Dirty Little Secret (20 page)

“You can’t—”

Using the new folder to nudge the old one, he pointed to the rest of the information, pages that held the stories of women hurt by John’s cronies, men John had protected with Keane Industries resources. “I can.”

“You bastard.”

Alex’s smirk was back. “I learned from the best, John.”
What goes around comes around.

John ranted and raved, and Alex let him, but in the end, they both knew the conclusion to this story. By the time John left, Alex had what he wanted, signed and sealed, witnessed and delivered. The nightmare was over.

The future was looking much, much brighter.

Chapter Fourteen

Ian planted a firm butt cheek on the edge of Cailin’s desk and leaned down, his perfect blond curls framing a model-perfect face and perfectly green eyes. The man was sinful. After working as his secretary for almost five months, she’d thought she would get used to his good looks. Instead she’d marveled even more, especially as his resemblance to the little devil who sat on a cartoon character’s shoulders became clearer and clearer. His personality had something to do with that, though, she figured.

“What are you wearing tonight?” he asked, looking down his perfect nose at her as she sat in the chair behind her desk.

“Huh?” She scooted her chair a little farther away.

He laughed. “The Christmas party, remember? What are you wearing?”

“Oh. Don’t know.”

Being Ian’s executive assistant often reduced her to phrases. Pure self-preservation. Half the time she couldn’t get a full sentence out without being interrupted.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? I’m not missing the chance to see that ass in something besides baggy dress pants.”

Without a word, she pointed to the half-filled jar on the corner of her desk. The label clearly read SEXUAL HARRASSMENT FUND in big, bold letters. Ironic considering sexual harassment was what had landed her in his office. When Corinne had moved, Alex and Cailin had decided she would step in as Alex’s secretary and Cailin would move to R&D. It helped give them both the space they’d needed to stay distant at work while Alex and Sara Beth got both the company and their marriage settled. The transition had been accomplished smoothly, and overall the employees and investors—those who’d been allowed to stay, that is—seemed pleased with the changes. With a few bumps and bruises, Alex’s plan had worked out great.

As had the jar. Every time a suggestive remark left Ian’s mouth, she made the big flirt put a dollar in the clear plastic container. So far she hadn’t bought the first lunch since they started the routine.

Fishing out his wallet with a loud sigh, he pulled it open. “All I’ve got is a ten.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Of course you will.” Muttering the whole time, he folded the ten-dollar bill and slid it through the slot cut in the jar’s lid. “Now, the party?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know.”

Ian rolled his eyes to the ceiling and began to curse in what she assumed was Norwegian. His parents, he’d told her, were first-generation immigrants. They’d made sure their brilliant boy could speak both their native language and the language of their new home. Ian tended to only use the curse words.

While his eyes were otherwise occupied, Cailin allowed a smile to sneak onto her lips. One thing was certain: Ian made the days interesting, and he kept her from dwelling on the heartache she’d seen over the past few months. Alex’s goal had been to track down every woman in Corinne’s file, and he’d done that. Helping Sara Beth work with them on everything from simple apologies or compensation to getting their lives back on track had filled both their nights and weekends, but it was worth every minute. If hearing the women’s stories sometimes kept her up at night, at least now she had Alex to hold her close and keep her warm. Sane. Happy.

Among other things. Which was why tonight was making her so nervous.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve surpassed that ten you paid me a minute ago. Might want to switch to English and hush,” she finally told him, trying desperately to hold back her laugh. She never laughed until he left the room. It only encouraged him, and he didn’t need the encouragement; he needed a muzzle.

Ian laughed instead. That laugh always brought out a smile. She couldn’t help it. The man just enjoyed life. When he reached for her hand, she set it easily in his. “You, my dear,” he said, tugging her up from her chair, “absolutely have to look phenomenal tonight, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

She jigged to the side. “Keep your hand away from my butt.”

Ian leaned over her shoulder to eye said body part with a leering grin, but when his gaze returned to hers, he got serious quick. “Why the nerves?”

The man read women much too easily, that was for sure. With an exaggerated sigh, she gave in. “Alex is meeting me there tonight.”

“And…?”

