Dirty Bad Secrets (8 page)

“Shouldn’t or couldn’t?” he smiles. “This man... did he fight it as hard as you?”

“No,” I sigh. “There, I said it. How liberating. He didn’t want me. Only my brain. We make money together. He wants that. Just that.”

Warm fingers brush the hair from my bare shoulders. His breath on my neck. Vincent Blackthorne’s breath on my neck. My fucking God. How fucking surreal.

“This man must be an idiot,” he says.

“He is,” I laugh. “He’s such a prick. He’s uptight, and controlling, and difficult, and a workaholic. He always has to be right. All the fucking time. He’s an idiot.”

“His loss is another man’s gain.” Vincent’s voice is like satin. His touch, too. “I, too, want your brain.” His lips touch my neck, and I shiver. He feels so good. “But I also want your body... I want your laugh... I want your soul, my sweet bird.”

Shit. I’m drunk. So drunk. And his words sound like heaven.

“Stay with me... stay here...” He turns my face to his. “Say you will stay with me. I need a muse, my beautiful magpie. A beautiful creature to inspire my beautiful words. You will be her. You will be my muse.”

“Stay? On holiday? My flight goes tomorrow...”

Dark eyes capture me. Solid hands take mine. I’m floating on air, high in the Prealps, in the gaze of a master. “No holiday,” he breathes. “Just stay…”

I’m nodding. I can’t even believe that I’m nodding, but I am.

He smiles, perfect white teeth. “And what about this man? What about the man who could have meant something?”

I hold out my glass for more Prosecco. “Fuck him.”

 ***

 
Andy

“And what about this man? What about the man who could have meant something?”

My magpie dazzles me with her beautiful eyes. They sparkle like the bubbles of Prosecco in the lamplight. She holds out her glass for more. A toast, her smile says, before she answers my question about that man. The man waiting for her back home. That stupid man who let his beautiful bird flutter into my open arms.

“Fuck him,” she says.

And I know my pretty bird is here to stay.

Fuck him.

The words jumped off the fucking screen at me. Who’d have fucking thought the Look Inside option on Amazon would give you such a perfect fucking snippet.

Infuriating, snotty fucking cow, waltzing back in, wanting everything on a silver platter without so much as the courtesy of a straight fucking answer. Turns out I was finding my own.
Fuck him. He’s a prick. He’s an idiot.
I flicked my lawyer’s card around my fingers over and over. I should make the call, man up and start sorting out my fucking mess. Maybe I could own up to my
oversights
. Offer her a deal to be gone and finished and out of my fucking business, once and for all.

We’d never make it any length of time in the same airspace. Especially not now I knew how things really fucking went down in Venice. Not without killing each other.

Or at least causing each other grievous bodily harm.

My cock betrayed me at the thought, totally and utterly. Un-fucking-real.

Fuck him. He’s such a fucking prick. Such an idiot.

I slammed the card back in the drawer, and dialled the bar extension.

***

Faye

Summoned like a schoolgirl to the headmaster’s office. It could have been horny if I wasn’t already at the end of my tether with his self-righteous, aggrieved shit. I hadn’t even had a chance to argue.
My office, Faye, right now.
Then the flat, dull bleep of the call-ended tone.

“What have you done now?” Topaz asked, catching my scowl.

“Fuck knows,” I groaned. “Breathed? Put my pen in the wrong place? Dared to exist in the same air space as him? Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

I smoothed down my skirt and blouse before I opened the door to face the music. My clothes felt stiff and starchy, not quite imbuing me with the sexy CEO confidence I’d been hoping for when I’d picked out a blouse in corporate-bitch scarlet.

Andy was already standing, cutting an imposing stance in his black pinstripe tailoring. His tie was the richest deep purple, stark against the perfect white of his shirt, and his stubble was just a shadow, pairing with his ever-so-slightly messy hair to present an immaculate display of manhood.

His expression screamed pissed off, but as much as I wanted to slap him across his sanctimonious face, I couldn’t deny he looked ridiculously hot. Ridiculously, annoyingly, insanely fucking hot. Pissed off really suited Andy Morgan.

“
Just
fiction,” he said. “That’s a fucking joke, isn’t it?”

I folded my arms, kept my chin high. “Sorry?”

He clicked away on his keyboard. “I quote:
he’s uptight, and controlling, and difficult, and a workaholic. He’s an idiot, fuck him
.”

My heart thumped in my chest. “I was drunk. Prosecco. And it’s a
story
.”

