Dirty Little Secrets: Romantic Suspense Series (Dirty Deeds Book 2)

by AJ Nuest

  Christ, what a mess. If the beautiful woman he’d been reunited with today remained even a tenth as headstrong as the determined girl he’d known way back when, the upcoming conversation was about to jam their connection with enough cyber warfare to cripple every system moving forward.

  The hook of her smile snagged his heart as she keyed the lock. Jerked it forward as she entered her apartment.

  And to top it all off, he still had to deliver bad news.

  Chapter 5

  Xander stepped across the threshold and drew up short inside the door.

  Right. He should’ve known the surprises weren’t over, but never, in a million years, would he have guessed Charlie’s place would be so…normal? So cheerful and cozy?

  Or maybe the cozy part had more to do with how he was finally back in her presence. Damned if he knew.

  The main room beat the studio he’d left in Miami by several square feet, and was definitely one hell of a lot cleaner. Not that catching the latest how-to on HGTV had ever made his list of priorities. Off to the right, a two-person dinette sat before a panel of three windows, topped with an eyelet-trimmed tablecloth and a vase holding a single daisy. Just above, pale yellow curtains hung open to expose the fire escape and brick building on the opposite side of the alley.

  Directly in front, an Oriental carpet runner covered the hardwood floor, heading down a darkened hallway that most likely led toward the bathroom, possibly a bedroom. And on his left, an assortment of mismatched furniture made up the living room, the back of the couch splitting off the kitchen area, the counter and full-sized refrigerator that spanned the back wall.

  Overall, it was nice, even if the space contained a little more clutter than what he was used to. He pursed his lips. Then again, based on that trek up the stairs, Charlie had been here awhile—a completely foreign concept given his nomadic lifestyle. No doubt she’d wanted to personalize her home, put down some roots, especially since anything resembling creature comforts had been pretty scarce on the streets.

  Hell, there’d been a time when the total sum of their possessions had fit inside their pockets.

  He shot a frown at the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. And evidently, for him, that same still held true.

  Odd he would notice. He swung the door closed and secured the deadbolt, twisted the lock and skated the chain into the plate. It wasn’t as if that particular notification had ever shown up on his newsfeed before.

  The moment he’d turned eighteen and left Smith Manor, he’d made the conscious decision to stay off the grid. Running all communication through his private server, contracting whatever jobs sounded interesting and traveling wherever his services might be needed. In many ways, doing so had reduced his world to the code he manipulated on the screen. Cold, but measurable. Distant, but also clear and concise. And culminating in a series of successful scams that validated his concerns over collecting anything of personal value, just in case things got hot and he needed to ditch out the back door.

  Not so with Charlie. The words cold and distant didn’t belong anywhere near her platform. They never had. And while he was at it, the last phrase he would choose to describe her was easy to manipulate.

  “Man, it’s good to be out of the weather.” She slipped the buttons on her coat and shook out the sides, and he bit back a groan as the scent he’d craved for an entire decade washed past his face.

  Apples. Like he’d suddenly stepped into a country orchard. He drew her scent deep into his lungs. How she always smelled so damn good was a mystery to him. Fresh and juicy with a tart side of sass.

  “You can hang your jacket on any of those hooks. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks.” He toed off his boots and shoved them under the row of mismatched doorknobs fastened to the adjacent wall. His duffle yanked the collar of his jacket off-center as he dumped the bag in the corner. Removing his fake glasses, he raked the hat off his head, crammed both pieces inside his breast pocket and hooked his jacket on one of the vacant knobs.

  “Okay, where’d I put that?” Walking her canvas bag toward the window, she fumbled around inside her coat pockets, worked the straps down her arm and tipped up the bottom. A loaf of bread thumped to the table and a few other items scattered across the top. “Here we go.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and her brows disappeared under her bangs, index finger popping the tab on a can of cat food and tearing back the lid. “Wow, I love your hair. It’s very…” She tipped her head. “Unique.”

