The Reckless Secret, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) (8 page)

M
aggie awoke
to a minty-fresh kiss to the corner of her mouth and fingers tracing the hairline beside her ear. She smiled and rolled onto her back, stretching away the night’s kinks and aches, and opened her eyes to find Declan standing over her, his expression soft and fond, as he buttoned a crisp white shirt over his bronzed, toned chest.

“Morning,” she said bashfully, glaringly aware of how she must look right now, while he had obviously already been in the shower and made himself presentable.

She also couldn’t help but focus on how naked she was underneath the silk sheet draped across her. She tugged the sheet up to just below her chin and blinked up at him.

“Morning,” he replied, fastening his cuffs now. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I figured I might be in trouble for making you late for work.”

“Work…” She glanced about for a clock, attempting to wake her mind up enough to figure out her schedule, and then it hit her: “I’m not working today. It’s not my shift.”

“Oh.” He paused mid-cufflink and stared at her.

“But I’ll go home, it’s okay—” she said hastily, a blush creeping up her neck. “If you can just give me a few minutes…”

She was in the process of wrapping the sheet around herself so she could maintain her dignity as she rose, when his hand landed on her bare shoulder and she startled.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. “Relax,” he added, lifting his hand from her shoulder to trace a fingertip along her jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

Then, with a lingering touch and a warm smile that lit up his eyes, he left the room.

Maggie slumped back against the pillows and took stock of her situation.

She’d spent the night with Declan. She hadn’t intended to—hadn’t meant to get involved with him at all, not after her brother’s warning, but Declan’s reassurance and gallantry over this theft bullshit had weakened her resolve, reminded her of just how gigantic her crush on him was. How badly she wanted him, body and mind. He was brilliant, and he was also mind-blowingly attractive, and those two qualities mixed together had created a chemical reaction deep in her gut that made it impossible to resist him.

And it didn’t feel wrong. It felt terrifying, but not wrong.

Last night had been…
God
. She didn’t even have words. He’d brought them back here, to his penthouse in the sky, ordered take-out and put on some soft music and
didn’t
try to tempt her straight into bed—and that made all the difference to her. How he was able to sit and talk with her as if there was more between them than just sex, how he appeared genuinely interested in everything she said—how he was so attentive, so open, so warm and charming and welcoming, that even the coolness of his glass-and-marble home felt cozy and embracing.

In the end, she’d been the one to initiate intimacy. When it grew late and the time came to either move things along or go home, and she found she didn’t want to go home, not at all. She wanted to stay with him, and she wanted him to want her.

And when she plucked up the courage to kiss him again, he swept her away with his desire for her. He took her to bed and brought her to orgasm three times, before tucking her close and soothing her to sleep with fingertips tracing up and down her naked spine.

She didn’t trust men. She didn’t believe in the happily-ever-after. But right now, in the intimate bubble of this opulent apartment, she wanted this man.

But a darker, louder part of her knew that this man had a certain reputation, that her own brother had warned her of it, and it was that loud voice that almost had her up and getting dressed and leaving before he could give her the patented player brush-off. She had far too much self-respect to outstay her welcome and plan for anything other than what this was.

“Thanks for the great time. –D”
That had been his response the last time they hooked up. She couldn’t deal with that again.

It was in that moment of doubt that the door opened again, and Declan strolled through it. He had his cell in his hand and a bright smile on his face.

“Made a few calls,” he said, settling on the edge of the bed beside her, “managed to move some things around. How does spending the day together sound?”

She blinked at him, her heart performing a somersault behind her ribs. “What?”

“There’s a nice antiques market downtown I’ve been meaning to check out.” He brushed a stray curl behind her ear, his expression so open and endearing. “And I know a great place for lunch.”

When she said nothing, a crease formed between his brows and he pulled his hand back, mumbling, “Sorry, you’ve probably got plans. Maybe another time.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I just—I’m surprised, is all.” She tried for a wry grin as she murmured, “Didn’t think hotshots like you got days off.”

His face softened with relief. “Just don’t tell my clients.”

Feeling a little like she’d slipped out of reality, Maggie went along with it, giddiness flooding her stomach as she realized that he really meant it—he wasn’t brushing her off.

That maybe he’d been honest all those months ago, and she’d discarded him. Traded him in for
Ronald,
of all people.

He drove her home first so that she could change and freshen up with her own things, and then took her to breakfast at a cute little café that served pancakes with syrup and hot chocolate with marshmallows—everything bad for her but oh so delicious.

The market was quaint, a long line of individual stalls with bright canopies and colorful salespeople, trading in old art and coins and tapestry, furniture with history chipped into it and books dogeared a hundred years ago. He didn’t seem inclined to buy anything but he spent his time perusing all the same, holding Maggie’s hand or the small of her back or slinging an arm round her shoulders when he wanted to pull her near and kiss her temple.