“
Fuck him.
That’s how you felt about swanning off and leaving me to pick up all
your
fucking slack, is it?
Fuck him
. Fuck Andy and all the work he put into
our
club. Fuck Andy, who invested thousands in a future for
both
of us, who took a risk by ploughing a shit ton of his own money into a dream
you
fucking came up with. Who invested in
you,
a twenty-four year old, hormonal, high-maintenance fucking nightmare with nothing but a bad credit rating and a string of weirdo ex-boyfriends in her back catalogue. Fuck him, right, Faye? Just
fuck him
.”

“Jesus, Andy. It’s only a couple of pages, don’t take it out of context.” I kept my nerve like a trooper, despite my elevated heartrate. “You weren’t there, it wasn’t like that. Anyway, you
are
uptight and controlling and difficult, and you’re definitely a workaholic.”

“And a fucking idiot?”

My mouth couldn’t help itself. “Yes. Yes, you are.
Sometimes
. Just like I may have
sometimes
been a hormonal, high-maintenance fucking nightmare. We’re not exactly pure as the driven snow, either of us. And you
wanted
to invest the money.
You
had the cash,
I
had the vision. Don’t try and make out it was some kind of mercy mission, we both did alright out of it.”

“
You
left me in the lurch, ditched every shred of commitment we had to each other and this business, and then
you
laughed about it. You laughed about it, and you let that piece of shit put it in a fucking book!”

“I wasn’t laughing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing.”

“Maybe you’re standing in the wrong place, then.
I
was there,
you
weren’t.”

“And what about this...” My stomach churned as he resumed his scrolling. “
A partner in every way but the one that really matters.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “It’s quite self-explanatory. You did actually bother to read the rest of the chapter, didn’t you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, eyebrows pitted as he stared right through me. “You never told me you wanted more. Not so much as a fucking hint.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t think I needed to, just like
you
didn’t need to say you didn’t. It was obvious. A thousand opportunities you never took. A thousand times when it was there, simmering, where we could’ve, but didn’t. Where
you
didn’t.”

“Business and pleasure don’t mix. I thought we were on the same page with that.” He took a seat, rested with his elbows on the table, staring so fiercely I could’ve burned up. “Lots of women flirt, Faye, it doesn’t always figure they want something more. If you wanted more, you should have used that smart fucking mouth and told me so.”

I smiled, shaking my head in disbelief. “Whatever, Andy. You knew. We both knew. Rewrite it all you want, but it was right there and you always chose the other road.”

“I’m telling you now, Faye, I had no idea. Yes, we had an intangible
something
. We also had a business. A business that needed us to work well together, without any messy shit in the way. It would have gone tits up in five seconds flat if we’d started fucking. I assumed you realised the same.”

I shrugged. “It’s all water under the bridge now. You’re reading a fictionalised snippet of a conversation I had three years ago. Nothing in that book matters anymore.”

“I think I’ll read it anyway.”

“Please don’t.” My stomach lurched at the prospect. “There’s nothing important in there, nothing else about you.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing.” I hoped I wasn’t lying, since I wasn’t planning on checking my facts anytime soon.

He let out a pissed off sigh. “Fucking hell, Faye. What are we doing here? We can’t work.
This
can’t work. You’ve rocked up with a whole fucking bag of chips on your shoulder, straight back into a club I’ve been running perfectly well on my own for three years, thank you very fucking much.” He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperation mingling with rage. “For someone that claims to have spent so much time wanting more and doing nothing about it, you made short work of inciting a full-on fucking pain session in the playroom. What the fuck was that all about?”

I took a seat in the chair opposite him, making sure to keep my distance. The hackles on my neck were well riled, heart thumping with anger, and defensiveness, and a whole lot of pent-up lust. “I changed in Venice. Vincent changed me. Taught me. I’m not the girl who left here. I’m not afraid to go after the sex I want with the people I want.”

“I can’t see what the fuck Vincent taught you. You didn’t come back with the manners of a decently trained submissive. Or
manners
in general, for that matter. Some fucking
master
he is.”

“I have manners, you just don’t bring them out of me,” I said. “We’re both pissed off, both aggravating the shit out of each other constantly. There hasn’t been much call for pleasantries since I’ve been back.”

“I don’t think we can work together, Faye, not as an even partnership. Probably not at all. We’ll ruin each other, and the club with us. That’s the sad fucking truth of it.”

I tried not to let his words sting, but they hurt. I forced the humiliation aside and met his eyes with fire in mine. “You really think that? No bullshit this time, Andy. For real?”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Yes, I think that.”

“You really do seriously want me to leave? Just walk away like I never came back?”

“
Fuck him
. That’s how you felt when you left. Why should I want you back? The hard work’s been done. And
I
fucking
did it,” he snapped.

