The Reckless Secret, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) (7 page)

“What?”

“I know you don’t have any interest in…well,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing knuckles against her forehead. “Whatever. But I need legal help now, and you’re the best, so…”

He paused. And then, firmly: “What’s happened?”

Taking a shuddery breath, she told him everything, barreling through all the details—what little she had—and barely pausing to consider her words. She was being entirely too emotional about it, heart on her sleeve, especially when she swallowed the hard lump in her throat towards the end of her speech and finished with a broken, “I can’t lose my job, Declan. I just can’t. This is…it’s everything to me.”

He’d let her speak, hadn’t tried interrupting her. But it was his turn now, and she knew it was stupid of her, but she put everything she had on his response. She
needed
him to tell her, without doubt, that it’d be okay.

His voice was measured when he said, “They can’t fire you without first proving it’s definitely you stealing the drugs.”

“It’s not.”

“I know that,” he said gently. “Anyone who’s known you for longer than thirty seconds would know that.”

There was such certainty in his words that she let out a watery laugh, unaware until this moment that she’d started crying. He said a soothing, “It’s okay,” to her, sounding like he was right beside her in the room, and she sniffed a little, trying to regain a hint of composure.

“So you’ll help me?”

“Of course, I will,” he said at once. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? How often do I lose a case?” he added in what was clearly meant to be a jokey manner, intended to put her at ease. Instead she groaned.

“Oh
God
, it’s gonna be a case, isn’t it? Like an actual public thing.”

“No. It won’t go that far—I’ll make sure of it.” He paused and she heard rustling from his side of the call, like papers or a book. “Can you meet me at the hospital tomorrow? I’d like to speak to your boss and then get some more details from you.”

“I—okay.” She blinked at the abrupt plan of action. Wouldn’t a man like Declan Archibald be too busy to immediately jump onto this particular ball? She’d expected to have to speak to an assistant’s assistant and make an appointment.

Unless…unless he was dropping everything for her. Making her a priority.

She bit her lip as her stomach swooped. “I’m there all morning.”

“I’ll swing by before lunch,” he said decisively, and then, much softer, with a kind of intimacy that made her skin tingle, he added, “And, Maggie—I’ve got you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Try to get some sleep.”

She smiled, feeling inexplicably fond all of a sudden. “Sorry for calling you so late.”

“I’m glad you did. Did you get my flowers?”

And then, almost as quickly, having the fondness snuffed out by the memory of what happened after. “…yes.”

He must’ve detected the bitterness in her tone, because he said, “What? Do you regret what happened?” There was a hesitance in his voice that suggested he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to know the answer.

But she was in no mood to protect his ego. “Kind of, yeah,” she said bluntly. The alcohol made it easier to bare herself to him, made her tongue loose, letting her say the one thing her sober self would hate her for: “The last thing I wanted was a one-night stand with you.”

It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, the words came out chipped and sharp.

“Is that what we’re calling it? A one-night stand?”

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked, the pleasurable memory of it rushing tainted through her mind. “It’s what your cute little note implied.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, almost darkly, and she couldn’t do this. Not today.

“I can’t think about this now,” she said, unapologetic in her abruptness. “I’ve got something bigger to worry about.”

The harshness of it appeared to strike him dumb. She wondered, briefly, if he’d ever had a woman brush him off before.

“Right,” he said. She could tell he wanted to say more, but all he came out with was: “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he hung up, and Maggie spent a few minutes agonizing about the state of her life before deciding the thing she needed right now was a soothing bath to help clear her thoughts. If she could get clean and relaxed, she would be in a better state to take stock of the situation. Make a plan. Tackle this like an adult.

She woke up four hours later trembling with cold and shriveled up like a prune, an entire construction crew hammering the inside of her skull.

D
r. Stevens refused
to tell Declan anything, although what he
didn’t
say was very telling. He couldn’t have made it any more sneeringly obvious how distasteful he found the super wealthy, especially someone like Declan—and, therefore, Maggie Emerson, whose family was almost as wealthy as Declan’s.

