One Little Indiscretion

by Joss Wood

  Sadie pulled her iPad toward her and flipped open the cover. Powering up the device, she waited until it connected with the big screen behind Carrick. When the painting appeared on the screen, Carrick moved to sit next to her so his bulk didn’t block their view. He immediately pressed his knee against hers and Sadie lost her train of thought.

  Sadie knew they were waiting for her to speak, to tell them how she spent her very expensive time—time they were paying for—but nope...

  Her brain had ceased to function. Ground to a halt. No blood flowing.

  Mostly because she was remembering the way Carrick spread her knees open, the way he looked at the most intimate parts of her, his expression as he dipped his head...

  Complete shutdown...

  Sadie jumped when Carrick filled the increasingly awkward silence. “So Sadie is going to take you through what she’s found and you’ll both have a better idea of what we are facing.”

  Sadie gave herself a mental slap, told herself to get with the program and do her job. But just to minimize distractions, she stood up and moved away from Murphy and his addictive touch.

  * * *

  “So, you’ll contact me as soon as you have some news?”

  “Because I’m contracted to Murphy’s, I report to them, but if Carrick is happy for me to liaise with you directly, I’m happy to do that.”

  “I have no problem with Sadie doing that, Keely.”

  Carrick Murphy’s deep voice drifted over to Joa, who stood in the hallway outside the conference room. She mentally urged Keely to hurry up. Joa loved her best friend and non-blood sister but damn, she never stopped talking. Joa had come directly from the airport to this meeting and she was jetlagged, tired and hungry. Keely had promised to whisk her back to Mounton House as soon as possible.

  Joa swallowed down a huge yawn, thinking that she instinctively liked Sadie and appreciated her professional, shoot-from-the-hip approach. She wouldn’t make them any false promises or raise their hopes unnecessarily. Joa, who was above everything else a wide-eyed realist, appreciated that.

  Joa rocked on her feet, feeling, like she often did, that this, her life, was all a dream. She was still unable, so many months after Isabel’s death, to believe that she was a beneficiary of Isabel’s great fortune.

  The fortune comprised of a historic house in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood, a stupendously healthy stock portfolio, various bank accounts and one of the best art collections in the world.

  Windfalls—a tame word for such an enormous inheritance—didn’t happen to people like her.

  It was right for Keely to inherit; she was a blood relation of Isabel’s. But Joa had no such connections to the Mounton-Matthews family. She’d only met Isabel at fourteen when the Boston doyenne visited a shelter that had been a stopgap after Joa ran away from her latest foster home.

  The very next day Joa had found herself living at Mounton House with the eccentric Isabel and her great-niece Keely. For the first time since she was shoved into the system at ten, Joa had felt loved. But better than loved, she’d felt secure.

  Safety. So many people took the concept for granted, but to Joa, there wasn’t any better feeling in the world. And she’d always be eternally grateful to Isabel for making her feel that way.

  Man, she missed the old lady with an intensity that threatened to drop her to her knees.

  “Are you sure Isabel didn’t say anything to you about where she acquired the paintings?” Sadie asked Keely.

  Right, Joa would have to wait a little longer for her bed.

  “Not that I recall,” Keely answered. “Maybe she didn’t buy them. Maybe they were given to her. Iz was exceptionally popular and had many...friends.”

  Why didn’t Keely just come straight out and say that Iz had numerous lovers over the years? Joa doubted Sadie would fall over in a heap upon hearing that Iz liked men. And sex.

  “Ah, got it. Any idea who she was seeing when she received the paintings?”

  “It was way before my time,” Keely replied. “Her diaries talk about her visitors—” Joa rolled her eyes at the euphemism “—but she doesn’t name names.”

  Mainly because Isabel had affairs with very prominent men and they would not be happy if their liaisons were exposed. Their wives wouldn’t be too thrilled, either.

  “Damn. I might’ve been able to trace a sale through a name,” Sadie said. “Are we talking the cream of Boston society?”