Maggie spent the morning in a bit of a daze, overwhelmed by the romance of an antiques market in fall weather, bronze and orange and fading green littering the walkway, the sun bright and the air cool and the man beside her, so very handsome, keeping her close and holding her like he never wanted to let her go.

It wasn’t the weather for ice cream, but a vendor had set up shop anyway from a cart at the end of the parade, sold them both vanilla scoops with a berry sauce that she managed to make a mess of on her lips; Declan swept it away with his thumb and sucked the thumb into his mouth, eyes glittering as he looked at her, and she couldn’t help but beam her most honest smile.

Lunch was late and light, salads on the waterfront, their bellies too full of pancakes and ice cream to manage much else, but it was perfect, conversation flowing over a glass of wine or two, arguing
Breaking Bad
vs.
Mad Men
and their favorite decades for music, the old classics and the horror of modern pop.

They took a stroll through the park, and he kissed her by the fountain, a drizzle of rain patting their faces before they took cover beneath the bandstand. A busker played the sax nearby and Declan asked her to dance and she laughed at him, at the corniness of it, and he shut her up with a bruising kiss that left her breathless.

They went home, back to Declan’s, Maggie’s mind too full of lustful thoughts after that kiss to consider the wisdom of spending another night with him—her heart thumping with the romanticism of the day and the intimacy of walking hand in hand with the man she liked, the man who made it so clear how much he liked
her
.

She couldn’t stop laughing, the story he told her on the drive back not all that funny, but she was lighter than air and everything was a delight and she giggled her way into the elevator until he pushed her against the mirror lining the back wall and kissed her, slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirt and teased the soft skin of her thigh.

Her phone rang as they exited the elevator into his apartment, and the voice on the other end brought her back down to earth with such a crash that it almost winded her.

“Ms. Emerson, it’s Dr. Stevens. I’m calling to inform you that you’ve been suspended from work for a week, so you shouldn’t come in for your shift tomorrow.”

The living room of this splendid apartment spun around her, the walls closing in, and she couldn’t breathe, could barely see through the narrowed vision of her panic. Declan tried to kiss her jaw, his hands settling on her hips, because he had no idea what was going on in this phone call—had no knowledge of anything but that kiss in the elevator, the one that said they would be in for a good time once they reached a bed.

But not anymore.

She brushed him off and turned her back on him.

“What—why?” she choked out to Dr. Stevens. “You can’t do that.” Her voice wobbled and cracked on the last note, and Declan appeared in front of her, his expression now full of concern.

“I’m afraid it’s out of my hands now,” Dr. Stevens said, entirely unapologetic. “The police will be in touch.” And then the line went dead, and Maggie’s world threatened to crumble around her.

“They’ve suspended me,” she said hollowly, staring at nothing just past Declan’s shoulder.

“On what grounds?”

“He wouldn’t say.” She slipped the phone back into her purse and met his hard gaze, the sensation of the floor swooping beneath her as the reality of the situation hit her with the power of a wrecking ball to the solar plexus. “He just told me not to come in for a week and the police will be in touch.” Then she shoved both hands into her hair and said, “Oh
God
,” with total, complete despair.

“Stay here,” Declan said, moving about. Maggie had no idea what he was doing. She had no idea about anything right now. “I’ll go see what’s going on. It’s okay,” he added, stopping in front of her again. Then he grabbed her shoulders and stooped to look her deep in the eyes, and he said, “I’m not gonna let this happen to you.” And then he pressed a bruising kiss to her temple and disappeared.

Maggie collapsed onto his Italian leather couch and tried to remember how to breathe.

D
eclan didn’t
bother waiting for anyone to approach him. He tapped his knuckles on the desk and caught the attention of the lanky, pimple-faced hotshot in uniform nearby.

“Detective Sanders, please.”

Several people in the surrounding area went quiet, and Lanky looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s in a meeting.”

“Then,” said Declan, removing a business card from his pocket and sliding it across the desk, “get him
out
of the meeting.”

Lanky took one look at his name on the card and swallowed thickly. “Take a seat, please, sir.”

“I’ll stand.”

With a nod, Lanky hurried off to do what he was told.

Declan didn’t really like throwing his weight around, making people feel intimidated or threatened. But this Maggie thing had already gone too far and he was going to get it sorted out now, today. Put an end to such bullshit accusations.

And if he had to trade on his name for that, remind certain people of how
helpful
he’d been in the past, then he’d do it. He’d do anything to end Maggie’s pain right now, squash the thing that had taken out the sparkle in her eye this afternoon. Maggie was so vibrant, so full of light, and right now this hospital business was smothering her into the shadows. Declan wasn’t going to let that happen.

Detective Sanders appeared from a door to the right and beckoned Declan over.