And then there were tears. I could feel them behind my eyes. Feel the choke of hurt in my throat. Suddenly the whole thing felt ridiculous, every little fantasy I’d had as I’d run away from Vincent turning to dust. I battled against it, long enough to initiate one final showdown.

“If you’re really serious, then I’ll go,” I said. “This is your chance. Tell me to leave. Tell me you never want to see me again. If you mean it, I’ll leave.” I grabbed my handbag from my desk. “I’m tired of trying to make it up to you.”

“Fuck off with the victim act, Faye. I don’t have any violins,” he said. His eyes were cold and angry. “You haven’t even tried to make it up to me, not even close. I doubt you ever could.”

“Fine. I’ll go. Permanently this time. Forever.” I stood up, digging around my handbag for an age before I found the cold metal jangle of my keyring. My copy of the staff key took forever to come off its ring. Andy watched me with a stoic expression the entire time. He said nothing.

Nothing until I’d slammed the key on his desk and reached the door on my out.

When Andy Morgan spoke next it was an angry snarl in my ear, loud enough to give me shivers. The door slammed shut, trapping me back inside as he forced the weight of his body against mine.

“You aren’t going fucking anywhere, Faye Devere.”

***

Andy

She was trembling. Buckling beneath her stupid fucking bravado. Three years hadn’t mellowed her any. She was the same flighty, highly-strung little bitch that I’d signed the lease papers with. The same little bitch with the same smart mouth.

Fuck him
.

The words fuelled the anger in my gut. Years of resentment pounding behind my eyes.

“You aren’t going fucking anywhere, Faye Devere.” A little squeal as I took her wrists and pinned them at her sides against the door, my breath in her ear. “It’s time you learned some fucking manners.”

I eased up enough to spin her to face me. Her eyes were wide and shocked, lips slightly parted and begging to be bitten. She gasped as I ran my tongue across her mouth, squirming against the swell of my cock at her belly.

“I won the fucking coin toss. This is
my
fucking week,” I growled. She tasted of anger and hurt and lemon alcopop. She tasted fucking delicious. “You cannot even comprehend how fucking pissed off I am.”

“Show me,” she breathed. “Just fucking show me.”

She folded so perfectly across my desk, grabbing hold of the edge as my hands hitched up her skirt. Her legs were perfectly toned, with just the slightest shadow of bruising remaining from our playroom session. I hooked my thumbs in the thin fabric of her panties, slipping them down around her thighs. They were beautifully wet, clinging perfectly to her clammy skin. She groaned as I pinched the ripe flesh of her arse.

“Stay still,” I told her. “Don’t you dare move a fucking muscle unless I tell you, understand?”

She nodded, gasping as I leaned down to nip at the tender flesh of her thigh. She shifted her legs apart, just enough that I could savour the pretty pink lips of her pussy. I slipped my fingers through her silver pussy rings, tugging until she squirmed. “When I’m in charge, you will fucking act like it. You will show me some respect. No fucking backchat, no fucking hissy fits, no fucking interfering.”

I unbuckled my belt slowly, taking my time to ensure she’d hear me. She glanced back over her shoulder and her cheeks were flushed pink. She looked divine, dishevelled and flustered and embarrassed all at once. She looked like the girl I’d jacked off to far too many times. She looked like the same fucking girl who’d bailed on me and hadn’t given a shit, whose sweet flesh needed the pain of remorse.

I looped the belt in two and held it in front of her face as she stared up at me with big dark eyes. “Kiss it,” I said. “Then you’ll say fucking please
. Please, Andy, thank you for teaching me some fucking manners.
”

The flicker of a smile across her mouth. “Please, Andy.” Her eyes met mine as she kissed the leather. “Punish me, please. Make it hurt.”

No fucking fear there.

My muscles were wired, taut and hot as I gripped the belt in my fist and landed the first sharp lash on her backside. It made a lovely thwack. Tough leather on tender skin, fucking beautiful. She jolted forwards on the desk and gripped the edge tighter, but she didn’t make a sound. Her shoulders were rigid, breath tight as she prepared for the next strike.

“Tell me how sorry you are,” I growled, pressing my palm to the small of her back.

“Sorry, Andy,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I landed the belt on her thighs and she squealed.

“Tell me you’re fucking sorry!” I raised the belt again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, Andy. I’m really fucking sorry.”

“Sorry for what?!”

The leather bit at her skin, wrapping around her hip so savagely she sucked in breath.

“I’m sorry... for the book... I’m sorry...” she whispered. I hit her harder, and it felt like fucking bliss. “I’m sorry for the things I said...”