Exposed to Passion (Five Senses series Book 3)

by Gemma Brocato

“Did you meet this guy, Sam, and decided you fancied him, but wanted to deceive him about who you really are?”

  “I have to honestly answer that question with a maybe.” She dipped her gaze to study her hands. “I’ve thought about this pretty much non-stop since everything exploded yesterday. There were chances to come clean with him. I could have told him. He didn’t have to find out the way he did.”

  Gunnar looked up from pouring maple goodness over his cereal. He caught the last drop with his finger and licked it away. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “History. He hates Marguerite…me…so much. I couldn’t tell him. I was afraid he’d react exactly as he did.” She lifted her gaze back to his, knowing full well he’d see the tears she fought back but was powerless to stop. “I’d hoped—prayed, really—that he’d laugh. No such luck. I thought the top of his head was going to blow off. He said something so awful I doubt I’ll ever get over it.”

  Gunnar’s brows drew together, an ominous thundercloud on his face. “What the hell did he say?”

  Rikki fidgeted with the paper napkin by her plate, running it through her fingers. “He kind of said I wasn’t anything more than a pair of breasts to him.”

  To his credit, he managed to avoid dropping his gaze to her chest. “Tell me his address. I’ll go put a major hurt on the son of a bitch.”

  He could do it, too. Rikki’s hands wouldn’t fit around Gunnar’s biceps. Her brother wasn’t body-builder big, but he was solid and skilled in multiple disciplines of martial arts. Rikki had seen him drop men twice his size to the floor without breaking a sweat. Sam would be no match for him.

  “No, Gunnar. He has a right to be angry. I don’t want him hurt. I just…I want him back.”

  Reaching across the table, Gunnar slid his hand on top of hers, stilling her from shredding the defenseless napkin. “We’ll fix this.”

  “I don’t know, Gun. I’m not sure it’s fixable. He was so hurt.”

  “Crap, Rik. He wasn’t the only one.”

  “Maybe, but while Marguerite might recover from those scandalous pictures, it can destroy his career. It’s bad. And those pictures aren’t the only things against him right now.”

  “What else could possibly go wrong for him?”

  “A parent has accused Sam of inappropriate behavior with students. She’s presented some awful photos as proof. Sam said the pictures had been manipulated to look like they happened somewhere they—” She stopped abruptly and her jaw dropped. “Holy hell!”

  “What?”

  “Those pictures. That’s it. I know where those pictures of Sam and me on the Sims website came from. That sick, twisted bitch!”

  “Hey, Rik, the flashbulb over your head blinded me. Back up a bit, please.”

  “The proof they have against Sam. We were in my living room. I was going—” She stopped, aghast at what she’d almost told her brother. It didn’t matter. He’d already seen the pictures on the website. Heat swept up her cheeks. “We were sharing an intimate moment. Whoever took those pictures photoshopped them to look like we were at the campsite, on the field trip. One of the photos on the foundation site is the same pose, but not manipulated at all.”

  “So…” Gunnar slurped his cooling coffee.

  “Sherry Hillman has to be the person who took it. Or she hired someone else to do it.’ Rikki’s heart lightened for a moment, knowing she had the means to clear Sam’s name.

  Her smile faded when she realized she’d have to produce the awful pictures from her living room as proof. Pushing her oatmeal to the side, she slumped in her chair. “She wants Sam and hates me. She must have decided to do us both in at the same time. I’d bet my trust fund that she’s responsible for hacking the Sims website and posting those other horrible pictures.”

  Gunnar shook his head. “All of this bullshit is because of a dispute over a guy? Good Lord! You women are ridiculous. How long did it take to get the site down?”

  “Long enough. Jenni was going to email me page views this morning.”

  Rikki leaped from her chair and grabbed a pad of paper and pencil off the built-in desk by the door to the mudroom. Reclaiming her seat, she scratched out a list of evidence she intended to present to Mr. Edwards. Even though it would embarrass her to reveal the original images, they had to be shared. It could make a difference to Sam’s career as a teacher and coach. Clearing his name, even if he continued to hate her, was the right thing to do.

