A Dangerously Sexy Secret

by Stefanie London

  “I checked in on Kylie today.” Suddenly Debbie’s tone was heavier, burdened with emotion.

  “How is she?”

  “Not good. She’s lost a lot of weight.” And that was saying something since Kylie was already on the thin side. “She said that someone called her today asking about her work at the gallery.”

  “Did she say who it was?” Could it have been Rhys? It surely wouldn’t take him too long to connect Kylie to Wren. Their hometown was small enough that it would be easy to assume they were acquaintances, at the very least. Perhaps Sean had said something.

  “Some girl. Kylie was so flustered by the call that she didn’t think to get her name.” Debbie sighed.

  It must have been Quinn. “Right.”

  “She was seriously shaken up. They were asking about whether or not she had a relationship with the gallery owner.”

  “Why would they want to know that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Wren rubbed her hand over her face. “Did Kylie catch where they were calling from? Was it the police?”

  “No. A security company, I think she said.”

  Definitely Quinn.

  Debbie paused. “Tell me you’re safe, Birdie.”

  The concern in her sister’s voice made a crushing weight land on Wren’s chest. “I’m fine, I promise.”

  “Kylie was asking about you again. I told her you were probably being brainwashed on your ‘art retreat’ into some tree-hugging, plant-eating hippie as we speak.”

  She could practically hear her sister rolling her eyes. “Good.”

  “In all seriousness, though, you should come home soon. I’m doing my best, but she’s closer to you and I don’t think she’s telling me everything about what happened.”

  “I’ll email her. But I don’t have any results yet, so I can’t come home.”

  “What exactly do you think you’re going to find? This seems like a wild freaking goose chase.”

  Wren swallowed and reached for a mug from the rack next to the sink. The floral design had a chunk taken out of it from when she’d accidentally knocked it over while cooking dinner one night. Her fingertip traced the imperfection.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But there’s something up with this Ainslie guy. I can just...feel it. He’s doing something bad, and I’d bet my last ten dollars that what happened to Kylie wasn’t a first.”

  “Please be careful.”

  “I’m fine, Debs. Cross my heart.” She poured her coffee and hoped that the false confidence in her voice was enough to placate her sister.

  “Okay. I’ll leave you alone, but I’m calling again in a few days and I don’t want you to give me this ‘I need boundaries’ bullshit. I’m your sister and I will find you so I can whip your ass, if necessary.”

  “You’re getting all Liam Neeson on me,” Wren teased. “Are you going to threaten me with your ‘very particular set of skills’?”

  “Damn straight I am. Now swear to me you’ll check in more often?”

  “I solemnly swear to check in more often.” She smiled in spite of herself. “Hand on heart.”

  They finished the call a moment later after Debs gave her another “pep talk” about her sex life. The woman couldn’t seem to go one phone call without bringing it up. She was twenty-three, though. So perhaps being at college meant she had sex on the brain.

  “You have sex on the brain,” she said to herself with a shake of her head.

  The last few days had been a giant waste of time. Instead of being able to concentrate on her work, her head had been full of Rhys. Not just because the sex had been amazing, but because she’d felt amazing afterward.

  With Christian, sex had been like a field of land mines. Sometimes she’d navigated it safely, sometimes not. It was impossible to tell what would set him off—it might be that she suggested something he considered “dirty” or that her body didn’t respond the way he’d expected.

  He was a product of his uptight, guilt-focused upbringing. His messed-up views on sex—and now, with space from him, she knew they were messed up—had caused her a lot of angst. Which often made it hard for her to fully enjoy sex. And that meant she often couldn’t relax during the act itself.

  But Rhys was different. With him she was free to be herself. For the first time in her life she felt sexy and beautiful. Amazing as the orgasms were, it wasn’t the most important part. It was laying in his arms afterward, feeling safe and secure and wanted. Not feeling judged.

  A tiny voice in the back of her mind niggled at her. Why stop at one night?

  She wasn’t going to be in New York for too long, so that meant there was no risk of anything long-term. No risk of him getting the idea that he had some claim or control over her.

  But there was the slight problem of the fact that he was the one person she should keep at a distance. Her desire for him battled with her desire to get revenge for her friend. He was the one person who could put a stop to her helping Kylie. And she wasn’t yet sure she could trust him to keep her secret and not hand her over to the police.

  Then you’ll just have to keep your lips shut and talk with your body. It’s about time you took what you wanted without worrying about anyone else—you’re done with that!

  * * *

  BY THREE O’CLOCK Rhys was driving himself to distraction. With Quinn out of the office and working on the Ainslie Ave assignment, he felt disconnected from his job. He wanted to know what was going on—but checking in too often would only lead to trouble. Either Quinn would get suspicious, or she would think he doubted her.

  Neither of which he wanted.

