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Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha
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ALEATHA ROMIG
New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of the Infidelity and Consequences series and Plus One
COPYRIGHT AND LICENSE INFORMATION
A SECRET ONE
Copyright © 2018 Romig Works, LLC
Published by Romig Works, LLC
2018 Edition
ISBN e-book: 978-1-947189-19-5
Cover art: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs / Romantic Book Affairs
Editing: Lisa Aurello
Formatting: Romig Works, LLC
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the copyright owner.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This book is available in print from most online retailers
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2018 Edition License
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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Contents
A Secret One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
What to do now
Stay Connected with Aleatha
Books by New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig
About the Author
Standing beside my best friend, in front of family and friends, as she proclaims her love to her future husband, my mind should be on her. As maid of honor, I should be attentive and helpful.
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I’m trying.
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The problem is the man in the second row—her soon-to-be brother-in-law.
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Trevor Willis is sweet and sexy with green eyes that hold my attention as well as my secrets.
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For example:
How can his smile make my heart beat faster?
Why does his laugh turn my insides to jelly?
What is he thinking as his stare heats my skin?
And most importantly, how did I end up waking in his hotel suite bed on the morning of my best friend’s wedding to his brother?
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Learn the answers in A SECRET ONE, a prequel novella to ANOTHER ONE!
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Have you been Aleatha’d?
A Secret One
Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha
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ALEATHA ROMIG
Shana
My incredible dream begins to fade as I wake to the embrace of strong arms and the strangely comforting aroma of day-old cologne—a mixture of spice and leather—combined with musk and cinnamon. Before I can fully process the possibility that my dream may not have been a dream, soft sheets kiss my skin as I’m pulled closer to a warm, hard body.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?” Trevor asks in a deep whisper, his voice dragging me from a dense, sleep-induced fog as butterfly kisses pepper the top of my head. His tone is thick with the gravelly stirrings of waking.
As I process his question and the reality that I’m in bed with a man I hardly remember, my eyes pop open to a dimly lit hotel suite. Pushing through the sensation of reality versus dreams, my pulse quickens as I slowly lift my chin, bringing my gaze upward from the bare chest before me, to a thick neck covered with a day’s beard growth, and then all the way up to his green eyes, now open and filled with as much question as mine.
“O-oh,” I stutter. “Oh my!”
I wiggle away from his comforting embrace as my mind fills with pieces of scenes from the night before. The memories are like a sliced-up film reel, the missing snippets now lying upon the cutting-room floor. With large gaps in my memory, I search for answers, for anything that will make sense of where I am, where we are, and how we got to this point.
I’m in a hotel, in Indiana.
We’re in a hotel, in Indiana.
We’re both here because...
The wedding.
The reality hits me with enough force to rock my already topsy-turvy world.
My best friend is getting married, and I’m her maid of honor.
She’s getting married today.
Oh my!
“Oh no. What time is it?” My voice cracks with the desperation currently coursing through my bloodstream as I search the room, my eyes adjusting to the sliver of faint light seeping from around the thick curtains. “This isn’t...”
It isn’t my room. It’s similar, but I recall hanging my maid-of-honor dress from the curtain rod after my flight and leaving my shoes on the chair. Since neither is here, I have the undeniable feeling I’m not in my suite, but in Trevor’s.
“Hey,” he soothes as he reaches for my hand. “Slow down. It’s still early. No wedding obligations for a few hours.”
“Okay.” And yet my head moves contrarily to my agreement, shaking vigorously back and forth as I try to formulate my thoughts and find the correct words capable of leaving my dry lips. “No, this...” I motion between the two of us. “...what is this?” I sit up. “No matter what it is, we can’t tell them. Not today. Not on their wedding day. Oh...” My temples seize up—from memories or possibly from alcohol, I’m not sure. Closing my eyes to the pain, I collapse, lying back onto the soft pillow. “Oh, what will they say?”
“Well, they might be happy for us. After all, they’re happy. Why shouldn’t we be?”
Happy?
Happy that the bride’s best friend and the groom’s brother had a one-night stand the night before their wedding?
Is that what happened?
Damn wine. No, it was more than that.
I lick my lips, the lingering taste of cinnamon a stark clue to what my mind forgot.
No, not just wine. Fireball.
Oh dear Lord.
I’m not a drinker. Why did I do it? And more importantly, what did I do?
My head continues to shake. “No. They don’t even know we met.”
“Oh, Shana...” He lifts my hand, his grasp sure and warm as his fingers surround mine. “I’m very glad to meet you.”
