—clearly he was upset about something—and replied very calmly, “Working.”
He was out of breath and came bounding down the stairs. “You scared the hell out of me, Leslie.”
“What? How? What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour and a half! Why don’t you have your phone with you? And why isn’t the door to your house locked?” His eyes, which had been a little wild when she first saw him, were narrowed in anger. “You’ve already had one break-in. You should take more care! Anyone could just walk in!”
“Apparently they did,” she said quite frostily with a nod in his direction.
“Aw, damn.” He took her by the arms, glared down at her, then hugged her close, dropping his chin onto the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Leslie. I’m sorry for yelling, but I was really worried about you. Considering…everything.”
“Everything?” Leslie pulled away to look at him. He was—good grief, he was trembling. “Is there something else wrong, Declan?”
“Besides the fact that your house has been broken into and that you have an active ghost that tends to be a little…violent and loud sometimes? Isn’t that enough? Besides the fact that…well, hell, today was—it was—damn near perfect.”
She couldn’t hold back a smile, and her cheek moved against his warm shirt. “It really was. I’m still humming along very nicely.”
He pulled away to look down at her. “I am sorry for yelling, but you really should lock your door. And…try and keep your phone with you. What if something happened down here and you were injured…you’d have no way to call for help and no one would find you.” He shook his head.
She smiled up at him. “Want to go upstairs and make up?”
“Sure.” His grin was wide and his eyes lost their frustration and glinted with pleasure. “If you’re done down here.”
“I’m done for now, but I’d like to show you something later, when you have time. In that cabinet over there. If it’s the hiding place for Red Eye Sal’s jewels, that seems to be the best option. Maybe you’ll see something I don’t.”
“Of course.”
She led the way up the spiral steps. “I take it Stephanie is otherwise occupied?”
“Oh, right, yes. That was why I was texting you in the first place. She apparently was so traumatized by what happened today, she needed to go hang out with her friends. I told her she had to be home by nine-thirty, but fortunately for me…I don’t have a curfew.” He snagged her by the arm at the top of the stairs and maneuvered her close for a kiss. “Lock your door from now on, okay?” he said when he pulled back.
“I will,” she replied. “I normally do, you know.”
He sighed as she took him by the hand and they walked back toward the kitchen and her private suite. “I guess it’s just as well you didn’t lock it tonight, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to get in—and you wouldn’t have heard me pounding on the door.”
“What would you have done?”
“Broken in, of course.”
She raised her brows. “Really.”
“Your car was here and you weren’t answering the phone. It was seven-thirty at night, your lights were on, and your house had been broken into and you have a very vehement ghost. Yes, I would have broken in.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” They’d reached the L-shaped sectional, and though he paused as they went by, she tugged him along with her. “Thought you’d want to see my bedroom, scout.”
“Scout?”
“Well, if I’m a general, you’re going to be a scout.”
“So I clear the way, huh? Make sure everything’s safe and ready,” he said, easing her back against the bed, then sliding her leggings down as he knelt in front of her. The skin of her abdomen trembled lightly as his thumbs made soft little circles on her sensitive flesh.
“Yes,” she said on a sigh, “but more importantly, you take orders from the general.”
His head snapped
up to look at her from below, as he was still kneeling, and she smiled archly. “Hey, you’re the one who called me…a…general,” she breathed as he bent close to kiss the swell of her belly, his lips curved in a dangerous smile.
“We’ll see who takes orders from who,” he said in a dusky voice, his breath warm against her navel. He hooked his thumbs inside the edges of her lace panties and yanked them down sharply.
And then he looked up, still kneeling in front of her. His eyes were hot and wicked. “Sit down and spread your legs, general. I’m going in.”
Sometime later, Declan opened his eyes. He lay there for a moment, basking in the deliciousness of waking slowly next to a warm, soft, curvy bundle of woman he’d recently made thorough love to.
A glance at the clock told him he still had more than an hour before Stephanie was due home, and thus more than an hour before he had to even think about taking leave from his sexy, rumpled general.
His lips curved in the low lamplight as he stared at the ceiling, one arm settled comfortably around her shoulders, her face nestled against his chest. Her sweet-smelling hair mingled with his on the pillow, and her breath puffed lightly over the hair on his chest, ruffling it and heating his skin in a soft rhythm.
This was good. So good. He didn’t remember feeling this good—well, ever. There was something about this unbent former celebrity CEO, this metaphysically curious and brave and sensible woman that drew him.
And it didn’t really have anything to do with her perfect ass. Though that sure helped—that and the fascinating personality combination of sexy and sassy with organized and thoughtful: all of which made her the most interesting and satisfying partner he’d ever had.
It’s awful soon to be thinking in absolutes, Zyler.
I’ve never thought in absolutes before. Maybe there’s a reason why I am now.
Plus, she smelled so damn good. He could bury his face in her hair all day long and it would never get old.
She stirred next to him and sat up, propping on one bent arm. “Much better this time.”
Sinister Secrets Page 22
