A Million Dirty Secrets (28 page)

And speaking of humming—Noah was doing just that against me, keeping in perfect harmony with the music he was playing, like he’d written the thing himself. Which he very well could have.

The muscles in my thighs shook uncontrollably and my hips bucked as I tried to get closer to the deliciousness that was his mouth. I ached for my release and found myself begging for it out loud. The music suddenly stopped and Noah latched
on to that swollen little bundle of nerves between my legs, sucking like his life depended on it. I bolted upright and fisted his hair in my hands to force him to stay right where he was. At the same time my orgasm took over my body, and my head fell back and my thighs clamped around his head, followed by a string of indecipherable profanity from my lips in a voice that didn’t in any way, shape, or form sound like mine. Swear to God—er, Noah—I think I’d become possessed by some evil orgasm-hoarding demon or something.

It wasn’t until after the waves subsided and the tension in my body unwound a bit that I became legitimately concerned that I had cut off Noah’s air supply. Death by aspussiation, as opposed to asphyxiation, was not exactly something they’d put on a death certificate, but how cool would it be if they did?

“Oh, my God! Are you okay?” I panicked and forcefully lifted him by the hair of his head to get a look at him.

He was wearing that “I’m a fucking god” smirk on his face, and then he licked the remnants of my orgasm from his lips and said, “No. But I sure as hell am about to be.”

I didn’t know how or when he’d had a chance to do it, but as he stood upright, his pants were already down to his ankles and his colossal cock was standing at attention, saluting me.

He lifted me off his piano and sat back down on the bench with me in his lap. It took all of two seconds for him to lift my ass, position himself at my entrance, and then slam me back down on top of him. And he didn’t lose momentum from there. Over and over again he lifted my hips and brought me back down hard on him. His mouth clamped onto a nipple as I held him to me. Even though I was the one on top, I was in
no way in control of the situation. It was all Noah. Inside me, around me, on me—he was everywhere.

With each thrust of his cock, he went deeper and harder until a light sheen of sweat coated his forehead and began to dampen his hair. My eyes started rolling to the back of my head, and I thought perhaps I really was possessed, but I wouldn’t know for sure until my head started spinning or I felt the urge to vomit pea soup everywhere. I didn’t actually think it would happen, though, because how could something that felt this good possibly be evil?

I came again, digging my nails into his back, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass if I was shredding his designer shirt or not. All I knew was that I needed to hold on and never let go. And I did just that, even after Noah let loose this feral growl that should’ve frightened me, and then came inside me. With a couple of strokes more, he was finally spent and exhausted.

Noah kept the side of his face pressed against my chest and his arms wrapped around my waist. He didn’t even bother to pull out of me. And he was silent. The only sound in the room was the echo of our heavy breathing as we both tried to come down off our high, or maybe we were just trying to make it last longer.

I didn’t let him go, either. I kept stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head until I finally laid my cheek against it and held on. I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t
fucking
let him go. For the first time since I’d made the decision to do this, to sell myself into this whole messed-up thing, I was terrified.

When had that happened?

It was in that moment I realized how truly inexperienced
and foolish I really was, a small-town girl attempting to play in the major leagues with a man who was larger than life itself.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally released each other and I retreated to the bathroom for yet another shower. I might have needed one, but more than that, I wanted the time alone to collect my thoughts. It wasn’t until the hot water from the shower hit my skin that I began to silently cry.

The pretenses—oh, God, the pretenses I had been hiding behind, that wall of I-am-woman-hear-me-roar: it all started to crumble in rapid succession. I was nothing but a girl crushing madly on a man who saw me as nothing but his property. And he truly did own me in every sense of the word.

My mind wandered back to earlier in the day, after the romp in the limo. I had thought he’d said he loved me, and my heart had stuttered, felt like it had dropped to the pit of my abdomen, lying in wait to be birthed and handed over to the one person I felt I might actually be able to hand it over to willingly.