“And…” she mocked, “we’re ‘going’ to the party together. As a couple.” Openly. For the first time. Not that she needed to spell any of that out for him. Ian was one of only a few who knew the whole story by now, mostly because he’d figured out even before they had that she couldn’t keep her eyes off Alex, and vice versa. She often thought it was one of the reasons he was so free with her, since there was very little doubt that she was taken with a capital
T.

“Ah,” he said. “No wonder you’re nervous.”

“Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally. The sway of their still-joined hands reminded her of a game she used to play with her pigtailed girlfriends in elementary school. “People will talk.”

He bent closer until their faces were on level with each other. “People always talk, Cailin. That’s the way people are.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Right!” He dropped her hand and slapped his palms against his thighs. “So why not make them talk about something good for a change, like how fine your ass looks in that red dress you wore—”

Her hand clamped over his mouth with record speed. “Stop,” she said, giggling. “You have gone way past that ten, buddy.”

Sharp teeth nipped her palm, and when she let go, he said, “Did you doubt I would?”

“No.”

“Of course not. I’m fabulous that way,” he said with a girlie accent. “Now, mosey on home and put on the dress. It’s perfect.”

“How do you know? You can’t possibly remember…” Her laughter faded as memories of the dinner party at Alex and Sara Beth’s flooded her mind.

“Every man there that night remembers that dress, my dear. I am a man, you know.”

No one would doubt that. “Ian…” Her stomach turned over. “I can’t wear that dress.”

“Why not? It’s perfect. And red. And perfect.”

Yes, it had been. Regret that Alex had never taken it off her mingled with anxiety at what had happened after that party. She shook her head. “I-I just can’t.”

Ian eyed her like a particularly difficult equation he couldn’t quite figure out—a look she saw on his face often. She could almost see the lightbulb switch on when he connected the dots. His mouth softened, and he pulled her into his arms. His touch was tender, platonic. Ian was a touchy-feely kind of guy, so he’d gotten her used to his hugs early on. “Cailin,” he said, the sound of her name almost a sigh. “We’ve worked together how long?”

“Too long.” Her words were muffled against his shirt.

His chuckle vibrated in her ear. “Probably. You know me too well,” he said with a light jostle. “The point is—”

“You have a point? You never have a point.”

“Stop.” More mumbled curse words, then, “The point is, I know things were rough between you and Alex and the Bastard—”

At the nickname he’d given John, Cailin leaned forward, put her mouth against the bulge of his biceps, and bit lightly. Ian yelped. They had a deal—no talking about John, even with euphemisms. He could talk to Alex about it all he wanted, but Cailin had dealt with too much of the aftermath; she didn’t want to talk about the man any more than she had to.

Ian’s next words came out cautiously, and she hid her smile as she listened.

“Anyway, I know it was a bad time. But let me tell you, seeing you that night in that red dress, seeing Alex seeing you, was something special. Something that can’t, and shouldn’t, be taken away by the Bas—” His hand came up to block her teeth from taking another bite. “Ow! Stop that!”

Snickering, Cailin stepped back. It really was a beautiful dress, and she really ought to wear it while she still could. The memory of the heat in Alex’s gaze that night, the abandon with which he’d taken her afterward, sent a shiver down her spine.

One perfect, dark blond brow tilted upward as Ian waited for her response.

“Oh, all right. If I have to,” she huffed, trying to sound as put out as possible. “Alex probably doesn’t even remember it, anyway.” As if that wasn’t a fifteen on the lying Richter scale.

Alex evidently thought so too, because he snorted his opinion of her statement, then gave her a playful grin. “Wanna bet?”

* * * *

His searching gaze landed on the doorway just as she walked through, and the words he’d been about to speak evaporated. Everything around him—the lights, noise, people, everything—faded into the background and disappeared. There was only Cailin and the vision she made in that sexy red dress. Well, that, and the sudden pain in his groin as his cock stood to attention in the amount of time it took to run his gaze down her body and back up. God almighty, he was one lucky man.

His mouth watered as he took in her full curves, the beaded nipples clear through the thin material of her dress, her skin creamy gold even as she approached the bat-cave lighting of Thrice’s bar area. After the freedom of having her the last five months, he’d have thought this unquenchable hunger would have leveled off, but no such luck. Adjusting himself discreetly didn’t help the pain causing sweat to bead on his upper lip, and it certainly didn’t help with his arousal.