“That’s not... no,” I say, more as a prayer than a testament to our meeting as I pull my hand away. Immediately, I miss the connection I hardly know and yet suddenly crave.
With my eyes still closed, I sense the shift of the bed, the way Trevor’s weight settles closer to my side, his long fingers as they gently tease my messy hair away from my face. His soft yet sure lips as they once again kiss my forehead and hair.
Afraid to open my eyes—to see him or to remember—I swallow before asking the million-dollar question, “Oh goodness, Trevor, please tell me, what did we do?”
His laugh rumbles like thunder, rolling through the morning twilight. “That, my lady, could wound a man of less self-confidence. What do you remember?”
Slowly, I open my eyes and take in Trevor Willis. He’s nothing like I imagined him to be from my best friend’s description. The younger brother of he
r fiancé was rumored to be quiet and shy, an engineer who constructs roads and bridges. More of a thinker, she said, not as much of a people person, nothing like his gregarious entrepreneurial brother.
In my fevered memories, as I inhale his masculine scent, feel the warmth of his skin, and absorb the adoration of his gaze, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s every bit as sexy. No, he’s more. Much more. And there’s a quiet reserve about him that I find reassuring. My gaze wanders downward.
The sheets from the bed where we slept are bunched near his waist, covering his legs and revealing his defined torso, broad shoulders, and still higher, the most mesmerizing shining green stare. His dirty blond hair is tousled in a sensual morning way, making my fingers itch to comb through his locks. His cheeks are high as his smile broadens. His strong chiseled jaw is covered in a day’s overgrowth of blond.
If I didn’t remember his name and our meeting—or at least the beginning of it—I wouldn’t know he’s my best friend’s future brother-in-law.
If that were the case, I wouldn’t realize that on the morning of my best friend’s wedding, I’m waking in the bed of a man I met merely hours ago, with a terrible headache and more questions than answers.
Tentatively, I sigh and scoot up the large king-sized bed toward the headboard. As I do, I notice the clothes I’m wearing. They are clothes, but not completely mine. In place of a nightgown, I’m wearing a large button-down man’s shirt and yes, my own panties.
At least I’m not nude.
The problem is that I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. I need the entire film. It wasn’t the director who cut out important scenes, leaving them lying upon the editing-room floor, but Fireball. Trevor’s cinnamon scent. Some of the memories are coming back. The problem is that they lack chronological order, creating a puzzle without shape. I can’t see the whole picture.
“Trevor?” I ask, suddenly unsure if I can handle the truth. “Do you think we could get some coffee?”
His grin grows. “I already called. Room service is on its way.”
“I’m a big hot chocolate fan, but right now, I think coffee sounds best.”
“Anything else, my lady?”
I sigh again, dropping my gaze to my hands that are neatly folded on my lap. Looking back up through my lashes, I confess, “At the risk of injuring your self-confidence, can you tell me about last night?”
“Are you asking for a story?”
“I’m asking for the truth.”
Shana
Trevor hands me a bottle of red Gatorade after untwisting the cap. “Here you go. While you were still sleeping, I went to the store off the lobby and bought you this.” He shrugs. “I hope you like red. It’s my favorite after a little too much to drink.”
“You didn’t happen to find something for a headache, did you? I’m going to be a terrible maid of honor.”
From the bedside stand he grasps a small packet of over-the-counter pain relievers. “Before you’re too hard on yourself, you only had three shots.”
“Three?” Why does it feel like I drank the whole bottle?
“Three,” he repeats before he shrugs. “Or four. How about you tell me what you remember?”
After a long drink of the Gatorade and swallowing the pain relievers, I lean back against the headboard and begin to recall. “My flight was delayed...”
I go on sipping the Gatorade and talking about my misfortunes while traveling from London, where I now live and work, to Indiana for Kimbra’s wedding. It wasn’t getting to the United States that was the problem, but getting from New York to Indiana. The direct flight was cancelled due to mechanical issues. After much pleading, I was put on a standby flight with one stop. Despite little to no sleep, I still made it to Indianapolis with two hours to spare for the rehearsal.
“You weren’t at the rehearsal,” I say, remembering the scene.
“No. Duncan asked me to be in the wedding, but I’m not the greatest brother.”
“Really? You’re here. Didn’t you want to be in it?”
He shakes his head. “I did. And I’m here. It was that when the big event was being planned, I wasn’t sure I would be.” His eyes grow large. “It isn’t because I’m not happy for them. I am. Kimbra’s the best thing to happen to my brother, ever. It’s that I’m working on a huge project in Washington.” He waves his hand. “The details aren’t that important, but there’ve been a few issues with construction. The project is behind schedule, and I was afraid that if I took too much time away, the foreman might be tempted to cut corners to speed things up. Let’s just say, that wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
“So you’re not in the wedding?”