  “Rik-a-rak?” Gunnar tapped the table, drawing her attention from the rapidly scribbled list. He pointed to her oatmeal. “Are you going to eat that?”

  She pushed the breakfast bowl toward him with a grin, the first genuine one to grace her face in the past eighteen hours. “It’s all yours.”

  Nodding his thanks, Gunnar doctored her plain oatmeal to his tastes, then got up to refill his coffee cup while she added more thoughts to the paper in front of her.

  Jotting her to-do list reminded her. “Silas is coming today. You’ll have to get him at the airport.”

  “Why do I have to pick him up? Can’t you get him? Or call him a limo?”

  Her brother’s tone was whiny, but judging by the look on his face, he teased.

  “At least you don’t have to bunk in with him.” It pained her to remember her pledge to Silas to not tell Gunnar what a warm human being their grandfather had turned into over this whole debacle. It had always been her and Gun against Silas. But she’d given her word, so she forced a shudder, for effect. “He’s staying at the Bay Breeze. You can just turn the radio up on the drive back from Logan. You know he won’t compete with that.”

  He scooped up the last of the oatmeal, then let the spoon clatter into the bowl. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take the pictures to the principal to save Sam’s bacon?”

  “Jesus, Gunnar. Would you really prefer to take pornographic pictures of me to share with a total stranger? Christ, it’s going to be hard enough for me to do.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think about that. I’d rather not scorch my eyeballs again, thanks anyway. I’ll get Silas.”

  Rikki threw her fist in the air in triumph, making Gun laugh. “His flight gets in at one. You have the morning off to sight-see around Granite Pointe.”

  “Great. I’ll call the realtor I’ve been dealing with and see if I can tour the gym that’s for sale.”

  Her muscles twinged as she stood. A quick assessment of her current mood came back as calmer and more in control. The furious anxiety she’d suffered from most of the night had released its icy grip.

  Picking up the empty bowls, she carried them to the sink. On her way back past her brother, she paused behind his chair and wrapped her arms around him. Coffee sloshed out of his cup when he set it aside to lay his hand on her forearms where they crossed in front of him.

  “Thanks for coming, Gunnar,” she whispered. “In spite of how freaking early you showed up, I love you for racing to the rescue.”

  Chapter 23

  Crack!

  Sam tossed the hammer onto the workbench where it careened against his coffee cup, tipping the mug on its side and breaking off the handle. Cold, acrid coffee spilled over the littered surface. He’d been pounding the hell out of a few defenseless nails, trying to work off his ugly mood. The nuclear level of his anger, and shame, when he’d left Rikki’s house last night, exceeded anything he’d ever experienced. The depth of his sense of betrayal eclipsed his serious case of fury. Her lies had lacerated his heart into bloody confetti.

  Sleep had been out of the question. He’d spent the night at the construction shop, attempting to pummel his hurt aside. Searching for a way to somehow forgive her deceit.

  How could she continue to lie after he’d bared his soul to her about his experience with Rob and Curtis? Why hadn’t she come clean about her true identity then? Before she captured the entirety of his heart, every single micron of it. That took balls of steel.

  The hard physical labor hadn’t worked. It might have, except he chose to fin
ish the order for Rikki’s—no, dammit, Marguerite’s—temporary display panels. Each time he hefted the heavy timbers into place to assemble the pieces he and Avery had built over the weekend, hot, acidic anger spurted to life.

  Glaring at the mess he’d made with the coffee mug, he ran agitated fingers through his disheveled hair, most of it sticking straight up with the constant, repeated action. He rolled his shoulders, easing the kinks brought on by the punishing, backbreaking labor. If only he could obliterate the yawning, empty ache in his soul as easily.

  Stumbling toward the workbench, he’d made it as far as the large red tool chest when emotion got the best of him. Shoulders shaking from his struggle to halt the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, he sank to the ground. The roller cabinet behind him shifted, clanging hollowly when it hit the wall. Burying his face in his hands, he gasped for control.

  He was in love with her. A deep, passionate love. The kind of love that lasts a lifetime. The type of love that betrayal had the ability to crush.