The sound of a throat clearing, followed by a downright insulting laugh when he refused to look at Damien, finally drew his attention away from Cailin. “What?” he asked impatiently.

“I didn’t say anything.” Damien laughed outright, shaking his head. “Not that I wasn’t thinking it. Damn, you’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“Absolutely,” Alex agreed with what he knew had to be a stupid grin.

“Just be sure not to pass it along,” Damien whispered, leaning toward Alex so Cailin couldn’t hear his words.

Just you wait, dickhead, he thought as Cailin took the last few steps into his outstretched arm. Gathering her close, he inhaled her sweet scent down deep into his lungs, and his erection jerked at the punch of vanilla and the curve of her hip brushing against his hard length.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

An uneasy smile hovered on Cailin’s lips, and her gaze darted to the groups of people nearby.

Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “Relax. I’m here.”

Cailin nodded but still didn’t speak. Only one way to get rid of her nerves.

Alex lowered his head and took her mouth. The kiss he gave her wasn’t discreet at all, but after her first startled “mmh,” she didn’t shy away. Her tongue played with his, and when he finally let go, hunger had replaced the anxious look from a moment before.

“Hey,” she murmured breathlessly.

Mission accomplished.

Damien rolled his eyes, muttered something about Alex not being the only man in the room, and stepped in to kiss Cailin’s cheek. “Hello, hon.”

“Dam-i-en!” The last syllable rose in a disconcerted squeak as Damien gathered her into a hug—and settled his splayed hand a little too close to the rounded curve of her ass, or rather,
on
the rounded curve of her ass.

Growling at his friend, Alex extricated Cailin from his friend’s hold and pulled her to safety. “Stop groping my girlfriend.”

Damien flashed him a sly grin. “Can I move on to ogling then? ’Cause that is some dress.” He pulled one of Cailin’s hands out to the side and took in the full view once more. A low whistle puckered his lips. “Da-amn!”

Cailin shook her head at Damien’s antics, a delighted sparkle in her eye. They talked for a few minutes about the Goth-style Christmas decorations the decorator had chosen to complement the club’s sleek decor as they made their way over to the bar. Alex was seating Cailin on an end bar stool when one of the employees drew Damien aside. A word or two filtered back to them over the music.

“Sir…woman…you.”

“Who?”

Alex couldn’t catch the name, but the flash of anger darkening his friend’s cool eyes said whoever it was hadn’t been invited.

“What is it?” Cailin asked. Alex shook his head.

“…here…town…”

Damien hissed what Alex guessed from the look on his face were some fairly unsuitable words, then, “…busy. Get a number…”

“…insists…only you.” The young man shrugged.

This time the “damn it!” was clear—and clearly pissed off. Damien turned to Alex and Cailin. “This can’t be put off, sorry.” He bussed Cailin’s cheek, then nodded at Alex. “I’ll see you later on tonight. You guys enjoy yourselves.”

As Damien turned and headed toward the front, Alex looked beyond his friend’s wide shoulders and caught a glimpse of a tall woman in a rocker outfit that would rival the most flamboyant Saturday night crowds at Thrice, a full sleeve of ink snaking up the arm closest to him. The woman met his gaze, then turned away, squaring her shoulders as Damien planted himself in front of her.

“Trouble in Thrice?” Cailin asked.

Alex shook his head, but he wasn’t too sure. Shaking off the moment, he ordered his beer and a Coke for her. They took their drinks to a nearby table, and the swarm descended.

“Alex!” The hearty boom of Cade Ragen’s voice fairly shook the tables. Part of the thriving Atlanta financial market, Cade was also one of the new board members at Keane Industries, filling the spot vacated by James Allen—may the bastard rot in jail.

Alex stood to shake Cade’s work-roughened hands. Any man willing to get his hands dirty the honest way, Alex considered a vast improvement from the members of the board who’d “agreed” to his forced retirement plan. Ragen certainly fit the bill. “Cade, happy holidays.”

“Now, down here we say merry Christmas and to hell with all that PC stuff.” Tapping the brim of his Stetson, Cade greeted Cailin. “Hello, miss.”