Could it be a personal attack? Was this little more than a sad, lonely man’s fight against his own bitter judgements? With Stevens refusing to say anything without his lawyer present, Declan left his office without any real knowledge, but with the absolute certainty that this was a ludicrous situation. He’d have it cleared away before the dust even had a chance to settle.

“I know you,” a voice pronounced as he made his way down the corridor towards the hospital meeting room.

He paused and turned to face the voice, and instantly his mood darkened. “No you don’t,” he said, but he knew this guy. The preppy doctor Maggie had traded him in for. Robert, was that his name? Declan had found it out several months back, but he hadn’t retained the information. Didn’t want to think about this man at all. Think about what he did with Maggie.

“Yes, I do,” said the doctor, stepping into the florescent light and eyeing Declan coldly. “I see you in the papers all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean you know me, does it?”

The doctor scowled. “What’re you doing back here?”

“I’ve just had a meeting with Dr. Stevens,” Declan said, because he knew the truth was enough to shut this weasel up—and then, because he was feeling particularly spiteful, he added, “and now I’m due to meet Maggie.”

The words obviously had the desired effect on the guy, but he was clearly trying to seem unconcerned. He sniffed and glanced at his bare wrist, as if looking at a watch. Declan felt sorry for him.

“What do you want with Maggie?”

“I don’t really think that’s your business.”

The guy narrowed his eyes at that. “Maggie and I are involved,” he said, and Declan was rocked by uncertainty for only a moment before he laughed.

“No you’re not.”

“We’re on a break,” the guy said imperiously, visibly affronted by Declan’s dismissal of it. “We’re sorting things out soon.”

“Ah.” Declan nodded, paused, then said, “Does she know that?”

“Our private matters are none of your concern.”

“Right, okay.” Declan checked his own watch—a real one, not a bare wrist—smirking as he did so, then added, “Well, until then, she’s single. So if you’ll excuse me—”

He got half a dozen steps away before the guy’s slimy voice stopped him short.

“She’ll never be interested, you know.”

Declan turned to look at him, raised his eyebrows to invite the guy to continue. Despite himself, he was highly interested in hearing what reason this joke of a man would give.

Wearing a twisted grin, the guy said, “She hates the rich.”

Declan gave him a second or two to feel victorious in his spite, and then he looked him up and down and sniffed a disdainful laugh. “I see her try to date you, a resident, worked out so well for you.” Then he turned and walked away.

“We’re on a break!”

“Whatever you say, Ross.”

“
Ronald.
”

“Whatever,” he said, and left the guy seething in the corridor as he turned the corner and headed towards the elevator.

Five minutes later he was greeted with a sight too beautiful for this gloomy morning—Maggie Emerson waiting for him in a private room, wearing a pretty blue dress, her wild hair tumbling over her shoulders and the smile on her face shy and welcoming.

The only thing that tainted such a perfect sight was the storm of concern in her eyes, but he planned to get rid of that as soon as possible—he was almost certain the weedy Dr. Stevens had nothing concrete. Nothing he could make stick, anyway.

Declan closed the meeting room door behind himself and said, “I just met your charming ex,” as he stepped closer to Maggie. “Apparently you guys are working things out soon?”

Seeing her now, after their time spent together in the hotel, brought so many delicious memories back into his mind that it was all he could do not to grab her and pull her close, kiss her breath away.

She buried a hand in her wild hair, grimacing. “Oh God, he said that?” She huffed out a laugh of mild embarrassment, looking up at Declan through her eyelashes. “That guy is the biggest mistake of my life.”

Declan smirked. “But he seems like such a catch.”

“It turned out that one of the conditions of a long-term relationship with him,” she said with a dry tone, untangling her hand from her hair and propping it on her hip, “was that I give up work and play the happy housewife.”

“Nice.”

“Right?”