  A grunt cinched his stomach, and he scrubbed his hand through the spikes in an effort to rearrange the stiff superdome compliments of his rain-soaked hat. “Don’t get too used to it. Bleaching the top makes it easier to change the color.”

  “Ah.” Her shoulders sank a couple inches, and she narrowed her eyes. “And the glasses?”

  Swiveling his hand, he used two fingers to point at his face. “Twenty-twenty.”

  “Gotcha. Well, the look totally works.” She ran her gaze up and down the length of him, lips flattened in a resigned line. “Not that anything wouldn’t in your case.”

  Hold on, stop. Rewind. He darted a frown around her apartment. Had she just served him a heaping plate of snark?

  Heaving a sigh, she pivoted toward the window. A pane-rattling shove to pry it open, and she leaned out onto the fire escape, wedging the cat food between the metal grate and the side of the building. “Here, kitty, kitty. Dinner!”

  His frustration busted through to the next level, and Xander ran his hand around the back his neck before scratching at the short, damp hair by his nape. This was exactly the kind of goofy, female shit that made the back of his brain itch. By his count, that made the third time she’d given him the once-over. And each time, she seemed to finish the journey deflated. Almost as if he’d purposely stuck out his leg and tripped her up, and she’d skidded to the bottom on her ass.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as she grabbed the bottom of the frame and eased her head inside, slammed the window and shunted the lock with a flick of her thumb.

  In fact, come to think of it, she’d used the exact same tone in the hallway, popping in a little drive-by sarcasm when she’d introduced him to her neighbor, Tilly. And then again, after Milo had shut the door.

  And the really fucked up part? Camping his weight on one hip, Xander crossed his arms. It wasn’t in his mental make-up to entertain a bunch of stupid delusions about the way he looked. Not after spending the first half of his life as an underfed weakling, eyeing that particular patch of green grass from the opposite side of the fence.

  Over the past ten years, he’d worked his ass off to achieve and maintain his current build. And with each pound, every inch of hard muscle he’d gained, he’d become more and more aware the effect his body had on women. No matter what his disguise, whenever he’d gone out looking for a little bump and grind, he’d always been able to pick and choose.

  But wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing? Shouldn’t Charlie be happy he’d finally maxed out his peak physical condition? At the very least, shouldn’t her curiosity be aroused?

  God knew, he was anxious as hell to learn what she was rocking under that coat.

  But her compliments hadn’t come off that way. And they sure as shit hadn’t come off like an invitation for him to make a move in her direction. If anything, she almost seemed annoyed he’d done his best to get in shape. As if she wanted to make it clear right off the top they both knew he was attractive and, by the way, thanks for being such a dick.

  He tracked her with his gaze as she gathered up the rest of her groceries and carried them to the kitchen counter. None of it made sense. She had to know she was every bit, if not even more, desirable to the opposite sex, so what was the problem? Why the dismissive, yeah-yeah-whatever ʼtude?

  Jesus, he needed a help desk. He dropped his arms and dug his thumb and index finger into his gritty eye sockets, scrubbing until stars lit up the back of his lids. They’d been alone exactly fifteen seconds
and the woman already had him struggling to decrypt some screwy female code.

  Patting down his ass, he confirmed the tickets he’d purchased at the airport were still in his back pocket, left the door and ambled toward the window to get a shot at the street.

  No suspicious activity in the alley. From what he could see, no black SUVs parked out front.

  A gray tabby darted up the fire escape, bared its fangs in a feral hiss and cautiously approached the can of seafood medley.

  Hey, great pet. Xander’s lips twisted in a grimace. With its shredded ear and milky eye, that animal had a mug only a mother—or someone with Charlie’s generous heart—could love. “What’s your cat’s name?”