  “Yep,” Keely cheerfully replied. “She was universally adored, on both sides of the Atlantic. She was as popular in London and Paris as she was in Boston.”

  Keely so easily spoke of people in Isabel’s milieu, high-society Boston. Keely had stepped into her grandaunt’s shoes rather well in that respect. Joa had no interest in spending time in that rarefied society.

  She never felt more like a runaway, like a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, than when she was faced with people with more money than God and a pedigree they could trace back to the Mayflower. No thanks; she’d stay in the shadows where she felt most comfortable.

  This wasn’t her world; these weren’t her people. Well, Keely was, obviously. Though Joa had to admit that Sadie Slade seemed rather nice and, more important, very down-to-earth.

  And if Joa wasn’t wrong, and she seldom was, Sadie and Carrick Murphy had something hot and sexy happening.

  Lucky girl, because the guy was super-fine.

  Joa walked down the hallway to look at a collection of old photographs on the wall opposite, smiling at a photo of three teenage boys crowding a much younger girl. She knew enough about Boston society to identify the Murphy brothers and their sister Tanna.

  They looked like a happy family and, while Joa was sorry their parents were dead, she thought the siblings lucky to have had the experience of being part of a supportive and close family.

  Some people, her included, had never had that experience.

  Joa heard masculine footsteps and turned to watch a tall man with unruly brown hair, heavy stubble and tired eyes walking down the hallway toward her. Her heart bounced around her chest as she clocked the real-life version of the man she’d briefly seen when Keely Facetimed him shortly before their meeting.

  The real-life version of the face on her sister’s phone was spectacular. His open-collared chambray shirt revealed a chest that was lightly covered with hair. The shirt was tucked into a pair of olive-green khaki pants, showing off long, muscular legs. Joa lifted her eyes to examine that fallen angel face and instantly clocked his resemblance to Carrick, in the color of his eyes and in that straight nose and a stubborn chin. Carrick, in his designer suit and perfectly knotted tie, looked more corporate, more buttoned-down, than this Murphy with his funky watch and leather bangles around a strong wrist.

  Hottie alert, Joa decided, idly noting that the butterflies in her stomach were beating their wings in excitement. And appreciation. When had she last had such a visceral, sexual reaction to a man? Last year? Two years ago?

  Never might be closer to the truth.

  Joa stood to one side of the hall, wondering if he’d take his eyes off his iPad long enough to notice her or if he’d just walk straight past.

  Ronan Murphy, lost in his own world, walked straight past her.

  Joa wasn’t crazy about attention, but even she wouldn’t mind being noticed by a hot, hot, hot man.

  Joa watched that broad back and that spectacular ass walk away, very appreciative of the view. Ronan was about to turn the corner when Keely flew out of the conference room and hollered for him to stop. Ronan spun around, grinned at Keely and hurried back down the passageway to where she stood, hands on her hips.

  “Morning, Keels.” His voice was as deep as Carrick’s, but Ronan’s was touched by gravel and had a sexy rasp that sent chills racing over Joa’s skin. “How goes the authentication process?”

  Keely pouted
. “Slowly.” Without turning around, Keely reached back, grabbed the sleeve of Joa’s coat and tugged her forward. “I’ve been dying for you two to meet. Ro, this is Joa.”

  Joa expected him to hand her a perfunctory greeting before turning his attention back to Keely, but his eyes collided with hers. Yes, his eyes were green but that was lazy thinking. They were green touched with gold, copper and shocking blue. They held all the colors of a fantastic abalone shell.

  She could spend hours, days, months, looking into those eyes, reading their secrets. Because, boy, this man sure did have a lot.

  As did she.

  Ronan smiled, his sexy mouth lifting at the corners, but that practiced smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Hello, Joa. Keely mentioned you were on your way home. Are you happy to be back in Boston?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  Joa tipped her head to the side as she held his gaze. Cute, smart and very practiced at pulling out this urbane, charming side. She wondered what he was like beneath all that slick.

