Dirty Little Secrets

by Elise Noble

  “Want to head back inside?”

  “Just a couple more minutes.”

  “I’d offer you a sweater if I was wearing one. You could have my shirt if you want, but then I’d get kicked out of this place for breaching the dress code.”

  No matter how bad things seemed, Luca always managed to make me smile. That was one of his special skills, along with soldiering, being stubborn, and looking good in shorts.

  “Nah, they’d probably give you a job as a lifeguard.”

  “How about I act as a windbreak instead?”

  He positioned himself behind me, close enough that I could feel his body heat radiating against my back but not so close that we were touching. And suddenly, I felt much warmer. Quite hot, in fact. And most of that heat had pooled between my thighs.

  At that moment, I knew the next two weeks were going to be hell, although if I’d realised we were talking the ninth circle rather than the second, I’d have retreated back into my shell and prayed for the horrors to be over. But for now, I was living in blissful ignorance, so I steadied my phone and snapped half a dozen more pictures.

  “Hey, what’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  Luca turned me to face west, his hands on my shoulders. “Did you see the splash? Looked like a dolphin.”

  No matter how many times I saw dolphins jumping off the coast, it never got old. The creature leaped again, silhouetted against the sun’s dying halo, a dolphin or perhaps a porpoise, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Nonna used to tell me that seeing a dolphin jump was lucky, and I hoped she’d been right because I could really use some good vibes right now.

  The dolphin treated us to one final flick of its tail before it disappeared, and I realised Luca still had his hands on me. For a whole year, I’d avoided accidental contact with men because the slightest touch made me shudder, but somehow, Luca didn’t have the same effect. Having him close felt nice. Kind of like the old days before I’d destroyed our friendship.

  As we turned back to the hotel, two hands turned into one arm across my shoulders, and I couldn’t bring myself to shrug it away. Purely because of the warmth factor, you understand. I wanted to avoid catching a chill. In fact, what I really wanted—other than Luca—was hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows the way Nonna used to make it. Nonna’s hot chocolate had been my second favourite thing in the world.

  “You want to stick around?” he asked. “Or make an excuse and split?”

  “Is there any hot chocolate at home? I mean, at Deals on Wheels?”

  “Why do I get the impression we’re having two completely separate conversations?”

  “I have a craving for hot chocolate, that’s all. Well, not quite all—I want cream and marshmallows too.”

  “There’s coffee at home, and that’s it, but we can stop at the 7-Eleven if you want.” Really? But the 7-Eleven was over in Coos Bay. “Or at the bar here. Seems like the type of place that’d have marshmallows.”

  Of course the Peninsula Resort had marshmallows. When I asked, the bartender acted as if the mere suggestion that they might not have marshmallows, fresh whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles was a personal insult.

  “We also use the finest Belgian chocolate,” he snootily informed me. “Would you prefer milk or dark?”

  “Uh…” Heck, don’t ask me to make a decision. “Uh, could you mix them?”

  “As you wish.”

  Beside me, Luca snickered. “Where did they dredge that guy up? Downton Abbey?”

  “Hold on—you watch Downton Abbey?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I just never pictured you as a fan.”

  “We used to stream it on base, okay?”

  The idea of a bunch of Rangers taking pleasure in the dramas of the British aristocracy made me giggle. I couldn’t help it.

  “It’s not fuckin’ funny.”

  “It is.” Even the businessman drinking red wine on the other side of Luca was smiling. “Can you do the accents?”

  “Stop talking, Brooke.”

  “No, I think this is a subject that needs to be explored.”

  But we wouldn’t be doing the exploring that evening. Before I could tease Luca about wearing a bow tie, a newcomer slid onto the stool beside me.

  “Decided to take a step up in the world, Brooke?” I could smell the man’s whisky breath before I turned, and judging by Luca’s dark expression, I didn’t want to put a face to the odour. “Clearly, I’m talking about the location, not the company. I’m surprised they let that Neanderthal through the door.”

  Easton Baldwin. Ugh. You’d think he’d know better than to goad Luca given the fact that Luca had left him with more than one black eye in the past, but firstly, Easton was drunk, and secondly, he’d never been one to learn from his mistakes. He’d never been one to learn, period. He’d gotten his high school diploma by the skin of his teeth and—if rumour was to be believed—bribery, then quit college in favour of bumming around Europe. Now he was back and as obnoxious as always. Was his brother around? They often hung out together. Parker was the smart one, and he tended to stop Easton from doing anything monumentally stupid.

  But I couldn’t see him this evening.

  “Leave us alone, Easton.”

