A Dangerously Sexy Secret

by Stefanie London

  “I’m not sure that counts.”

  “Okay.” The challenge was most definitely accepted. “I suck at keeping plants alive, I can’t make out the difference between expensive wine and cheap wine. I’m an embarrassingly terrible poker player and I was told once by an ex that I give really painful massages.”

  Wren laughed. “I don’t know which of those is my favorite.”

  “I’ve never given a massage to anyone since that conversation. It’s my secret shame.”

  “I don’t believe it for a second.” She reached out for his hand and rubbed her thumb over the center of his palm. “Your hands were good to me the other night.”

  The small touch sent excitement rocketing through him. All Wren had to do was get close and his body lit up like a fireworks display. Normally, he was able to keep his attraction to women contained, controlled. But with Wren, everything he normally held dear seemed to fly out the window.

  “I’m happy to hear it,” he said.

  “Want to see how the painting is going?” she asked, her voice soft and low.

  Knowing how cagey Wren had been about showing him her paintings the night they’d first had dinner together, this show of trust warmed him. “Definitely.”

  She slipped her fingers between his and tugged him closer to the easel. “It’s nowhere near finished. But having you here really helped me to get in the zone.”

  “Must be my type A personality rubbing off on you.”

  “Maybe.”

  From the first version he’d seen, this was leaps and bounds ahead. The lines were filled in; his eyes seemed dark and intense. She’d shaped his mouth to have an almost imperceptible lift at their corners, like they were sharing a private joke as she painted.

  “It’s incredible,” he said. “You’re incredible.”

  Viewing himself through her eyes, he wasn’t invisible. He wasn’t second best. He wasn’t the boy who’d struggled to belong. She saw him for who he really was. He couldn’t let that go, no matter how much his sensible side told him to walk away from this woman.

  She wasn’t planning to stay, so falling for her was a bad idea. He’d be setting himself up for disappointment. But that was before they’d started to explore the chemistry between them.

  What if she had a reason to stay?

  8

  WREN MIGHT BE the impulsive type, but even she could see that getting involved with Rhys was a dumb idea.

  His security company was making headway with their investigation. They’d already figured out that Sean was crossing the line with his employees—how much longer would it take before Rhys figured out her reason for being at the gallery?

  My personal feelings on the situation don’t matter.

  His words danced in her head. It was clear that once he found out the truth, he’d still think her in the wrong, even with her good intentions. Which meant it was one thing to indulge in a night of passion, but it was quite another to go back for seconds.

  But that was the problem with Rhys—she couldn’t get enough. She couldn’t keep her distance. She didn’t want to.

  “We have something here,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t ignore it.”

  “You know I’m not going to be staying after my internship is over,” she said, as though it might shake her brain into action. How could she explore these burgeoning feelings for him while at the same time lying to him? She couldn’t.

  But sex was something she could keep separate from her emotions. If she drew a line between the two, maybe she could have it all.

  “Is that set in stone?” He searched her face, his own expression unreadable.

  “I have to get back to my family,” she said. “Besides, if I stayed I would inevitably make your life messy and disorganized.”

  He pulled her against him, his large hands cupping her face and tilting her up to him. “Maybe you can teach me to be messy while you’re here.”

  Relief swam through her. She couldn’t promise anything, nor could she allow herself to get emotionally entangled with him. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give up the incredible feeling of his hands on her.

  “You couldn’t handle it,” she teased.

  The graze of his lips across her jaw sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Try me, Wren. I dare you.”

  “You dare me, huh? I don’t back down from dares.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” His mouth captured hers for one blissful second. One all-consuming, earth-shattering moment.

  It was wrong, she knew that. Wrong to kiss him while she was keeping secrets from him, wrong to allow him to touch her even though their goals were in direct competition. But her body overrode her sensibilities.

  “You’re on,” she said, pulling away.

  She ordered him to sit as she went into the kitchen.

  The man had no idea what he’d started. Anyone from her hometown would know not to dare her unless they expected to suffer the consequences. Once, in high school, she’d gotten herself suspended for letting a duck loose in the library on Kylie’s challenge.

  Grinning to herself, she pulled a jar of chocolate sauce from the cupboard and found a small paint brush. The sauce had been intended to go with the brownies, but now she had a much better use for it.

  “Should I be nervous?” Rhys asked in a way that sounded anything but.

  “No, but you might want to take your top off.” She sauntered back to where he sat, being sure to swing her hips.

  “Is that what I think it is?” He eyed the sauce and divested himself of his T-shirt.

  “We’re going to have a little painting lesson,” she said, ignoring his question.

  With languid slowness, she drew down the zipper on her shorts. She was urged on by the catch in Rhys’s breath as she shimmed out of the denim. It would be so easy to become addicted to the way he reacted to her, as though she were the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Under his heated gaze, she might be able to believe it.