  Keely interrupted her musings and their eye lock. “I’m so glad I caught you, Ronan. Have you found a nanny for your boys yet?”

  “No.”

  Keely grinned at him. “Good. That makes this a lot easier.”

  “Makes what easier?”

  Joa didn’t know what she was talking about, either. “Ro, Joa has been working as an au pair for years and she is going to be your new nanny. She needs something to do while figuring out the next phase of her life, so she might as well look after the monsters while she muses.”

  What. The. Hell?

  * * *

  Sadie watched Keely fly out of the room, bemused by the blonde’s whirlwind approach to life. Sadie placed her reports back into their folder, conscious of Carrick looking at her from across the room. He stood by the top-of-the-line coffee machine, his eyes on her face as he waited for the machine to fill his cup.

  “Can I make you a cup of coffee, Sadie?”

  Sadie closed the lid to her laptop and shook her head. She’d far prefer a cup of chamomile tea to settle her jittery stomach. Work was easy—being around Carrick made her jumpy. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Such a lie...

  Carrick picked up his cup and walked over to the open door, kicking it closed and shutting off the conversation happening outside. Providing them with privacy. She didn’t want privacy and she didn’t want to be alone with Carrick because she couldn’t guarantee that she’d still be clothed at the end of their conversation.

  Her lack of self-control around this man was ridiculous. Yeah, he was hot, but so was a volcano and both were equally dangerous. Why, oh, why couldn’t she be attracted to calm, nice, reasonably good-looking guys who didn’t ooze charisma and sex appeal? Why was she only ever attracted to alpha men with no shortage of good looks and confidence?

  And a strong streak of jerk?

  Carrick placed his cup on the conference table and perched on the edge next to her, long legs stretched, crossed at the ankles.

  “Are you done thinking and can I buy you dinner tonight?”

  His out-of-the-blue question had Sadie jerking her head up, her eyes narrowing. What was he playing at?

  Carrick raising the subject of them sleeping together again didn’t surprise her, but his offer of dinner did. Dinner implied that he wanted to spend time out of the bedroom with her and that simply wasn’t happening. Talking, laughing, getting to know each other was out of the question.

  Even if Carrick wasn’t too like her ex for comfort, she wasn’t interested in dating. Dating—dinner, coffee, drinks, no matter what form it took—was invented to get to know someone better and she wasn’t interested. What was the point when she wasn’t prepared to start another relationship?

  “Carrick, I think it’s better if we keep our relationship professional,” Sadie said, resting her hand on her closed laptop and her other fist on her hip.

  “I think that horse bolted,” Carrick replied. He lifted one shoulder in an “aw shucks” shrug. Then he smiled that crooked, sexy smile and she narrowed her eyes. Yeah, she wasn’t going to fall under his I’m-so-sexy-I’m-difficult-to-resist spell again.

  “First, we’ve already slept together so you don’t need to buy me dinner.”

  Carrick stood up, and when his eyes hit hers, she saw his annoyance. “What do you mean by that?”

  Sadie met his annoyance with defiance. “You want to sleep with me again—you’ve told me that. You don’t need to spin the whole dinner line.”

  Carrick’s expression turned colder and his eyes were touched with frost. “Wow. What is your problem?”

  Sadie pushed a finger into his chest. “You. And men like you. You’re not being honest and I hate that.”

  Carrick stood up and pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. Sadie thought he looked an inch or two taller, slightly broader, than just a few moments before. He was properly angry and Sadie wondered why she wasn’t feeling scared. Had this been Dennis, she would be finding a way to placate him, to distract him, to divert the incoming river of vitriol and verbal abuse.

  But with Carrick, she didn’t feel anxious or scared. Not even a little.

  Huh.

  But just in case she was wrong about Carrick, in case her radar was faulty, Sadie steeled herself. Men like Dennis and Carrick didn’t take rejection well.

  Sadie straightened her spine, lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. No matter what Carrick said, she wouldn’t let him hurt her. She’d been hurt enough for too long by a stupid, thoughtless man. She refused to let Carrick exert the same power over her.