  “Oh, she’s not mine.” The front of her over-sized coat split open as she swung her hands back, tugging the sleeves off her arms. The collar slipped past her shoulders and his windpipe seized in a stranglehold as she tossed that oversized pile of wool to the couch. Oh-h-h shit. “I noticed her digging through the garbage a few weeks ago and started leaving out food, but I doubt she would ever stoop to being owned by a lowly human being.”

  He swallowed. Hard.

  From shoulders to knees, the woman was a mouth-watering collection of tempting dips and arcs that fried his motherboard and shot a bolt of white-hot arousal straight into his cock.

  Damn. He’d just stepped inside a hurt locker.

  Blowing a slow, steady breath, he marked every inch of her sweet, luscious landscape. Full, round breasts, perfectly molded by the front of her clingy black sweater. Heavy. Warm. The ideal size for filling his hands. An hourglass waist that led to a set of hips he could grab onto and pump against without worrying she might snap in half.

  Oh hell, yeah. He got it right the first time. Any guy who came within ten feet of those dangerous curves would want her in his bed.

  Charlie McGovern put Botticelli’s Venus to shame.

  She pivoted toward the kitchen counter and he fisted his hands over the way that dark denim cupped her ass. Without question, the woman was a hedonistic playground he’d happily get lost in all goddamn day.

  “I’m gonna make some mint tea. Can I get you anything?”

  How about naked? That’d be a great place to start.

  “Water,” he croaked. Then cleared his throat. “With ice.”

  She tossed an amused frown over her shoulder and turned back to filling a teapot at the sink. “You hungry?”

  Starved. Greedy. She could take her pick. “I grabbed a burger at the airport before heading over, but if you haven’t eaten, go ahead.”

  “Were you outside long?” Her heels tapped the linoleum to the stove. She set the kettle on a burner and cranked the heat. “I hate the thought of keeping you waiting.”

  If that were the case, he’d gladly toss her over his shoulder and the two of them could head for the bedroom. Right now.

  A section of her thick blond hair tumbled past her shoulder as she swung open the refrigerator, and his thighs clenched as she ducked her head inside. Jesus, that beautiful, round ass was just begging for his attention.

  His cock flexed along his button fly. A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. Closing his eyes, he generated a line of computer code in his head and then three more.

  Time to install an update and get his shit together. He was about to drop a bomb, any second she could be in tears, and he was imagining this reunion as a hornymoon? Not cool.

  He bounced his forehead off a virtual brick wall. He was one perverted puppy, all right, and before their network crashed it was critical he find something else to focus on besides the visual of her shuddering to a climax in his hands.

  A sharp glance around her apartment, and he located a battered, rolled-top desk, stuck in the corner near the table, and strolled over to check out the laptop centered on top.

  Finally, something he could relate to. The MSi Workstation laptop was a none-too-shabby piece of hardware. He’d even owned one a couple years back. “Hey, what’s your take on the DDR4 slots on this computer? They’re supposed to boost the maximum configurability up to sixty-four gigabytes, but I didn’t find they outperformed DDR3.”

  A metal spoon clanked to the counter, and she spun to face him. Seemed to stop breathing as her eyes darted between him and the desk.

  Dammit, again with the fear? That same soul-crushing panic he’d seen when they’d first met outside her building?

  He slowly lifted his hands in the air. “I didn’t touch it, I swear.”

  There were rules about diving into someone’s personal computer. Rules he’d broken enough times, he was fully aware of what followed right after.

  He wasn’t interested in going there with Charlie. Not by a long shot. He’d already stood at that crossroads, and had spent ten years in purgatory for charging headlong down the wrong track.

  She waved her hand aside, but the nervous laugh she sent his way seemed forced. Fake. “Sorry. I just haven’t decided if I’m keeping it yet.”

  Uh-huh. He boosted his chin at the same careful speed he lowered his arms to his sides. And why did that sound like a lie?

  She left the kitchen, cringing in apology as she snuck past him to the desk, and he narrowed his gaze as she wrapped the cord around the laptop and turned without so much as a hands off, bucko to carry it down the hall.