  But knowing that didn’t help him focus on work. After rearranging his already-neat drawers, wiping down his desk and alphabetizing his books, he’d had enough. Now he was jogging upstairs to his apartment, craving a run. His nervous energy had to be burned off.

  Ever since Monday night his body had been wired. Electrified. Buzzing.

  As he bounded up the last few steps, he caught sight of Wren’s door. His feet carried him toward it without his brain having a chance to react. This had been his game the last few days, wanting to see her but resisting. His willpower slowly wearing down until now it was merely a whisper.

  Maybe he should check if she was home, just in case.

  “Just in case what?” he muttered to himself. “She’ll probably be at work, anyway.”

  At that moment—like some kind of sign from the heavens—music started to play inside her apartment. It floated through the door, tempting him.

  You should check in and ask about Ainslie. You know, because of the assignment.

  His brain had conveniently pushed aside the fact that Quinn would have already asked those questions. But right now he was clutching at straws for an excuse to see Wren that didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d left in the middle of the night.

  He raised his hand to the door and knocked twice. When she opened it, Rhys wondered if he’d accidentally found a secret gate to heaven. The scent of chocolate wafted out and Wren stood there looking like a vision. She had on a white tank top, her long legs exposed by a pair of tiny denim shorts. Her hair was held back with a red head scarf.

  A dark streak marred her cheekbone. “Uh, hi,” she said, a flush immediately creeping across her skin.

  “You have a little something...” He reached out and swiped at the mark. “Chocolate or paint?”

  “Chocolate. I’m baking brownies.” Her eyes glimmered. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure. I had a few questions for you about the gallery, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course.” Was it his imagination or did her eyes dim at the mention of her work? “That shouldn’t stop me from serving up some dessert, should it?”

  “Hell, no.”


  She held the door open for him and he stepped inside. The kitchen was a disaster zone; there were mixing bowls and wooden spoons piled up in the sink. A bag of sugar had tipped over and spilled fine crystals onto the countertop. Packets of ingredients littered the bench. As Rhys followed her to the source of the glorious scent, something crunched beneath his shoe.

  A walnut.

  “Sorry for the state of the kitchen,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m a messy cook. But I promise the taste will be worth it.”

  He toyed with the idea of sharing his process for “cleaning as you go” that kept his kitchen near spotless while he cooked. But the words halted in his mouth as Wren bent over to open the oven. His mouth watered, and it wasn’t from the intensified scent of chocolate brownies.

  The sight of her shapely ass being thrust high in the air as she tipped forward, red oven mitts on her hands, damn near fried his brain cells.

  “It’s fine,” he managed to get out as she straightened up and placed the baked goods onto a wooden cutting block. “I would say ‘me, too’ but you’d see right through that.”

  “You’re right.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t believe it for a second. I bet your kitchen is cleaner after you’ve finished cooking than mine is before I’ve started.”

  “I’m going to plead the Fifth on that one,” he said.

  “You know, getting messy isn’t always a bad thing,” she said as she dipped the knife into the center.

  Gooey melted chocolate clung to the blade. She swiped her fingertip along it, gathering up the excess batter before popping it into her mouth. Watching her lips wrap around her finger sent a bolt of lust through him.

  Damn, she could make even the simplest things look tempting as sin.

  “You had some questions for me?” she asked, her lip twitching with a cheeky smile.

  “I do. Did you end up meeting with Quinn or anyone else from Cobalt & Dane in the last few days?”

  She shook her head as she sliced up the brownies. “No, I believe they came in on Tuesday but I only worked half a day. I think Aimee and Lola spoke with them. And then I was supposed to be painting this afternoon but I couldn’t seem to focus, so I brought the canvas home with me. You know, change of scenery and all that.”

  “So you started baking?”

  “It’s my favorite method of procrastination.” Her delicate hands moved deftly and a few seconds later she pushed a plate toward him.

  “Are you still working on my portrait?” He forked a generous piece of the dessert into his mouth and moaned at the perfectly rich, sweet taste.

  It had been a hell of a long time since he’d eaten anything this decadent—his diet was designed for optimum nutrition, and that didn’t allow for a lot of sweet treats other than the occasional glass of wine.

  But Wren’s baking was as tempting as she was.

  “I am. But I’m feeling a little stuck with it,” she admitted. “Sean said if I don’t get him a complete painting soon he’s going to boot me out of the program.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I understand his point—there are plenty of people who would love to have my spot. But sometimes the creativity just won’t come.” She sighed. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my woes.”

  “I could sit for you,” he said. “So you can paint me.”

  “You want to be my model?”

  “If it would help. I mean, I can sit and ask the questions I need to ask and you can paint.” He cleared his throat. “You know, two birds, one stone and all that. It’ll be more efficient that way.”

  God, he sounded like an idiot. What was it about Wren that got him all tangled up? As if she wouldn’t see “more efficient” as a thinly veiled ploy for him to hang around longer.