  “Aw, he needs a woman to do the talking?”

  Luca was on his feet now, and in my peripheral vision, I saw his hands curl into fists.

  “You want my knuckles to do the talking instead?”

  “What are you doing with him, Brooke? The brute hasn’t changed at all. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?”

  I gripped Luca’s arm because I couldn’t cover the security amount to get him out of jail and Aaron was still in freaking Cabo. Easton deserved to lose his teeth, but if blood was shed at the Peninsula Resort, I could kiss any future cocktails goodbye. Why did he always act like this? Oh, who was I kidding? The answer was clear—his surname and his money. Easton was the eldest great-great-grandson of Milton Baldwin, the construction-worker-turned-property-developer who’d founded Baldwin’s Shore. The Great Depression hadn’t been kind to the family, but they still owned at least two dozen rental properties around town, plus an estate on the outskirts and several more buildings in Coos Bay.

  Easton had been acting like a prick for as long as I could remember. He’d bullied me all through high school, then after I’d had my braces removed and lost my puppy fat, he’d asked me to be his date for senior prom and had the gall to act surprised when I told him where to stick his invite.

  “Luca, don’t. He’s winding you up. Trying to provoke a reaction.”

  “Yeah, I know.” And Luca did something else he never used to do. He relaxed. “He uses big words to make up for his tiny dick.”

  Unfortunately, Easton didn’t relax. He lurched off his stool and made a grab for Luca, missed, and ended up jabbing me in the chest instead. Half a second later, Luca was in front of me, an impenetrable wall of muscle, and I’m ashamed to admit that I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see what came next. How bad would it be?

  “I think you should leave.”

  Wait. I didn’t recognise that voice. I cracked one eyelid open and found the stranger with the red wine had decided to join the party, and surprisingly, his words were aimed at Easton rather than Luca. Usually, Easton’s privilege meant he got to stay while Luca or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross paths with the Baldwin spite got escorted to the door.

  “What did you just shay?”

  Uh-oh. Now he was slurring.

  “I said you should leave. You’re drunk.”

  Easton snorted, and whisky spittle landed on the stranger’s cheek. Yeuch.

  “What, do you think you own the place or something?”

  “Yes, actually, I do.” The man’s voice was quiet, measured, but a hard edge had crept into it. Sitting down, he hadn’t seemed like much, but now that he’d stood up, power curled around him like smoke, expanding outward, cloying and potentially
deadly. “And you’re disturbing my guests.”

  Seconds later, two security men in suits materialised on either side of Easton, and the bluster belched out of him as he realised he was both outgunned and out-moneyed. But he did have one parting gift. I jumped back as Easton vomited on the floor, exactly as he used to do in high school. He never could hold his liquor.

  The stranger lifted his chin toward the door—a barely perceptible motion, but his security team understood exactly what it meant. The sight of Easton Baldwin being dragged out the exit by his elbows was glorious.

  “Don’t let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya,” Luca murmured. He’d gotten that from Nonna, and I had to smile even though a magical evening had been ruined.

  “My apologies,” the stranger said, holding out a hand. I couldn’t quite place his accent. Was it Russian? “That shouldn’t have happened. Nico Belinsky.”

  Seriously? This was the resort’s owner? Not the guy’s son or something? Nico couldn’t have been more than thirty, and he had the looks to go with the money. Short dark hair, high cheekbones, almost delicate features. I always thought billionaires were old, Mark Zuckerberg excepted. And Jeff Bezos. And that guy with the electric cars. Okay, so maybe I’d been a little judgmental.

  We shook hands, and Nico held onto mine for a beat too long as he studied me. I might have felt uncomfortable, but I’d noticed he did the same with Luca.

  “Thanks for helping out there,” I said. “Easton’s been bearing a grudge since Luca dumped him on his ass in high school.”

  Nico smiled faintly. “He strikes me as the type of man who deserved it.”

  “Oh, yes, he did. He definitely did.”

  A click of Nico’s fingers brought the bartender running. “Pour these folks a drink on the house. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere. Enjoy the rest of your party.”

  He disappeared without another word, skirting around the cleaner who’d arrived with a mop and bucket and leaving his half-full glass of wine on the bar. I understood now where he’d gotten the “mysterious” tag and also why the town’s gossip mill said he was aloof and unsociable.

  “Interesting guy,” Luca murmured.

  “Isn’t he?”

  “He always that chatty?”

  “Who knows? I’ve never met him before, and neither has anyone else I’ve spoken to. At least he threw Easton out.”

