Dirty Little Secrets

by AJ Nuest

  He thumbed back the bent tab on the file and grunted at the name Casper Addison written in his mentor’s cursive scrawl. Real hi-tech security Malcolm had in place here. Real tough to breach the system on a desk drawer stuffed with files arranged in alphabetical order.

  With the way the pompous old fart had walked around as if his shit didn’t stink, at the very least, Xander had assumed he’d need a desk key to get his hands on the information he’d been after. Maybe decrypt a password or three on Malcolm’s home computer just like he had as a kid.

  Nope. He opened Adder’s file across the desk. The clunky Notebook centered on the retractable desk shelf had been wiped clean, and the paper trail Malcolm had left behind had appeared at Xander’s fingertips with the simple pull of a handle.

  Too bad that was where his luck had run out.

  He smacked his lips as the sour taste of failure coated his tongue.

  The second he’d located Charlie’s file, he’d known the entire thing had been a dumb idea—check that. Even as he lay in bed with her sprawled across his chest, her hair tangled in his fingers and her heart beating in sync with his, he’d guessed whatever information Malcolm had kept on her would be as outmoded and obsolete as a floppy disc.

  But that sure hadn’t stopped him from scouring through the pages, memorizing every last detail. And it hadn’t stopped him from searching for a way to block the constant stream of pathetic excuses that had kept him wide awake, explaining why and what he’d done.

  Shit, he was so desperate to find something—anything—that would provide a hint to who and why some asshole would be after her, he’d even held her file upside down and shook out the contents.

  The only thing that had tumbled out had been a dog-eared photo of Charlie as a kid, standing beside a dark-haired boy in front of a neighborhood ice cream truck, the two of them toasting a set of dripping cones in the air.

  Frustration jammed itself in his throat, and Xander gritted his teeth. Without question, crawling out from under her warm, giving body had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Zero competition. And the only result he’d gotten for his efforts was a tedious read through a bunch of musty files. A tired stack of worthless data and dead ends.

  He should’ve never left.

  Rain gusted against the bay windows behind him, and he dug his thumb and index finger into his itchy eye sockets. But the only thing worse than holding her while she slept, knowing he’d purposely held back the truth when she trusted him, was staying. Pretending to be something he wasn’t.

  Doing so made him nothing but a goddamned liar. To the woman he loved. And before he’d even realized his feet were moving, he’d found himself standing in the middle of Malcolm’s office, staring at the empty desk.

  Which made this late-night raid of the files what, exactly? Some laughable quest for absolution? A way to take it all back?

  Or the more obvious… He rolled his eyes. He’d stumbled in here looking for a way to protect Charlie now, in the present, carting along the weak hope that if he found it, she’d somehow find it in her heart to forgive him for what he’d done to her in the past.

  Lifting the top page from the file, he squinted at the picture of a young Casper Addison, poker-faced as he flipped off the camera. Written diagonally across the sheet with what appeared to be a black Sharpie marker were the words, “Fuck You.”

  One side of Xander’s mouth hitched with his amused grunt. Even though he’d never really liked or trusted the little shit, he had to give Adder props for owning such a serious case of brass balls. At sixteen.

  Xander paged through the several arrest reports convicting Adder for some or another misdemeanor, his stats from target practice and several of Malcolm’s charts tracking his progress in the competition.

  But the truly ironic part? He closed the folder and dropped it on the stack he’d started on the far right-hand corner of the desk. In refusing to provide the information Malcolm had requested, a good chance existed Adder had no idea he’d just successfully passed his first test.

  The more Xander read through the files, the clearer the pattern became. Everyone who’d actually taken the time to fill out the questionnaire had been cut right off the top, asked to pack up their shit and vacate the premises.

  In hindsight, Xander had to admit the hidden agenda was typical Malcolm. A perfect example of what he’d been about. After all, what better way for him to ensure he’d gathered the toughest kids, those who weren’t afraid to buck authority despite the risks, than to assess which of them would be the hardest to crack from the very beginning?