“No. But Duncan understands work. He wasn’t upset. I told him I’d be here. I haven’t seen him yet, since I just arrived after ten last night.”
I try to think back. “The bar.” It was a revelation as well as the opening to my faded memories.
“You remember the bar?”
Slowly, I nod as a knock upon the entrance door echoes through his suite.
Trevor stands, the sheets falling away to reveal loose-fitting basketball shorts, hanging low on his hips, his trim waist disappearing in a V, and long muscular legs.
My bottom lip slips under my front teeth as I imagine what is not well hidden under the shorts and the way those legs would feel surrounding me. How could I know and not remember?
“Trevor?” I ask as he starts to move toward the door.
“Hmm?”
“We didn’t... we didn’t...” I can’t completely finish the sentence. One-night stands aren’t my thing. I mean, they never were. I’m a third-date girl. And since moving to London, I’ve been a not-in-a-million-years girl.
I love my job, but it’s been all-consuming. I’m a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue, overseeing the Junior line. The job title is everything I’ve ever wanted, and so is the responsibility. I love the excitement of a runway show and the anticipation of next season’s fashions. It’s the schedule that is daunting. I’ve dated a few different men since I moved across the pond, and if I am completely honest, it’s usually their accent that hooks me or the way they use different words.
“We’ll take the lift…” Or... “Shall we put your bag in the boot?” Yes. I crack a smile every time. The first time someone asked, I wondered how my bag would fit in a boot and why I’d want it there. The language idiosyncrasies are a never-ending source of my amusement. Lovely has become my favorite adjective. “I had a lovely time.” “It was simply lovely.”
Nevertheless, even with the cute phrases, the attraction doesn’t last—at least it hasn’t. There hasn’t been a spark with any of those men, not like the one I’m feeling right now.
Maybe it’s the Gatorade or my undeniable attraction; however, just talking with Trevor, I’m beginning to feel better than I did when I woke.
“Did we?”
His head tilts in the most adorable way as he grins my direction. “Your coffee awaits, my lady. Then I’ll tell you my story.”
As he goes toward the door, I make my way out of the bed and hurry to the bathroom, my mind filling with scenes and more questions. After closing the door, I take a deep breath and turn on the light. Even through squinty eyes, the reflection in the mirror isn’t nearly as bad as I expected. My blonde hair is a wavy mess, and my blue eyes have a bit of red, but it isn’t anything that can’t be fixed with a brush and a few eye drops. I quickly splash water on my face and reach for a toothbrush.
As my fingers graze Trevor’s toothbrush, I decide that no matter what happened last night, I don’t know him well enough to share oral hygiene utensils. Instead, I squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on my finger and make quick work of removing the tiny fuzzy sweaters that someone knit during the night and currently fit tightly around each tooth.
Don’t let anyone fool you. Fireball is not your friend.
After another minute or two, I decide that just maybe I’ll be able to pull off this maid-of-honor show. It�
�s then that I notice my phone on the counter. It’s turned off, and I pray it has some battery remaining. The charger is hopefully back in my room.
After a few seconds of pushing the power button, with a chime the screen comes to life. I swipe it and am met with multiple indicators of voicemails and text messages. Looking first at the text messages, I see that they’re all from Kimbra. The first one asks if I made it to my room safely, followed by separate question marks, followed by the next one.
“TELL ME YOU’RE WITH SOME HANDSOME MAN, OR I’M COMING TO FIND YOU.”
Next: “SHANA! I NEED MY BEAUTY SLEEP. GIVE ME A THUMBS UP—ANYTHING.”
Text number six: “THE HOTEL WON’T TELL ME SHIT. GRANDMA HELEN CALLED, AND ALL THEY TOLD HER WAS THAT YOU WERE CHECKED IN. WE KNOW THAT. AT LEAST IT WAS MORE INFO. I THINK SHE SCARED THEM. LOL.”
Lastly: “I’M STILL WORRIED. CALL ME BACK, OR GRANDMA AND I ARE COMING TO LOOK FOR YOU. IT’S NOT A SLUMBER PARTY YOU WANT.”
I check the current time—7:40 in the morning. Since it’s not even eight, and Kimbra was texting until after midnight, I decide to text back instead of calling.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. “SORRY I DIDN’T CALL OR TEXT. I WAS BUSY MAKING OUT WITH YOUR FUTURE BROTHER-IN-LAW.” ...Backspace and erase…
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