  “Ready to get messy?” she asked with a grin.

  “You’d better not be teasing,” he growled. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it properly.”

  “Of course you do.” She set the tub of chocolate sauce down and dipped the brush into it. “Mr. Perfect doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  The brush dripped with sticky, chocolaty goodness. “Last chance to back out.”

  “Not a fucking chance, Wren.” His eyes met hers, his pupils wide and his breathing ragged.

  She climbed into his lap, sauce in one hand and her brush in the other. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against the inside of her bare leg and she made sure to wriggle enough to elicit a groan from him.

  Power surged through her body. She’d never felt like this before, so in control and fiercely sexy. It made her whole body pulse with desire.

  “You’re all mine now,” she whispered as she streaked the chocolate across his chest. “All dirty and all mine.”

  Another streak followed, and this time she chased the brush with her tongue, catching a flat, dark nipple between her lips. A low, guttural sound emanated from within him as he ground up against her, his hands flying to her hips.

  “You like that?” she teased.

  The brush peppered his skin with sticky marks, her tongue smudging and swirling the chocolate around. She used her teeth, her lips and her hands to mark him. To claim him.

  “Don’t think you’re the only one who gets to have fun,” he said, thrusting his hands into her hair as he pulled her in for a searing, chocolaty kiss.

  Her lips were sticky with sauce and it melded perfectly with the taste of him. “I’m the artist here.”

  His hands were under her tank
top, her breasts spilling into his palm. With a rough flick of his thumb, her sex clenched so tight that her breath stuttered. She pressed against him to alleviate the pressure, but it only made her want him more.

  “Damn,” he muttered as he kissed his way down her neck, almost knocking the jar out of her hand. “We need to get you naked.”

  “My hands are full. You’ll have to help me out.”

  She’d expected him to pull the fabric over her head, but instead he grabbed the tank top at the neckline and ripped the whole thing open. The sound of cotton tearing pulled a shocked laugh from her, which dissolved into a heady groan as his mouth came down to her chest.

  “Yes,” he breathed, snaking one hand around her waist as he sat back and raked his eyes over her.

  Dipping the brush into the sauce again, she let the chocolate drizzle over her now-exposed chest. Anything to make him put his mouth on her again.

  “You’re going to have us both covered in this stuff,” he said before dipping his head.

  “That’s the plan.”

  Her head rolled back as he took one nipple between his lips, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. The moment he used his teeth on her—so gentle and yet not quite—her eyes fluttered shut.

  His arm around her waist, strong and sure, kept her from melting to the ground. She wasn’t sure if she could come from simply having his mouth on her breast, but the pleasure spiking hard and fast inside her said it was indeed a possibility. Her whole body tensed and ached for him; it responded to his every touch as though he’d been doing it for years. As though he’d written her instruction manual.

  “You taste so good,” he moaned between her breasts, nuzzling them and nipping at the tender flesh there. “And not just from the chocolate.”

  The spot between her legs throbbed, and she rocked against him, the friction making stars dance before her eyes. She needed him inside her. Soon.

  “There’s somewhere else I want to taste.” He looked up, his eyes black with arousal.

  Feeling bold, she got a little more sauce onto the brush and carefully placed the jar on the ground. “Your turn to be Picasso.”

  With a wicked grin, he took the brush from her and stood, supporting her weight with one arm. The torn tank slipped down her shoulders, and she shrugged it off. Thank god she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

  “I can’t do my best work in this cramped position,” he said. “I want to be able to see all of you.”

  Before she could figure out where he was taking her, he’d placed her softly down on the kitchen table. His gentleness totally belied the rough edge in his voice and the raw excitement on his face.

  Tucking a finger into the waistband of her panties, he dragged them down her legs.

  * * *

  STANDING IN FRONT of Wren, her body laid out like a feast, he felt as mighty as a god. There was something about her responsiveness that filled him with heady, primal power. With her, he could do anything. Be anything.

  Right now he wanted to be the man to bring her pleasure.

  “Ready for a taste of your own medicine?” he asked, pushing her legs apart with his hand.

  Her teeth dented her lower lip and she nodded. “Yes.”

  Dragging the brush from her belly button down to the bare patch of skin at the apex of her thighs, he forced himself to move slowly. This wasn’t something that could—or should—be rushed. He would draw her pleasure out, string her along as much as willpower would allow.

  The streak of dark chocolate against her white skin was striking and erotic. He circled the brush lower, creating a swirl over the lips of her sex. When he stroked her clit with the brush, she gasped and arched her back. Her slim fingers curled around the edge of the table, and it was all he could do not to guide them to his steel-hard cock.

  Patience. He would have his turn soon, but not before he tasted her.

  The brush caressed her skin as he painted her, concentrating on the bundle of nerves between her legs. A low, throaty moan was his reward.

  “Please, Rhys,” she gasped. “Oh God, please.”