  “Are you for real?”

  He spun toward the door and his muscles seized in a one-two jab of brutal need.

  Sweet holy Christ. Hands down, the blond beauty standing in the doorway topped the list of every sexual fantasy a guy could have.

  Gobs of shiny hair stacked in a messy knot on top of her head, the third and fourth buttons on his dress shirt straining over her full breasts. Cuffs unbuttoned and hanging past her fingertips, right around the same spot the tails brushed her mid-thigh. The rest of his shirt split open around her hips, exposing that soft stretch of belly perfect for cradling his cock. And damned if that white triangle of cotton covering her sex wasn’t the biggest turn-on of all.

  Mmm, mmm, mmm. His dick flexed against the loose folds of his sleeping pants as he shook his head. The woman was Brigitte Bardot times…hell, infinity? And, apparently, had no idea showing up all sleepy sex kitten equaled textbook trouble in his book.

  “Xander, it’s almost four in the morning. What in the world are you do—?”

  “Come here.”

  A small gasp parted her lips. Probably over the way he’d growled the words.

  Fisting the collar of his shirt, she tipped her head to scan her legs, and the moment stretched as one of her eyebrows rose and she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I take it you like my wardrobe choice?”

  That was rich. “Like seems a little weak.”

  But the best part by a landslide was how she didn’t automatically shoot him down with one of her sarcastic jabs. Aimed at either of them.

  He pushed against the floor with his bare feet, wheeling back from the desk.

  She’d always been a showstopper. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, every other woman on the planet had taken a second seat. Coupled with the clever glint in her eyes that said she’d finally started to believe it, the sexy confidence simmering off of her pumped him so hot and heavy he was primed to go and she hadn’t even entered the room.

  Her focus flicked to his open thighs, and the corner of her lips twitched.

  That’s right, beautiful. He patted his leg. His physical responses to her were many, but one look at how hard she’d made him, and there was no way she could interpret what he wanted as anything other than more.

  The Oriental rug muffled her footsteps as she crossed the room, smiling. “I had a sneaking suspicion this shirt might work in my favor.” She crawled onto his lap and he snuggled her into the crook of his arm, buried his cheeks in her hair and inhaled long and deep against her throat. “Besides, I forgot to take my luggage upstairs. It was either this or walk around naked, and I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.”

  Christ, she smelled like sex. Like peaceful dreams and sheets tangled in sin.

  Yep, more and then some about covered it.

  Her soft chuckle broke the stillness of the room as he nipped her ear. She tipped her head back and he flicked his tongue over the secret mole hidden under her chin. “Okay, I get what you’re doing now, but what were you doing before I came in?”

  Hell. Talk about a buzz kill. “Working. Now can the chatter.”

  He ran his splayed fingers along her thigh, grabbed her hip and shoved her higher up his lap. Damn, she fit against him better than if he’d gone all Weird Science and typed her measurements into some supernatural 3-D computer.

  “Uh-huh.” Sh
e wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her back bowed as he slipped the buttons on his shirt and shoved the flaps aside. “But you wanna know what keeps going through my head?”

  The delicious slope between her neck and shoulder could’ve easily been banned as a drug. Her skin warmed his lips as he skimmed a kiss past her collarbone. And so could the mouth-watering swell at the top of her breast. “Unless it’s got something to do with how I plan to take you on the desk, then no. Not interested.”

  One lick, and her nipple pebbled against his tongue. He blew a steady stream over the wet tip and she shivered, cradling his head in her palm.

  “I can’t stop wondering what could be so important, you’d rather be down here rearranging Malcolm’s desk than upstairs in bed with me.”

  He froze mid-lick, searching her face from under his brows, lifted his head and squinted at her evil grin. Wait, exactly who was playing who here? Not that he stood a chance in hell at figuring out what she was up to. The blood flow to his brain was in too short supply.