  What the fuck was he going to do?

  “Sam? What are you doing here?”

  He hadn’t realized his brother had entered the shop until Jack spoke. Sam scrubbed the lingering traces of tears from his cheeks and lifted his head to meet Jack’s gaze. The question in his brother’s eyes turned instantly to concern. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in front of Jack. Sam straightened his back and extended his legs in front of him as Jack lowered himself to the floor. Except for the incident with Rob when Jack was away at college, his brother had always been there for Sam. Side by side, they’d faced down problems together.

  The tool chest moved again when Jack leaned against it.

  “Have you heard what’s going on?” Sam sniffed, then snorted. “What am I saying? Granite Pointe is the smallest town on the planet. Of course you’ve heard.”

  “About your suspension? Yeah. Dad called this morning because he couldn’t reach you. Mom’s worried and lit a fire under him. He asked me to find you. I drove past Rikki’s house but didn’t see your car. Then I stopped by your house, but obviously you weren’t home.”

  Sam’s chuckle sounded harsh, even to his ears. He ran his hand over the scratchy stubble on his chin. “Once again, not a huge town. I’d either be at home, at school, or here at the shop. And school is temporarily out as an option.”

  “You could be running. You always run when you’re troubled. Shit, you could have made it to Providence by now, Forest.” Jack shot him a stupid grin, then looked around the shop, taking in Sam’s progress. “You made excellent headway on the panels, though. Rikki ought to be happy about that.”

  Sam snorted. “You mean Marguerite.”

  “Nah. I meant Rikki. You’re ahead of schedule. We should be able to install these at the museum tomorrow.”

  “Jack, Rikki is Marguerite. She neglected to mention that little fact to me. She’s a freaking liar.”

  “Whoa! What? Back up a bit.”

  “Rikki Salerno is her professional name. Her real name is Marguerite Sims.” Sam paused. He pulled air deep into his lungs, then huffed it out. “She’s been lying to me this whole time. She had ample opportunity to tell me who she was. Only she didn’t. She just kept pretending she wasn’t a spoiled, pampered princess, digging a hole so deep there’s no climbing out of it. In fact, the sands shifted and now I feel buried alive by her betrayal.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sam. Get a grip. Did it occur to you she doesn’t think of herself as Marguerite? Maybe she identifies herself as Rikki when she’s around friends.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Jack grabbed Sam’s bicep and shook him, as if trying to drive home a point. “Sure it does. Crap, when did you turn into such a rigid old man? Think about it. Every time the subject of Marguerite came up, you weren’t very nice. You bitched and complained about her and how the foundation was your last resort. Even Jem commented about it. Your whole condescending, righteously indignant attitude would make me want to hide the truth. You made it clear you wouldn’t spit on the woman if she was on fire.”

  “I wasn’t that bad.” He pouted.

  “Yeah, you were.” Jack’s simple words drove hard into his soul.

  The truth rattled around Sam’s chest as he let Jack’s words sink in. He had been contemptuous of Marguerite, judging her without knowing her. He’d let his frustration over the missing foundation application morph into an intense dislike of a woman he’d never met. The entire time he’d accused her of being shallow, flighty, and easily distracted by pretty things, he’d been little better himself. Nope, he’d been arrogant and downright shitty.

  Self-loathing replaced anger.

  He dropped his chin to his chest and covered his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands hard against the sockets, desperate to halt the water fighting to escape. He’d fucked this up unbelievably.

  “Aw, dammit. I was horrible, wasn’t I? How the hell am I going to fix this?”

  “Talk to her, man. Tell her the truth and apologize. She’ll listen and then you’ll both have a laugh about it.”

  “I could apologize until a week from Sunday and she’ll never forgive me. I said something so mean. I spewed an insult and walked out without looking back. I wanted to take it back the second the words slimed out of my mouth, but I let the monumental hurt I felt sway me. At the time, I wanted her to suffer the way I was.” He lifted his face to the ceiling, squeezing his brows together when a hot shard of shame seethed through him. How could I be so damn stupid?