  “I thought art was supposed to take time,” he teased. “You can’t rush a masterpiece.”

  Her hips bucked as he applied more pressure, her lashes fluttering. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  “This masterpiece is about to combust,” she said through gritted teeth.

  A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I’d better take care of that.”

  At the first swipe of his tongue she let out a low, keening moan. He took his time, cleaning her up with his tongue until there wasn’t a trace of the chocolate sauce left. His lips peppered her with soft kisses as he worked his way around her, avoiding the one spot where she wanted him most.

  She grasped his head, seeking to control his movements. “Please, Rhys. I’m dying.”

  “No, you’re not.” He nuzzled her. “I’ll look after you.”

  Running his hands up and down her thighs, he parted her with his thumbs. She was swollen with desire, her body totally primed and ready for him. The sight made all the blood in his body rush south, leaving him light-headed in the best way possible.

  “I need to come,” she whimpered.

  Her pleas turned into a low groan of surrender as he drew her clit between his lips, focusing on that one sensitive spot until the shudders started. Her thigh trembled against his cheek and her breath quickened. When the moment of her release hit, her nails dug into his shoulders and she cried out his name.

  He’d never forget how it sounded on her lips.

  Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her to the bathroom. Her arms wound around his neck as if out of instinct. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ve had your fun. Now I’m going to clean us up,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “See, I knew you couldn’t handle being messy.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be complaining once we get started.”

  Her bathroom was the same as the one in his apartment, at least when it came to the layout and fittings. But instead of his fluffy gray towels hanging from the rack, she had threadbare versions in an almost psychedelic pink-and-green print. The top of her sink was dotted with several tubes of lip gloss, a hairbrush and a bottle of perfume. A pair of hot-pink panties sat in one corner on the floor.

  “Don’t judge me,” she grumbled as he set her down, shoving the panties to one side with her foot.

  “No judgment. Why don’t you get the water running and I’ll get out of these pants?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Good idea.”

  She stepped into the shower and turned on the tap. Water ran down her body and she jumped up and down on the spot while it warmed up. The cold spray made her nipples pink and stiff.

  For a moment all he could do was stare. As steam started to billow up, she tilted her head back and let the spray of water slide down her. It mixed with the chocolate on her chest and ran down her body, washing away the evidence of their messy interlude.

  “You’re supposed to be stripping,” she said, pointing to his jeans. “Come on, I’ve shown you mine.”

  His cock was straining hard against the fly of his jeans, and he gave in to the desire for some friction there. Rubbing the heel of his palm up and down the hard length, he watched as Wren’s eyes widened. He loosened his belt and unzipped the denim, letting it drop to his feet. As he pushed down his boxer briefs, he felt her eyes on him.

  They were hungry eyes. Excited eyes. The kind of eyes that made him feel alive.

  “Like what you see?” he asked as she drank him in.

  Her head bobbed. “Yeah.”

  He kicked the discarded clothing to one side and joined her in the shower. The warm water loosened muscles he hadn’t realized were bunc
hed up. He’d been coiled like a spring waiting to have his moment with her.

  “You don’t have to stop at looking,” he said, cornering her against the tiled wall.

  “That might get messy,” she warned.

  “I’m coming around to your way of doing things.” He bent his head to hers and claimed her in a scorching kiss. “I can handle a little mess with you.”

  There was no hesitation when she reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his cock as though they belonged there. She squeezed him and ran her hand up and down, twisting her wrist slightly. Feeling him. Learning him.

  “Is that good?” she asked, her voice breathy.

  “Hell yeah.” He reached for her free hand and guided her to cup his balls. “This feels good, too.”

  Her curiosity was like a drug and her touch moved from tentative to bold. Stoking harder, she rubbed the tip of him between her legs.

  “Jesus, Wren. What are you doing to me?”

  “Something right by the sound of it.”

  He jerked into her grip, his hips bucking of their own accord. There was only one way this could end, and that end would be pretty damn sudden if he didn’t take back control. “Tell me you bought some protection.”

  “Oops.”

  “Wren,” he growled. If they had to stop now the frustration may kill him.

  “It’s okay.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Let me take care of it.”

  She sank to her knees, her hands running down over his stomach to his thighs. Bracing herself against him, she dropped her head to the tip of his cock. Her tongue darted out to taste him. Test him.

  It was sweet, sweet torture.

  She guided his hand to her hair, and he threaded his fingers through the now wet strands. When she sank her mouth onto him, he groaned and the sound vibrated within the confines of the shower. There was nothing more erotic than watching himself slide in and out of her pink lips. Or the way she wrapped her fingers around him, working him slowly to orgasm.

  She drew back, releasing him from her mouth. “You taste good.”

  “You feel good.” He rested his head against the tiles, relishing the consistent stroke of her hand. “Those lips are incredible.”