Living in Secret: Living In..., Book 3

by Jackie Ashenden

  It made him angry for some reason. “I don’t care whether I have the right or not. Will you let her know you’re going?”

  Her face had gotten a hard, set look. The one she’d had when he’d confronted her about the letter. The one that had so often been on her face the last couple of years. “No,” she said flatly. “I won’t.”

  He should leave it alone, he really should. But he didn’t. “Why not? Don’t you think she’d want to know?”

  Carefully Victoria set her wine glass down. “I don’t want to discuss Jessica with you, Connor. So can we change the subject please?”

  “Why?”

  Her expression didn’t change. “I’m asking nicely.”

  No, he didn’t want her looking at him like this. Like he was a stranger or one of her colleagues, or someone she’d only just met.

  You were happy enough with it for five years.

  Yeah, well, he wasn’t happy with it anymore. Not now he knew what it was like when she was wild with passion, when she looked at him with fire in her brown eyes, wanting him. Needing him. He wanted more of that not this…cold, shutdown gaze.

  “Fuck nicely,” he said, deliberately coarse. “We’ve had nice for too damn long, don’t you think? Why don’t you just answer the question for once in your life?”

  And finally, her expression cracked, a hint of furious anger leaking out before she looked away, back down at the table. “Fine. Then you can tell me about that tattoo on your back. The one you’ve never said a word about.”

  Fuck, turnabout was a bitch.

  Silence fell, oppressive as storm clouds on a mountaintop.

  You don’t have to tell her everything. You don’t have to tell her what a fucking hypocrite you are and always have been.

  Connor raised his glass and drained it, the wine sitting warm and heavy inside him. “That tattoo? Okay, it’s meant to be a reminder. Live by the sword, die by the sword. I was eighteen when I got it so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little embarrassed about it now.”

  She stared at him, the surprise obvious on her face. “Oh. Why did you need a reminder like that?”

  He’d never mentioned his family to her. Not once. And he really didn’t want to talk about them now. “Because I grew up in a shitty area, around a lot of violence. And I didn’t want to turn into one of the people I grew up with. Does that answer your question?”

  Her gaze held his for a second then it flickered away again, the set expression on her face fading. But her mouth still had a tight cast to it. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “It does.” She paused. “Jessica didn’t ask me to contact her. So I’ve decided to leave it at that.” There was no emotion in her voice, only a cool statement of fact.

  Connor studied her. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Whether this was painful or otherwise for her. But he remembered the way she’d absolutely refused to talk to him about the letter. About Jessica. And how, as she’d walked out of the house, he could have sworn he’d seen the briefest flash of agony in her eyes.

  “Why?” he said, pushing, even though he knew it wasn’t a good idea. “Don’t you want to know about her?”

  “No. I think it’s best if I don’t.” Her tone said plainly this was the end of the discussion.

  But for some reason he couldn’t leave it alone. “Why not? Don’t you think your daughter would want to know her mother?”

  “That’s my decision, Connor.”

  “Are you afraid to meet her? Is that what the problem is?”

  She looked at him, her expression a mask. “It’s got nothing to do with you, so how about you stop asking me about it?”

  No, he was wrong. He did know what she was feeling. She was in pain, he could see it now. In the way she avoided the subject, in the tightness around her eyes and mouth. And it was so bloody obvious he didn’t know why he’d never seen it before.

  Because you’ve never seen her face relaxed in passion, in heat and pleasure before. Now you know the difference.

  Again that strange tightening in his chest. Like regret.

  He held her gaze. “She wouldn’t have sent that letter if she didn’t want contact, Victoria.”

  “Screw you,” Victoria said abruptly, anger bleeding into her voice. “What gives you the right to pass comment? You know nothing about either the situation or her, so why don’t you shut up?” She shoved away her plate. “You wanted me to stay the night so I’m staying. But I’m not having heart-to-heart chats about our lives, our marriage or anything else. You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me.”

  Connor’s blue-eyed gaze felt like broken glass cutting into her. Slicing deep into sensitive flesh with the precision of a scalpel, excising the truth from her. And she held it because to look away would mean he was right, she was afraid.

  But he wasn’t right. Jessica didn’t want contact. If she had, she’d have said something in the letter and she hadn’t. And Victoria was happy with that. It had been enough to know her daughter had had a good life, a successful job, was loved by her adoptive family. Enough to know her decision to give Jessica up for adoption had been the right one. The only one.

  She didn’t need to know anything more.

  But that didn’t stop the dull ache that settled in her gut, the heavy familiar feeling of guilt. A guilt she’d spent years and years pretending she didn’t feel.

  That was the problem with emotions. You let one in and a whole lot more started piling in on top of them. God, she should never have started this with Connor. Never. Admitting to lust, to desire, had been a mistake. Yet now she couldn’t get enough. It was all she’d thought about since she’d come downstairs wearing his shirt.

  God, if she got him thinking about sex then maybe he’d shut the hell up about Jessica.