  Tag on the way her sweet ass cushioned his balls and, if he wasn’t careful, something that could get him into all kinds of trouble was apt to fly out of his mouth, boomerang around and clip him upside the head.

  “I wasn’t rearranging.” He cleared his throat, nodding toward his laptop. “I was reading through our old files, waiting for my program hit.”

  She frowned, and any wise ideas he’d had about christening the old man’s desk winked out as if she’d jammed the power button on where they’d been headed. “What’s the matter?”

  Well, fuck. He raked his hand through his hair. For someone with a genius IQ, he sure was one stupid son of a bitch. He should’ve known she’d take one look at him and be able to sense something was off. “Nothing.”

  The lie blistered his tongue and then sat there stewing, but what the hell else could he do? If he spilled his guts about what he was hiding, there was every chance she’d tell him to go screw himself, right before she disappeared from his life forever. And with good reason.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not with some asshole dogging her every move.

  “Old files, huh?” Lids lowered, she studied his face as if she hadn’t bought his lie for a second. “Okay, then. This, I gotta see.”

  Sitting up, she shuffled around on his knees until she faced the desk, snagged the edge and wheeled them toward the blotter. Her toes met the floor as she stood, stretching forward, but he held her hips and urged her right back to his lap as soon as she’d collected the stack off the corner.

  She flipped open Adder’s file and a huff jerked her shoulders. “Good ol’ Adder.”

  The same stupid jealousy Xander had fought as a kid nailed him directly between the brows. “He always did know how to make a point.” And the way the two of them had shared that specific character trait had been a tough thing for him to swallow.

  He ran his hand down Charlie’s back as she tossed the folder aside. Good riddance. Ever since the day Malcolm had handed Adder the keys to the London-based branch of Dirty Deeds, Xander had gone out of his way to keep his distance. Adder’s cocky line of craptastic bullshit and the way he’d loved eyeballing Charlie had put him at the top of Xander’s Watch It! list, and he’d been none too sad to see Adder go.

  The pack of lies Eden had used to fill out the form earned a husky laugh, and Xander smirked over how he’d had pretty much the same reaction. Then again, Eden’s false back story certainly did go a long way toward explaining why she’d always been Malcolm’s favorite. Hell, if he hadn’t known any better, Xander would’ve probably dropped to one knee and muttered Your Highness every time she walked past.

  The answers in his file brought on a confused frown, followed by a rapid blink of Charlie’s lashes. “Hold on. Are you dyslexic?”

  Probably looked that way. “No, it’s a Playfair Cypher.” He cocked a brow. “I wasn’t about to tell Malcolm he could shove that questionnaire up his ass, but I didn’t want to fold like a cheap suit, either. I figured the least I could do was make him work for it. Waste his time decoding the answers just like he’d wasted mine with a bunch of stupid shit that didn’t matter.”

  Charlie tossed her head back with a laugh. “Oh, my God. That’s awesome.”

  He chuckled along with her from behind his bent index finger, elbow pinned to the armrest and his chin balanced on his thumb.

  She brought over her file—the best she’d saved for last—and he dragged his finger across his lips, curious to see how this would play out. The hard line she’d slashed across the front had made him laugh, almost as much as the essay she’d written on the back, and how under no circumstances whatsoever was she about to share such personal information with anyone, much less a complete stranger. And Malcolm could kiss her ass, thank you very much.

  A flip of the cover, and she went stiff as a board.

  Shit. Xander sprang forward in the chair as every hint of color drained from her face. “Charlie?”

  Her hand rose to her mouth at the same painful speed she lifted the picture. She stood and the sheets scattered like dry leaves as the folder somersaulted to the floor.

  “Charlie.” Xander pushed to his feet. Glanced between the photo and her pale cheeks.

  Christ, he wasn’t just dumb. He was a full-blown idiot.

  His file didn’t contain any pictures. And the same held true of Eden’s and Adder’s. Not that they should. Far as he knew, neither of them had a family. The same as him.