But that wasn’t at all what he had said. Was it? Which proves how truly inexperienced I really was. Such a silly, foolish little girl.

Noah Crawford was a man who had the whole world sitting in the palm of his hand, and I had nothing to offer. But, God help me, I was falling madly in love with him.

From out of nowhere, Noah appeared, having opened the shower door and catching me by surprise. “Hey, I’m going to go shower in one of the guest suites. Just wanted to let you know in case you get done before—” He stopped talking abruptly and furrowed his brow. “Have you been crying?”

I turned my head away and started wiping my eyes. “Um, no. Of course not,” I lied. “That’s a silly question. Why would I be crying? I just got soap in my eye, that’s all.”

He slowly lifted my chin to look at my face and I saw something in his eyes, but before I could let my mind wander too far into the land of delusional idiots, I realized that it was just a mere reflection of what was in mine. And it scared the crap out of me. Again. Because I shuddered to think of the consequences if he saw what I felt. He’d probably take me and his receipt right back to Scott’s customer service counter for an exchange or a full refund.

He didn’t feel the same way about me. He never would. Never could.

“Okay, if you’re sure, I’m just going to …” He jerked his head toward the direction of the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said with a fake smile. “Go ahead, you’re freezing me to death.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He leaned in, spray from the shower splashing against his bare chest as he gave each of the girls, and then my lips, a chaste kiss. With a wink and that crooked grin, he was gone.

Just like he would be gone if he ever found out I was developing feelings for him, which undoubtedly was not part of the contract. Kind of went against the whole no-strings-attached clause. I had to get my shit together and push past my moment of weakness. I could do it. I could get over him and be there in the capacity that he needed me and nothing more. I’d survived far worse.

I was not a vulnerable woman. I was strong. I was resilient.
I had done everything within my power to help my parents in the face of the impending loss of my mother, the foundation of all that we were. I had blindly sold myself to the highest bidder to make sure that she, that we all, had a fighting chance.

I could get over this. I had to.

The next morning, I found myself sitting at my desk with my hands tearing at my hair in frustration. I hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before. I couldn’t get that look on Delaine’s face out of my head. It haunted me. Something was different about her eyes. I’d seen that look before. I just couldn’t place my finger on it.

She’d lied to me. She had been crying, and since she wouldn’t tell me why, I was left to draw my own conclusions. It didn’t take me long to figure it out. She was a prisoner in my home. Although I’d pretty much given her free rein, she was still a prisoner who was forced to submit to my primal urges whenever the mood hit me. Why had it never crossed my mind before that she might actually find that demeaning? Sure, a lot of women threw themselves at me, but they did it of their own accord, not because they’d been paid to and therefore had no other choice.

I stood up and went into my private bath. I turned on the cold water and let it pool in my hands before splashing it across my face. I did that over and over again until I realized it was having no effect. Nothing was going to shake me from the numbness I felt. I grabbed a hand towel to dry my face, but I
caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze. I could see it then. I had become the one person that I despised most in the world: David Stone.

After all, what I’d done was something he might have done, except I paid for a long-term contract instead of using her as a one-night stand. I was using her for my own benefit and with total disregard for how this might affect her in the end. And I did it all with the safety net of telling myself that she had chosen to do this, so she knew what she was getting herself into. While that might have been true, it certainly didn’t mean I should’ve taken advantage of that fact. What if she was mentally ill? She didn’t really seem to be to me, but who in her right mind did something like this? Someone with her back to the wall, that’s who.

If I was taking advantage of her desperation, how was I any different from David? Ignorance really wasn’t a good excuse. I should’ve known that anyone, whether it was Delaine or some cracked-out whore, would only do something like this as a last resort. So, regardless, I was still in the wrong.

I went back into my office and looked at the phone sitting on my desk, willing it to ring. Like the masochist I apparently was, I wanted to know what had happened in her life to force her down this path. The savior in me wanted to help her. Truth of the matter was, I was no savior; I was an enabler.