  But he just looked at her, stared right into her. “I changed my mind. Maybe we’re not here just to fuck after all, Victoria. Maybe talking would be a good idea for a change.”

  “So for five years you were happy to say nothing at all, and now you want to talk?” She shoved her chair back and stood up. “Well, I’m sorry it doesn’t work that way. This time I do not want to talk. I want to fuck.” She said the word with relish as she moved around the table to where he sat, halting beside his chair. “So are you good with that or not?”

  He tipped his head back, looking up at her. He’d gotten rid of his ripped shirt and he was just sitting there in his suit pants, all that beautiful bare chest and flexing abs on display.

  At least desire was simple. It didn’t hurt and it didn’t expect things from her. And it sure as hell didn’t make her feel guilty.

  “You’re angry,” he said quietly. “Why?”

  “Because you completely ignored me when I told you I didn’t want to talk about it. Because you keep on pushing.” His chair had been moved back a little way, giving her enough room to lift a leg and slide into his lap, straddling him. He didn’t say a word as she did so, only watching her, his gaze enigmatic.

  “Anyway,” she went on, settling herself, the hard edge of the table at her back. “I’m not the only one who’s angry. You didn’t want to talk about your tattoo either.” She shifted her hips, feeling the ridge of his steadily growing erection press against her. “So how about we not talk about any of it, okay?”

  He remained still, his attention firmly on her face. “Why don’t you want to talk to me, Victoria?” he asked, his voice soft. “Are you afraid of me?”

  Something caught painfully inside her. “No, of course I’m not afraid. And why should I talk to you? You’re Mr. Perfect, Connor Blake. With your amazing career and your perfect life. What would you know about making mistakes?” She found she was breathing hard, bitterness rising at the back of her throat. Why had she said that to him? Why had she given herself away like that?

  The expression on his face changed, shadows moving in his eyes. He
sat forward suddenly, their faces inches apart. “Perfect? Is that what you think? Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t want to know about the mistakes I’ve made.”

  “Oh, sure you have,” she said, anger making her voice sharp. “Don’t tell me, you didn’t return a library book on time? Forgot to pay your power bill once?”

  His fingers closed around her upper arms, his grip tight. Something dangerous glittered in his eyes. “Like I said, you don’t want to know.”

  And she felt it, the desire for him. The hunger rising. Responding to that intensity, that fierce, dangerous look. She was naked under the shirt, the wool of his suit pants rough against her skin, pressing against the tender flesh between her thighs. It felt so good. He felt so good. It made her want to be so bad.

  She shifted her hips against him, a slow undulation, watching his pupils dilate in response. “Why not? What could you have done that was so very wrong, Connor?”

  “I can’t tell you. I can’t ever tell anyone.”

  “I had a baby when I was sixteen after I lost my virginity at a school dance. I gave her up because I wanted to make my parents proud of me and they had sacrificed too much already.” She undulated again, staring into his face. “What’s worse than giving up your own child for your parent’s approval?”

  He stared at her a long moment. Then abruptly his mouth twisted and his fingers released her. “No, Victoria. Not tonight.”

  No more.

  She leaned forward before she was even aware of doing so, shoving her fingers into the dark silk of his hair, dragging his head back by force. He stiffened, staring up at her as she leaned over him. But he didn’t move.

  “Tell me,” she said quietly, fiercely. “Tell me what your mistake was.”

  “Your mistake was bringing a life into this world.” His lips drew back, his teeth bared, the look in his eyes abruptly savage. “My mistake was taking one out of it.”

  “What?” she said blankly.

  He didn’t reply straight away, shaking his head loose of her hands then shoving his chair back farther. Putting his hands on her hips, he gently pushed her off him and stood.

  She stared at him as the truth began to penetrate, followed by a wave of slow moving shock.

  “I’ll leave you to work that one out for yourself,” he said, the paused. “You can stay if you like. There are blankets in the hall cupboard. Or you may prefer to leave. I think that’s what I’d prefer.”

  He didn’t wait for her to say anything. He only turned and left the room.

  She heard him go out into the hallway, his footstep on the stairs. Then the hard click of the bedroom door above. Shutting her out.

  Your mistake was bringing a life into this world.

  My mistake was taking one out of it.

  Holy God.

  Chapter Ten

  Connor stalked over to the window of his bedroom then stalked over to the bed and back to the window again. He couldn’t sit down, couldn’t stay still.

  He’d told her. Why the fuck had he told her? The thing he’d been hiding all this time. The thing that made him the biggest hypocrite in the history of the world.

  Connor Blake, top police prosecutor, respected lawyer.

  Murderer.

  He’d never told anyone. He’d promised his mother as she was recovering in the hospital that he wouldn’t and he hadn’t. But it was a secret that had swallowed him whole. Eaten him up from the inside, leaving him just a shell. A perfect, gleaming façade while inside…

  Darkness. Taint.

  And he’d told because…well, because she’d sat in his lap, wild and beautiful. In his shirt, naked, with her fingers in his hair. Demanding an answer from him in a way she’d never done before. A way no one had ever done.