“You look beautiful,” he said, and she blushed an instant pale pink. She was a truly breathtaking sight, every last inch of her.

“Shut up,” she mumbled bashfully, “I’m hungover as hell.”

He smiled fondly, reached up to press a knuckle beneath her chin, stroke his thumb along her jawline. “You wear it well,” he said, but she didn’t share in the joke. Her expression clouded over and she pulled his hand away, took a step back. He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re not here for that,” she said—and yeah, okay. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to be touching her. It wasn’t as if they were in a relationship, where casual, intimate touches and gestures were normal behavior. Not yet, anyway.

“Of course,” he said respectfully. “So tell me everything you know.”

She leaned back against the conference table and sighed. “Like I said, it’s not much. They found my DNA in the cabinet—a hair, they said. And I’m always on my shift when the thefts happen.”

“That’s it?”

“Apparently.”

He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “We’ll have this put to bed in no time.”

“No, there’s more,” she said heavily. “That—that
asshole
Dr. Stevens is keeping it close to his chest, but he couldn’t make it clearer than he’s got enough to nail me to the cross.”

Declan doubted that, but there was no denying that the Stevens guy was being exceptionally shady about the whole thing. He definitely had something up his sleeve, and Declan was determined to figure it out—whatever it took.

“He wouldn’t answer my questions,” he confessed, “not without his own lawyer present.”

Distress passed over Maggie’s face. “What am I going to do? This job, it’s—it’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s who I
am
.” She made to shove her hands in her hair again but he grabbed them, held them, rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her knuckles.

“They need solid proof before they can take this any further,” he explained, adopting the most soothing voice he could manage. Her eyes were glistening, and the sight of it made him want to take on the world just to see her smiling and carefree again. “Do you know the name of the detective dealing with it?”

She nodded shakily. “Sanders.”

Sanders. Declan knew of him, which made this a little easier. He had some sway there. “I’ll pull some strings, see what I can find out. But for now, don’t even think about it. It’s nothing.”

She blinked up at him with vulnerable, Bambi-like eyes, making his chest clench tight. “You think so?”

“I promise you, Maggie, on my reputation,” he told her fiercely, squeezing her hands and pulling her closer, just a little, “I’ll get this cleared away for you.”

“God, thank you,” she breathed, and then she yanked her hands from his grip and flung her arms around him.

He was so shocked by it that it took him a moment to pull himself together and hug her back, felt her bury her face in his neck and slide in close. He breathed in the coconut scent of her hair, curled his arms tightly around her waist, and froze in the next moment, sensing the change—the spark in the air as she suddenly went stiff in his arms, but not unpleasantly so, and very briefly pressed soft lips to the skin of his neck. Then she leaned back a little and he hadn’t meant to kiss her, had every intention of respecting the distance she needed at this difficult time, but she turned her head his way as he dipped his towards her, and they paused, inches from each other, eyes locked.

An eternity ticked by in that one moment, and then she had a visible but very brief war with herself—the conflict clear in her eyes—before she leaned in that extra inch and kissed him.

It was a natural instinct to kiss her back, to softly lick into her mouth, to gather a handful of dress material at the base of her spine and pull her in.

Then she pushed at him, and disappointment flooded him. Even as he stepped back, as he took his hands off her, as he put all that space between them, the very core of him was screaming out to pull her close again.

She gave him an indecipherable look and then walked around him. She was leaving, walking away, because she didn’t want him. She wanted his help—and he’d give it to her, gladly, whatever she needed—but she didn’t want
him
.

He closed his eyes against the pain of it and waited for her to go.

But she didn’t go. Instead, the sound of the lock clicking into place filled the room, and his eyes shot open.

She walked back to stand in front of him once again, her eyes soft, her cheeks flushed.

“You’re saving my life,” she said, and he shook his head.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that.” She stepped closer, reached out a hand to thumb open the top button of his shirt. “But it makes it easier to take what I want.”