  Right. Being a little slow on the uptake when it came to translating the confusing quirks surrounding the female mystique was one thing. And he’d be the last to deny he’d been so keyed up over the prospect of spending a few days with her, he hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. But the lack of sleep hadn’t completely fried his brain.

  This little panic attack was about that black SUV.

  He tilted his head to keep her in sight. Frowned as she stopped at a door halfway down the hall and flashed him a nervous smile. “And I have no idea what DDR means.”

  His brows shot up his forehead as she twisted the knob and flicked on the light, exposing the white tiled backsplash over the bathroom sink.

  She disappeared inside, the hasp hit the latch and, with it, his training powered on.

  Regardless of how nuts it made him, the simple truth was, whatever goofy spot she’d chosen to stash the thing was beside the point. And even though it wound his already strung-out nerves past the point of breaking, the fact she’d believed it necessary to lie to him was off topic, too.

  The thing that refused to compute was if she was unaware of the double data processing rate of the laptop’s two-point-eight gigahertz drive, then why would she even buy an expensive piece of hardware like that in the first place? Especially when it touted a price tag close to five grand.

  Pivoting toward the seating area, he rescanned her apartment, this time with an eye tuned to the finer details. Frayed arms on the furniture, mismatched chairs, repaired leg on the coffee table. Factor in her neighborhood and low-income housing, and something was definitely not right.

  He fished his mints from the breast pocket of his shirt, popped the lid and tossed one onto his tongue. And better still, what did her computer have to do with the assholes who’d been casing her apartment? He ground the disc to powder and peppermint cooled his sinuses as he scraped the particles along the roof of his mouth. Some sort of information breach? An illegal funds transfer or fallout from a botched scheme?

  There was no way he could know without getting a peek inside.

  Steam whistled from the kettle and the bathroom door flew open. She raced down the hall for the kitchen and he studied her motions as she went about fixing their drinks.

  But unless and until she gave him access, he wasn’t about to flip open that screen.

  Not without her permission.

  A steaming mug in one hand, his ice water in the other, she turned from the sink and slanted her head toward the couch. “Sorry about that. Come on, let’s have a seat.”

  The smarter move would be to earn her trust. Enough, she’d eventually tell him face to face what she was hiding.

  And
yet, another reason for them to spend every waking second together.

  He crossed to the living room and parked his ass on the adjacent chair, leaned forward and shoved the coffee table over a couple inches so it wouldn’t graze his knees.

  A dry snort came from overhead, and he looked up to catch the roll of her eyes as she side-stepped past the arm and sat near the end of the couch.

  Again, with the what-and-ever response. He raked his hand through his hair. Item number he’d-lost-count of all the things he’d need to decipher before this was over.

  Inching to the edge of the chair, he waited until she set the drinks on the table and then offered her both of his hands. It was anyone’s guess how the news would hit her, and he’d never been good at verbalizing emotional shit. But from here on in, he was back in her life. However that worked out in the end, for this he wanted the two of them connected. So she would understand he was right here with her regardless of what came next.

  She stared at his palms for a long beat before lifting her gaze to his. “Okay, now you’re scaring me.”

  He shook his head. Twiddled his fingers. Charlie’s hands were the tools of her trade, every bit as much as his mind was his. Holding them would remind her who he was—an odd pressure threatened to cut off his airway—and yes, probably dig up a bunch of painful reminders from the past. But touching her was also the first step in getting her to trust that, together, they could handle whatever danger was pounding at her door.

  This was him, dammit. He wasn’t going anywhere. And in order for her to realize that, he needed to jog her memory.

  The color drained from her cheeks, and she hesitated, searching his eyes, and then slowly placed her hands in his.

  * * * * *

  God, his skin was warm.

  Or maybe hers was cold. With the way Xander refused to break eye contact with her…those troubling shadows haunting his gaze…a bad, bad chill had settled into her body.