  He’d kept hold of that secret for so long and she’d obviously expected it to be no big deal, whatever it was he was going to tell her. So he’d thrown it at her like a grenade. Wanting it to explode and shatter the thing growing between them. The warmth and the heat and the emptiness inside him that wanted something to fill it.

  He couldn’t have it. Which meant he couldn’t afford to feel it.

  Behind him, he heard the door slam open, banging off the wall, and he turned ’round sharply.

  Victoria stood there, her black hair curling around her face, her dark eyes full of anger. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You can’t just tell me something like that then leave. I want a fucking explanation!”

  The word sounded deliciously filthy in her prim mouth and he cursed himself for noticing. It made him even more aware of what an extremely bad job he was doing of pretending to be a good man. “An explanation? You mean you want to know who I killed? And why? Better that you leave, Victoria. The less you know, the better.”

  “No.” She lifted her chin and came around the big white bed they’d hardly ever shared, preferring to stay in their own separate rooms like an eighteenth century aristocratic couple. “You gave that to me. You told me. And it’s up to you to explain.”

  He watched her come, remaining where he was, standing by the window with his arms folded. “And you were the one who asked for it. I gave you the truth.”

  “And I gave you mine.”

  “So you had a baby at sixteen. That must have been hard.”

  She stopped directly into front of him, staring right at him. “Are we going to play this game? The I’ve got a worse secret than you game? Because if we are, I surrender. Yours is worse than mine. Now tell me what happened.”

  The truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth…

  He’d already told her the worst. Might as well give her the rest. “My father was a dealer, part of a meth ring. He was violent, as most of those kinds of men are, and arrogant and thought he owned the world. He certainly thought he owned me and my mother. He used to tell me I needed to harden up if I wanted to take over the business after him. I needed to be strong and all the punches and kicks were part of him making me stronger. Making me a man.” Telling her this should have been difficult, should have felt like it was being dragged from him, but it wasn’t. It was easy. As if he’d been waiting for the chance to tell her all along. “Christ, like I wanted to be a man like him. Anyway, Dad never used to try his product, but I guess he thought he was above anything as petty as mere addiction because one night he took some. And didn’t handle it well. My mother got the brunt of it. He ended up throwing her through a window.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened. But she didn’t say anything.

  “I remember him standing over her,” Connor went on, the words spilling out from him with so much ease it was a wonder he’d managed to keep it secret for so long. “And there was blood everywhere, and he was laughing. Cursing her. I tried to get him to call an ambulance because Mum had so many cuts, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let me near her either, kept shoving me onto the ground.

  “And when I got up the last time, I realized for the first time I was taller than he was. I was behind him, and he wasn’t looking. So I hit him and he went down. And it was so fucking good to see him on the ground like that. I kept hitting him. I couldn’t stop myself. I was just so angry at him. For all the pain he’d doled out over the years, pain he’d caused my mum and myself. Eventually I stopped when I saw he wasn’t moving. Then I went and got my mother and took her to hospital.” He took a breath. “We got a call the next morning to say Dad had been found on the sidewalk outside our house and he was dead. Fractured skull.”

  Victoria didn’t look away from him and he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.

  But he held her gaze, giving her the truth because that’s what she’d wanted. “And you know what I felt? I was relieved. I was just so fucking grateful the prick was dead. I killed my own father with my bare hands and all I felt was glad.” And if he concentrated, he could feel it still, the remembrance of that re
lief. No guilt. Just relief. “But of course, you can’t kill someone and expect to get away with it. And I didn’t expect that. I wanted to go to the police and hand myself in, but my mother wouldn’t let me. She was afraid of reprisals from the people Dad was involved with, and I was the only thing she had. She didn’t want to lose me. So she made me promise to keep quiet about it and not say a word.” He could feel his mouth curve in a mirthless smile. “Turned out I needn’t have worried. The police had already pinned it on a disgruntled client and they were less than interested in me.”

  And still she didn’t say anything, that dark gaze of hers looking at him, past the pristine shell of a man, to the raging, violent eighteen-year-old he’d once been.

  Christ, she’d have made an excellent judge.

  “Turn around,” she said and it was an order, pure and simple.

  So he did, because why not? He’d given her everything. He had nothing left to hide behind.

  “Live by the sword,” she murmured.

  He felt the lightest touch, her fingers tracing the tattoo on his back. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He stared at the black window and the evening beyond it. “I got it that night.”

  “Your penance.”

  It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t surprised by her observation. She’d always been sharp. “I had to pay for what I did or at least that’s what I thought at the time. I wanted to make sure I never forgot. Or maybe it was only punishment for not caring the bastard was dead and I killed him.”

  Her hand was suddenly pressed flat against his back, between his shoulder blades, the heat of her palm burning on his skin. “Let’s get this straight,” she said quietly and with such certainty he felt a part of him go quiet and still. “A beaten, abused young man, trying to save his mother’s life is not a murderer. From a purely legal perspective, Connor, you had no intent to kill. It was manslaughter.”