“Mr. Archibald. I hear you’re looking for me.”

“I’m here representing Maggie Emerson,” Declan said, offering his hand. Sanders shook it. “D’you want to fill me in on what’s going on?”

“Come with me,” said Sanders after considering him for a moment. He held the door open to allow Declan into the dimly lit corridor beyond. “Is she a friend of yours?”

Friend? Right now, she’s the only thing I care about.

“She’s my client.”

Sanders said nothing to that, just silently led Declan down the corridor and into the room at the end. An interview room, with nothing in it but a table and a large mirror. He gestured for Declan to take a seat and then sat opposite, clasping his hands before him on the desk.

With a hitched breath, he said flatly, “She’s guilty. There’s nothing more to be said about it.”

Declan couldn’t deny that the words knocked the sails out of him. He’d expected to beat around the bush a bit, coax the information out of the detective.

What he hadn’t expected was for Sanders to sound so unequivocally certain.

“What’s the evidence?”

“Her DNA.”

“Not enough.”

Sanders tipped his head, conceding, then added, “She’s the only nurse on the floor when the drugs go missing.”

“Doesn’t have to be a nurse.”

“The cabinet is secured by a keypad and the staff all have their own codes,” Sanders said, with the air of a man who had his target by the balls, and he knew it. “It’s her code every time.”

Shit
.

The assumption that Declan would be able to clear this away with a bit of hard questioning flew out of the window, and hot, sharp
worry
filled his chest. Maggie had just gone from a woman caught in the middle of some bullshit vendetta, to a fully-fledged defendant desperately in need of the best legal representation.

How was he going to break the news to her that this was serious—that he wouldn’t be able to sweep it away like he’d promised?

Sanders was looking at him with a knowing glint in his eye, and all Declan could think of was gathering all the information necessary to go home and build a solid defensive case. He doubted he would even sleep, not until he was absolutely certain he could clear Maggie’s name.

“What’s the drug?” he asked, reaching into his inside pocket for a pen.

“Ah, I’ve never been able to pronounce these things,” Sanders said, digging in his own pocket now. From within it he pulled a page from a notebook, flattened it on the table and pushed it towards Declan. “Here—”

Declan’s blood ran cold, his heart plummeting down to his gut. The word staring back at him from that scrap of coffee-stained paper put one person squarely in the frame, one person who had the means to make Maggie look guilty of a crime she’d never commit.

The last person who Maggie would ever want to take the fall for this, and the one who’d tear her heart open the most upon learning the truth.

Grant Emerson.

T
he marinara sauce
bubbled cheerfully in the pan, and the scent of blueberry pie wafted from the oven, the two combining to create a pleasant mix of smells in this sharp, expensive kitchen. Maggie was pretty sure that, until these past couple of days, this oven had never been used for anything resembling home cooking. And it wouldn’t have even had that introduction now, either—except she had nothing else to do with her days. Because the rest of the world worked; the rest of the world had
purpose
. Not Maggie, though. She didn’t have a job anymore. She didn’t have anything.

It’s just a suspension
, she told herself, but the thought drifted vague and indistinct through the gloom of her mind. It didn’t feel like just a short suspension. It felt like the end. And she was hopeless with it.

She couldn’t
believe
it had come to this. That this was her life now—suspected of stealing drugs from the hospital she worked in as a nurse, tossed out on her ass,
accused
.

It had taken everything she had not to break down in tears these past few days. But she was determined to stay strong. She refused to let them win. Let
Dr. Stevens
win.

Strong arms snaked around her waist and hugged her in warmth, and a smile hitched onto her face as she stirred the sauce.

Declan was the one thing going right in her life, and she still got the giddy feeling coiling in her gut every time he touched her, gazed at her—when that smile lit up his eyes, or he looked at her with the now-familiar fiery intensity that made her panties wet.

“Hmm,” he murmured, tucking his face into her neck and tightening his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. “Smells good.” He punctuated the words with a nip at her neck, and she squirmed, electric heat shooting down her spine.

“It’ll be ruined if you keep distracting me…”

“I could get used to this,” he said against her hair, rocking her slightly, “coming home to you in an apron, cooking me up a nice hot meal every night…” At her sharp look over her shoulder, he grinned and added, “Kidding.”

She tutted, smiling despite herself, and went back to stirring the sauce while he nuzzled her hair for a brief moment and hummed under his breath.

“I said I’d cook tonight.”

She sighed, mostly to herself, and said with a voice laced in misery, “You’re doing enough. And I’m…useless.” She wasn’t lying. Declan had been working to dig her out of this mess, and she’d spent the same amount of time holed up in this glittering penthouse, entirely hopeless.

“You’re not useless,” he told her sternly. “You’ve just hit a bump. Just because you’re not working right this second, it doesn’t mean you’re no longer a nurse. An incredible nurse,” he added, giving her a bracing squeeze around the middle.