  But not Charlie. She’d belonged somewhere before hitting the streets. And whoever that smiling, dark-haired kid was, seeing him had made the ground crumble beneath her feet.

  Grasping her chin, he gently turned her head, and his goddamned chest nearly cracked in half as a bloated tear tumbled over her lashes.

  No. Anything but her tears. “Who is he? The boy in the picture?”

  “Danny.” She closed her eyes and backed out of his hands. “It’s me and my brother, Danny.”

  * * * *

  She’d left him. Goddamn it, she’d left him alone in that house.

  Charlie’s legs carried her to the leather couch before the fireplace. Without any conscious decision on her part, she crawled into the corner and her body curled into a tight ball.

  How could she have done it?

  Arms hugging her shins, she braced her forehead on her knees and hung on against the crushing fear of saying goodbye.

  Danny’s brown eyes swam into focus, filled with tears.

  She slapped her palms over her ears and tried to tune out the terror that always came next. Throat closed, she dragged a strangled breath into her lungs.

  No. She didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t stand to relive the memory one more time.

  Danny glanced down the hall, his arm outstretched, shoving her tattered backpack into her hands.

  But she didn’t want to go. Not without him.

  He pushed her shoulder, urging her to run, fast. Before it was too late.

  Heavy footsteps rattled the pictures on the walls. A roar of drunken outrage drowned out the canned laughter spewing from the television. Panic clutched at her chest, and she spun, racing for the back door.

  Dark. She stumbled into the yard. It was too dark outside to see.

  The crash of shattering glass washed past her ears. Her mother screamed. The cold air stung her wet cheeks, and she ran. Laces flying. As far and fast as she could.

  A sob burst past her lips, warming her thighs.

  Dear God, she’d left him and she’d never gone back.

  A set of strong arms scooped her off the seat. Her cheek met the hard wall of Xander’s chest, and the world slanted off-kilter as he turned and sat with her on his lap.

  “Jesus, Charlie. I’m so sorry.” Cupping the side of her face, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I should’ve given you a heads up what was in that file.”

  Not his fault. None of this was anywhere near his fault. “I was the on
e who ran out on him, Xander.” She flipped the photo in her fingers and stared at the two young faces smiling back at her. As usual, she wore jeans and a long-sleeved blouse even though the temp had been well past ninety degrees.

  It’d been one of a few good days in a long string that had royally sucked. Danny’s sixteenth birthday, a couple of months after she’d turned thirteen. Fast forward one week, and she was living on the streets.

  “I left in such a hurry I never took any pictures with me.” Another tear fell, and she swiped it off her cheek. “It’s just the shock, I guess. Seeing his face again after all these years.”

  “You were a kid, Charlie.” Xander cinched her tighter, squeezing her shoulders. “A terrified kid who had no other option but to cut her losses and get the fuck out of that house.”

  At the time, sure. Xander was right and, deep down, she knew her brother had been right, too. “Danny used to say the same thing. He never got beat the way I did, and I think he was growing more and more concerned the abuse might eventually…” Her mouth grew pasty at the thought of that reeking pig’s hands roaming where they didn’t belong. “Take another direction.”

  Something similar to the snarl of one very pissed off jungle cat rumbled through Xander’s chest, and she huffed. “He kept telling me I’d gotten old enough, I could take care of myself, and the best chance I’d get was to disappear.”

  “Thank Christ for small favors.”

  Yes, but that wasn’t the point. Right, wrong, or whatever hellish nightmares had chased her through that door, her running away didn’t excuse the selfish decisions she’d made in the years that followed. And it didn’t erase the horrible blame that had stuck to her skin ever since the day she’d stood at Danny’s bedside, a piercing shriek boring into her head as the last blip of his heart had skipped across the screen.

  Tipping to the side, Charlie set the picture on the coffee table, and Xander’s arms fell to the couch as she stood. After everything he’d done for her, he had every right to hear the truth. From her. Especially when it came to his promises about how her past didn’t matter. Until she’d confessed the whole sordid story, there was no way he could know that for sure.