  “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “I told her she’d never been more than a pair of tits to me.” Sam’s throat swelled closed when he uttered the words. As bad as Rikki’s deliberate withholding of the truth seemed, it paled in comparison to his very personal attack, his crude words. Words he knew would hurt. At the time, he hadn’t cared.

  Jack opened and closed his mouth. “Good Lord, you are a dumbass, aren’t you?” He punctuated his question with a not-so-gentle smack on Sam’s shoulder.

  Sam winced and rubbed the spot on his arm. “Yes, I am. Holy hell, I need to fix this.”

  “Do you love her?” Jack lowered his voice.

  “Oh, God, I do.”

  “Does she love you?”

  The sympathy in Jack’s eyes nearly undid him. Sam could only hope what she’d said was true. “She says she does. But I don’t know if she told me as a way of glossing over her lie. Either way, I’ve probably killed any hope of her continuing to love me.”

  “You won’t know until you talk to her. Quit crying like a little bitch and find a way to repair the damage.”

  “How?” Sam asked bleakly, completely paralyzed by not knowing how to make it better.

  Jack got to his feet and offered Sam his hand, pulling him off the floor. “It’ll come to you. Let’s finish the panels then you can go look for her. You should do this face-to-face, don’t you think?”

  Jack slung his arm around Sam’s neck and scrubbed his knuckles against Sam’s scalp, the way he’d done each time they had a heart-to-heart about girls when they were growing up.

  The show of affection from his brother warmed a spot in Sam’s chest. Jack’s sage counsel was what made him Sam’s favorite family member. Hopefully, Rikki would forgive him, and she could replace Jack. Hopefully.

  He grabbed one end of the panel Jack had grasped and joined him in the quest to rebuild his future.

  * * * *

  Rikki pulled into a parking spot in front of the high school and turned the engine off. Scrubbing her damp palms across the tops of her thighs, she sucked in a resolute breath.

  After calling the school to arrange an appointment with Principal Edwards, she’d spent the morning preparing for their meeting. She cast a loathsome glance at the large clasp envelope peeking from the leather satchel next to her and repressed a shudder. She wished she had an ice vest to help keep her from bursting into embarrassed flames when it was time to share the contents.

  Jen
ni had called an hour ago to let her know the Federal Bureau of Investigations would be in touch with her about the Sims website. Tony Ralston was already working with the Bureau’s tech gurus to uncover any digital trail the hackers might have left. Forensic accountants had been examining the site since noon to determine how much financial damage had been done.

  All of that took a back seat to clearing Sam’s name.

  Despite her personal anger at him, he was a great teacher and a good man. He, or at least his reputation, deserved to be saved.

  Moving slowly, Rikki reached across the console to grab her briefcase, shoving the offending envelop deep into the recesses. Out of sight, out of mind, right? She paused and shook her head. Not bloody likely.

  Jerking the case toward her, she climbed out of the car. A musical chirp sounded when she hit lock on her key fob as she walked toward the school’s front door. Summoning her courage, she depressed the call button on the video security system and waited for the annoying mechanical sound that would signal the door had unlocked and she could enter. Even expecting it, she still jumped when the buzz blared in the small vestibule between the outer doors and the safe haven of the school’s hallway. Her hand slipped when she tried to grasp the steel handle, but she recovered and beat the buzzer. She yanked the door open.

  Squaring her shoulders, she skimmed her slick palms against the edge of her blazer, blotting away the evidence of nerves. She’d opted to wear what she privately called her begging suit— the uber-professional dark navy slim skirt, trim-fitting blazer, and crisp white shirt she wore whenever she met with potential donors whose pockets ran deep. The suit made her feel like a business executive, and beyond reproach. She’d put it on this afternoon along with her two-story black stilettos and twisted her hair into a stylish chignon. It was a look Silas had always been pleased to see, because he knew it meant she was functioning as Marguerite Sims. She didn’t wear it often because she hated dressing like an ice princess, but she hoped donning that personality today would minimize the appalling humiliation she was about to endure to save Sam’s job.