She huffed and, apologetically, pulled his arms away and stepped out of his hold, reaching for plates as she muttered, “Doesn’t feel that way.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, and she tensed with uncertainty. They’d been “together”—or whatever this was—for no longer than a week, and she’d filled almost all of that time with her relentless misery. These early weeks should’ve been all about the first flush of romance, of getting to know each other intimately, of breathless, giddy excitement.

And it
was
like that. It really was. She’d spent every night here since
that
night, the one that rocked the foundations of her world, and while it hadn’t exactly been a happy time, there was no denying that what she had here, now, with Declan, was the most thrilling experience of her life. The intensity of it, the
pleasure
, the all-consuming passion… She could hardly find a moment to calm her heartbeat.

But still, the black cloud lingered. Of course, it did. At any given moment, her new-romance excitement would abruptly and overwhelmingly make way for a rush of panic and fear.

She was at risk of losing her career. But, worse than that, she was very close to having her entire reputation and good standing dragged through the mud. She could rearrange her career ambition—somehow, some way, carve out a new road for herself that still included helping people, if not as an ER nurse. But what she couldn’t cope with, not after all her hard work to prove herself, was knowing that people she respected would think of her as an untrustworthy, immoral, unethical
thief
.

She had to swallow away a newly formed lump in her throat as she started dishing up the pasta onto the plates, and nearly jumped out of her skin when warm, large hands settled on her shoulders.

“I’m doing everything I can to put an end to this,” Declan said, very quietly, talking close to her ear and with a tone that said he understood, that he could read every depressing thought traveling through her mind.

She reached up to grip his hand for a moment. “I know.” She was so grateful for everything he was doing, even if she didn’t yet know if it would come to anything. But what she did know was that there was no way she could’ve afforded a lawyer of his caliber on her own, and she certainly wouldn’t have gone to her parents for help.

Her father would’ve made her feel like the worst disappointment in the history of black-sheep children of the world, and her mother—bless her—wouldn’t have been able to hide her true feelings on the matter. Supportive, sure, but still that part of her that would be deeply embarrassed to have
her
child caught up in such a scandal.
What would they think at the club?

If it hadn’t have been for Declan, Maggie would’ve had no choice but to just roll over and take it. Declan, right now, was her lifeline.

“Just trust me, okay?” he said, kissing her temple before pulling away. “You’ll be back to work in no time.”

She turned to face him, watched him retrieve a couple of wine glasses and set them on the counter. “Can I help with anything? I feel so useless just sitting around here.”

“To be honest, there’s not much you can do. I don’t plan on letting this get that far—it’s just a case of finding that one weak spot in their armor, and it’s done.”

Nibbling her lower lip, she waited for him to uncork a sauvignon blanc, the muscles in his forearms flexing pleasingly, and asked, “Do you really think you can put a stop to all of this?”

“I know I can.” He glanced at her as he said it, his gaze full of sexy confidence.

Sometimes, she forgot how much of a high-powered lawyer he was. That he wasn’t
just
a lawyer. He was Declan Archibald—the benchmark to which other lawyers were compared. He was a phenomenon in his field, a powerhouse, highly esteemed and downright frightening in his talent. He was, for want of a better phrase, the Alpha Lawyer in town, and he had the political elite, the troublemaking celebrities, and the business heavyweights sitting pretty in the palm of his hand.

It was a side of him she knew, but one which he kept separate from their time together—mostly. A hint of it slipped out, when he told her to
don’t move
and
don’t come yet
and, during last night’s memorable intimacy,
gonna make you beg for it
. Her knees went weak at the thought of it, a tingle shooting through her groin.

He made her feel good in ways she didn’t know possible, and added to that, like he wasn’t already blowing her mind, he’d also decided to save her life—figuratively speaking—as if he even had the time to spare.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve everything you’re doing for me,” she told him, feeling as if she was repeating a sentiment she’d muttered to him a dozen times before. But she’d keep saying it—never wanted him to think she was taking his generosity for granted. “I wish you’d let me pay for your time.”

“You know I’d never accept it,” he said at once, and then, wine poured, he put the bottle down and approached her. “Besides,” he muttered, a soft smile on his face, reaching up to trace the edge of her jaw with his fingertips, “there’s no price you can put on helping someone you care about.”

Her heart rate hitched at the words. Did he know what he was saying? Did he
mean
what he was saying, or was it just a figure of speech? She couldn’t ask. Now was not the time, and it was
definitely
too early to be having any sort of talk about feelings.

For all she knew, this was little more than a bit of fun to Declan.

“Thanks for the great time. –D”
The memory of that message, scrawled hurriedly onto a card within a bouquet after their first night together, filtered unbidden into her mind.