  The rogue thought crossed her mind that, if she lowered her guard, Carrick Murphy could slice and dice her into smaller pieces than Dennis ever managed. But she wouldn’t let that happen; she categorically refused.

  When Carrick placed his hands on her shoulders, Sadie stiffened. Oh, not because she feared him, but because she really, really wanted to bury her nose in his neck, to wind her arms around his back and hold on.

  She was an independent, capable woman, but even strong women sometimes needed to lean.

  Carrick Murphy was not, she reminded herself, lean-able.

  “Who the hell hurt you, Sadie?” Carrick murmured, his words like a caress. “And tell me where I can find him so I can rearrange his face.”

  Sadie almost smiled at the image of Carrick pounding Dennis to a pulp. But as nice as that picture was, she was responsible for her own actions and marrying a smooth-talking, seemingly charming man who was as charismatic as hell had been her decision and she lived with that choice.

  She’d thought Dennis was her white knight, her Prince Charming, but he’d turned out to be ugly and manipulative. He’d taught her that the prettiest packaging could conceal the blackest soul.

  Carrick might be temptation personified, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Sadie pulled away and picked up her laptop to put it inside her tote bag, but Carrick’s hand on hers had her turning to face him.

  She forced herself to lift her eyebrows, to keep her face inscrutable.

  “You can try to look unaffected, but I can feel your pulse hammering beneath my fingertips,” Carrick told her, his thumb drifting over the pulse point on the inside of her wrist.

  It was time to end this, to put to rest their very brief fling. “No to dinner, Carrick. No to sex. We’re business colleagues, that’s all. The other night didn’t happen.”

  “But it did.”

  “Then we should pretend that it didn’t!” Sadie retorted, pulling her wrist from his grip.

  “As much as I would love a magic wand that clears our mind of inconvenient memories, life doesn’t work that way. And I don’t mind the memories of that night. They are, after all, scorching hot,” Carrick stated. “Earlier you said I wasn’t being honest. Do you want me to be honest, Sadie? Can you handle my
honesty?”

  Of course she could. Well, she thought she could. Maybe. But she was, judging by Carrick’s serious face, about to find out.

  “I think you are fascinating, possibly the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” Carrick’s deep voice filled the space between them. “I spend my nights reliving that night, the memory of you.”

  Sadie felt her cheeks flame.

  “I can be even more honest... I want you, in my bed, under me, my mouth on yours as I slide into you. I want to hear your screams as I make you come and I want to feel your hair on my stomach as you take me between your lips.”

  His graphic words created a buzz low in her womb and she felt her heart rate spike. Sadie wondered if he could feel it in her pulse and, judging by the pressure from his fingers and that small, satisfied smile, he could.

  “So yeah, maybe I did offer to take you to dinner in the hope that it would lead to another night, but I don’t think a couple hours talking would do any harm. We have a lot in common and I wouldn’t mind spending time dancing around your mind before taking you to bed again.”

  “Why?” Sadie asked him. “What’s the point?”

  A frown pulled Carrick’s eyebrows together and he dropped her wrist. “Does there have to be a point?”

  “Dinner equals a date and dating implies that you are looking for something more than sex,” Sadie pointed out. “Just so we are clear, I’m not interested in a relationship. I have no intention of investing my time and energy into a man only to be disappointed again. I did that once and I am not stupid enough to do that again.”

  Carrick handed her a deep frown. “You really need to tell me who did a number on your head.”

  That wasn’t ever going to happen. She’d discussed her marriage with numerous people, including her family, and nobody had believed her. Why would they believe her when everyone knew what an awesome guy her ex was, how lucky she was to have married him? How stupid she’d been to divorce him...

  Carrick folded his arms across his chest, and his big biceps pulled his shirtsleeves tight. “I’m just offering to feed you, Slade, and to make you scream. I’m not offering to marry you or asking you to have my babies. I think you are overreacting...”