He crashed into her with the force of a man finding water in the desert, pushed a gasp out of her before he plunged his tongue into her mouth and hiked her up by the swell of her ass, shifted her onto the edge of the conference table behind her.

She whimpered as he slotted himself between her thighs, and he said, “You’re making me crazy,” against her mouth before he left a lingering bite to her lower lip and pulled back. He placed a hand square in the center of her feverish chest and pushed her back until she lay flat on the tabletop, legs dangling over the edge, breasts heaving with panting breaths and her eyes dazzlingly bright with want.

“Stay like that,” he instructed, pressing her hands above her head. “Don’t move.” He didn’t wait for her response—lowered the zip running down the middle of her dress and revealed the generous mounds of her silk-covered breasts. She might not live off her family’s fortune anymore, but she still had expensive taste in lingerie.

She held her breath as he brushed his fingers over the swell of one breast and it was almost like he could feel her rapid heartbeat beneath, see the fluttering of it in her throat. He leaned down to kiss that flutter and lower, pulling the cup of her bra away and taking a dusky, pebbled nipple into his mouth.

She moaned, and he let her settle into the feel of it, of the soft teasing of his tongue around her sensitive nipple—then he pulled off with a scrape of his teeth and fell to his knees between her thighs.

This time she groaned, long and deep, and he said, “Been wanting a taste of you for years,” while simultaneously bunching her dress up around her waist and perching her feet on his shoulders. He took a moment to appreciate the fact she wasn’t wearing heels and then buried his face against her soaking wet panties.

Her hips jolted as she sucked in a breath, thighs clamping around his head as if on instinct. He made a soothing noise and parted them again, and then pulled her underwear aside.

The sight of her glistening pussy made his head spin and his mouth water, his cock pulsing and straining against his zipper. The scent of her washed over him, her glistening lower lips twitching with her arousal, and he must’ve spent too much time admiring her because she released a breathy, “Declan, please,” and jolted him into motion.

Using the hand not holding her panties aside, he traced a finger down the middle of her swollen folds and parted her, exposing her clit and entrance, releasing more of her delicious scent and making him lightheaded.

He leaned in and licked a stripe up the length of her, the sweet taste of her exploding across his tongue, before sealing his lips around her clit and flicking the tip of his tongue over it, pressing two fingers straight into her and feeling her throb around him.

He knew they didn’t have much time, not here in a hospital, and he wanted to make her come before he had to leave. As much as he wanted to take his time, lap up the taste of her and bring her to the edge over and over again until she was a begging, tormented mess—that would have to wait for another time. And there
would
be another time. He wasn’t letting her go again.

For now, his only goal was to make her come, and come quickly—and so the rapid, relentless flick of his tongue over her clit and the long, deep slide of his fingers inside her was a sudden attack of pleasure she hadn’t been expecting.

Her thighs clamped around his head again and a hand fisted in his hair, and she gasped words that sounded like, “
God
,” and “
Please
,” and maybe even his name, but sounded more like incoherent desperation. He didn’t pause, didn’t stop to catch a breath, continued to thrust his fingers in and out of her and suck on her clit and fill the room with obscene sounds and the scent of her pleasure. And then he moaned against her, the sensation of it all overwhelming him, and the vibration caused her to cry out and flood his mouth with sweet taste, pulling on his hair to hold him still and grind against his face.

She was still shaking and gasping as he stood and wrenched his cock free from his pants, bunched her dress up even higher to reveal the soft skin of her belly and stroked his cock over it, once, twice—groaning from deep in his chest as he spilled over her skin, painting the soft tan of her belly a milky white.

Then he collapsed forward on her, uncaring of the mess of his own come between them, and pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead, pressed his cheek to hers, flushed and hot—listened to the sound of her panting through the aftershocks of her orgasm and murmured, “Come home with me,” into her ear.

It took her a moment to answer, and when she did, her voice was thick with deep, lingering pleasure. “Okay.”