I must have had some sort of super ESP, because it was at that moment that the damn phone actually did start ringing. All of a sudden, I wasn’t too sure I wanted it to be Sherman, because if he told me what I suspected was true, that Delaine was in a wretched place when she decided to do this, I just didn’t know how I would handle that.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and steady my nerves and then picked up the receiver. “Crawford.”

“Hey, Crawford. Sherman here. Got that information you wanted. Hope I’ve caught you at a better time.”

I sighed and it sounded despondent even to my own ears. “It’s as good a time as any,” I answered. And then I waited with bated breath.

“Yeah, well, got a pen and paper handy?” Sherman asked in his all business voice.

I grabbed a pen from my pocket and slid my notepad in front of me. “Shoot.”

“Delaine Marie Talbot, aka Lanie Talbot.” Like I needed to be reminded.

“She’s twenty-four, lives at home in Hillsboro, Illinois, with her parents, Faye and Mack Talbot. I’ve got an address if you want it,” he offered.

“Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?” I asked, agitated.

Sherman rattled off the address and then got right back to it. “High school records show she was a straight-A student, but I couldn’t find any record of her ever having attended college.”

I wasn’t surprised at all that she was smart; maybe she needed the money for tuition.

“Also doesn’t look like she was much into the social scene. Not surprising with a straight-A kid. They tend to be recluses.”

I had been one of those straight-A kids, so I knew damn well that nothing could be further from the truth.

“Seems pretty boring, if you ask me.” I hadn’t asked. “There really wasn’t much more on her, so I went digging on her folks. Her father used to be a factory worker until he recently got
fired for attendance issues. There were doctor excuses on file, but they weren’t for him. Apparently he’d been taking care of his ailing wife, Faye. Faye Talbot is terminally ill, like at death’s door terminally ill, and in need of a heart transplant,” he said, and paused.

Memories of my mother’s closed casket flashed before my eyes and I dropped my pen, suddenly losing control of my motor functions. I had lost the only two people I had ever truly loved at the same time, so I was all too familiar with how Delaine must be feeling. And she was there with me, instead of by her mother’s side. Why?

I could hear Sherman shuffling papers in the background, and then he continued. “They recently came into a large sum of money, donated by an anonymous source. Before that, looks like they were going under fast. Lots of medical bills, maxed-out credit cards … You’d think health insurance would pay for some of this. But then again, no job usually means no insurance.”

Son of a bitch.

“No police record on Delaine. That’s all I’ve got.” He sighed, and waited for me to say something. The problem was that I didn’t know what to say. My brain was still processing the fact that Delaine’s mother was dying. For the first time since my own mother passed away, I wanted to cry.

“Crawford? Crawford, do you hear me?” he repeated.

I couldn’t say anything. I was choking back the flood of emotions that suddenly rushed at me and threatened to overtake the dam I had carefully constructed to keep those emotions in check, like it was made of twigs instead of 330 feet of
reinforced concrete. The grief that I’d felt when I lost my parents had nearly destroyed me. I would’ve done anything to save them if it had been possible. Anything.

I barely even registered hanging up the phone in my state of shock.

Delaine had done the most selfless thing any human being on the face of the earth could have asked of her. She had given up her own body, her own life … to save her dying mother.

She was a goddamn saint, and I had treated her like a sex slave.

Guilt like none that I had ever felt before started eating away at me. Because knowing what she’d done, and the reason she’d done it, broke my fucking heart.

I left work early. I just couldn’t do it; I couldn’t sit there acting like everything was fine, conducting business as usual when what we were doing was anything but.

“Yo, Crawford.” Mason stopped me as I made my way toward the outer office door. “You heading out? What’s up?”

Yeah, I probably should’ve told my assistant something, right? Everything in my goddamn head was a jumbled mess and getting messier by the second. Un-fucking-usual.