  “That might just be what I need.” She abandoned her half-eaten brownie. “What’s your modeling experience?”

  “Zip.”

  She grabbed a chair and positioned it in front of her canvas. “Really? I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d make a good model, I think. My life-drawing class would have loved you.”

  “You’ve done life drawing?” He settled into the chair and tried to get comfortable.

  “Yeah. I had to drive to one of the bigger cities near my hometown to take the classes in secret.” The click-clack sound of her setting up her brushes filled the pause in their conversation. “That kind of thing is frowned upon where I come from, given the naked body is so sinful.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Personally, I’m a fan of the naked body.”

  Memories of their night together flickered in his mind, but he tamped them down. He was here to find out what was going on at the gallery and to make sure that Sean Ainslie was keeping his hands to himself.

  Yeah, right, keep telling yourself that.

  “So, about the gallery,” he started.

  “Hmm?” Her eyes looked past the canvas, darting over him as if she were analyzing him down to his bones. Breaking his face up into components and committing them to memory.

  “Has Sean Ainslie ever hit on you?”

  That question seemed to throw her off-kilter. “No, why?”

  “Quinn had a hunch that perhaps he was getting involved with his interns.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?” She frowned as she turned back to the canvas.

  “Not necessarily. But we think he may have assaulted one of his interns previously. Some information points to them being an item.”

  She stilled on the other side of the canvas. Part of her was hidden, but he could see her hand hovering in front of her. Motionless. “Which intern?”

  “A woman named Marguerite. Do you know her?”

  “No.” She adjusted her bandanna. “But he is seeing one of the current interns.”

  Hmm, so Quinn might have been on the money, after all. “Who?”

  “Aimee.” Her eyes remained on the canvas.

  He made a mental note to check in with Quinn and find out whether she’d come up with that same information. “How do you know that?”

  When she dragged her gaze up, guilt painted her features. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “You won’t. We’re just trying to understand what’s going on.”

  “Aimee told me.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be about a security incident.” Her light brows crinkled. “I mean, what does one have to do with the other?”

  “We’re looking for a motive. If he’s abused one of his employees in the past, there’s a chance she or someone she knows has targeted him for revenge purposes. I get how they might not seem connected, but we have to consider all angles. And Sean couldn’t give us any information on who he suspected might be trying to break into the gallery, so we have to start somewhere.”

  “If he really has abused his staff, would you blame them for acting out against him?”

  “No, but my personal feelings on the situation don’t matter. Our job is to make sure we find out who’s been breaking into the gallery and into Sean’s emails.” He paused for a moment. “If there’s evidence that he’s been hurting his employees, then of course we’ll do the right thing and hand that over to the police. But that doesn’t absolve me from my responsibilities to protect his company. I’m not taking one side over the other.”

  She nodded, her expression guarded. “Have you considered the possibility that perhaps it was a crime of opportunity? Well...an almost crime of opportunity?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t explain why this person managed to get into the gallery without tripping the alarm but couldn’t get into the storage room.”

  She resumed painting, her movement slow and gentle behind the canvas. “No, I guess
it doesn’t. But I can tell you one thing, I am not romantically involved with Sean Ainslie. I may not be perfect, but I’m a one-man kind of woman.”

  One man. Him.

  “Is that so?” Lord help him, but hearing those words made him feel all kinds of satisfied. “The bed was a lot emptier the other morning than I would have liked.”

  “Maybe you imagined the whole thing,” she said softly.

  “I don’t think so, Wren. You know I’m not the creative type. I could never have dreamed up something that spectacular.”

  She bit down on her lip as she painted. “You might not be creative but you are good with your hands.”

  “So why the ninja exit in the middle of the night?”

  “I didn’t want the morning to be awkward.”

  He chuckled. “It would have been many things, but awkward isn’t one of them.”

  “How can you be sure?” Her voice sounded so small, so vulnerable.

  Hidden by the canvas, she continued to paint. Something told him paintings were her shield, a way for her to express herself that didn’t require words.

  “Because I had an amazing time and I was hoping it might continue. I think we work well together and there’s nothing awkward about that.”

  “But we’re so different.” She put down her brush and stepped out from behind the easel. “You’re the perfect specimen of adulthood and I’m...not.”

  “I was hoping after all we’d shared that my maturity wouldn’t be the thing you focused on.” He pushed up from his chair and walked over to her.

  “It’s not, but you’re so perfect at everything.” She laughed. “It’s kind of intimidating.”

  “I’m not perfect at everything.”

  Her arms folded across her chest, propping up her bust so that his eyes were drawn there. The white tank top was splattered with paint. “Oh yeah? Tell me something you’re bad at.”

  “Relaxing.” He held up a hand when she rolled her eyes. “Hear me out. I go crazy on the weekends if I don’t have anything to do. Since I met you, I’ve actually had a meal without working while I was eating.”