  “If he has any sense, he’ll bar him permanently.” Luca gave my arm a light squeeze. “You okay?”

  “Peachy. On a scale of one to stalker, Easton barely rates a three.”

  “Ready to go back to the party?”

  “Somebody has to make sure Paulo doesn’t break an ankle dancing on the table, and there aren’t many sober people left.”

  Luca looked slightly alarmed. “Darla can help out with that, right?”

  “Sure, but if someone needs to lift him down…”

  “Okay, okay. Let me get those drinks, and we’ll go play chaperone.”

  14

  Brooke

  “Thanks for your help yesterday,” I said to Darla as we went over the orders that had come in overnight. “I can’t believe Paulo lost his shoes.”

  Darla had found them out in the hotel grounds, half-hidden under a bush. Quite why Paulo had decided to walk barefoot across the grass in the dark I wasn’t sure, and by that point, he hadn’t been able to articulate his thoughts on the matter.

  “I can believe it. I’m more surprised that the whole group of us didn’t get thrown out of the hotel.”

  “Most of the noise was contained in the private dining room, I guess, and we did spend a lot of money. Plus the owner seemed quite laid back about the whole thing. Like, he told us to enjoy the party.”

  Darla glanced up, pen in hand. “You met the owner? But nobody ever meets the owner. Annie’s sister works there as a housekeeper, and she doesn’t even know his name. Apparently, he manages the place from a distance and his minions do all the work.”

  “He was there in the bar last night.”

  “You’re sure? It wasn’t just some guy making up stories to impress you?”

  I thought back to the way the bartender and the security guards had leaped at his command. “I’m sure. He said his name was Nico Belinsky.”

  Darla’s eyebrows winged up in surprise. She looked almost…shocked?

  “Nico Belinsky?”

  “You know him?”

  “Some secretive billionaire? Of course not. But darn it, I had a bet with Annie that Bill Gates had bought the place. That’s five bucks gone.” Darla clicked the computer mouse. “Wow, a lady in Wisconsin just ordered forty balls of yarn. We’re gonna need a really big box.”

  “Forty? What’s she planning to knit? A blanket the size of Texas?”

  “Aw, she left a comment in the box—she said she knits sweaters for rescue dogs. Put an extra half-dozen balls in with her order, okay?”

  “I’ll do it after I’ve finished with Paulo’s class.”

  Thankfully, it was his Sunday watercolour class and not his Monday macramé class because Darla would have had to step in otherwise. Whenever I tried macramé, I spent more time unpicking knots and cursing than producing art, and today I couldn’t focus on anything.

  Which was all Luca’s fault.

  This morning, I’d rolled over and kept my eyes firmly closed when he tiptoed through my—his—bedroom to the shower, then tried not to picture him standing under the water, naked, shampoo bubbles sliding over that tattoo and down toward his… Brooke! I’d failed, obviously, but he hadn’t been able to see my blushes so I thought I’d dodged a bullet.

  I’d been wrong.

  Deck and Brady didn’t work Sundays, so when I stumbled out into the great room a half hour later, still groggy from lack of sleep, it took my eyes a few seconds to register Luca standing in front of the portable gas burner that substituted for a stove.

  Shirtless.

  In sweatpants.

  Oh, holy hell. He looked edible. And of course my gaze had strayed downward—an uncontrollable reflex when faced with such delicious man candy—and locked on the biggest dick print I’d ever seen.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  No way. He did not just ask that. The worst pickup line in the world popped into my head, and only the distraction of Vega licking my hand stopped me from blurting out, “Fertilised.”

  “Uh, scrambled?”

  Exactly like my brain.

  “Toast?”

  “Yes, please. And you need to put a shirt on.”

  Dammit, I did not just say that.

  “Why? It’s warm today, and I didn’t want to turn on the AC and jack up Aaron’s electricity bill.”

  Why? A good question. And if I’d been thinking straight, I could have come up with a sensible answer. Told him I was worried about grease spitting onto bare skin or whatever. But since I was suffering from a brain-to-mouth malfunction at that moment, I managed, “Because you’re distracting.”

  Luca’s cat-that-got-the-cream smile made me want to throw something at him. Like the frying pan. Or possibly myself.

  “Distracting?”

  My cheeks burned. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I think you need to explain.”

  “Maybe I’ll skip breakfast.”

  I turned to walk away, but Luca caught my arm, suddenly serious, his dimples gone.

  “Don’t run, Brooke. I’ll put a shirt on. Just watch the eggs, okay?”

  Why did this man have me so unbalanced? Life had turned into a roller coaster of emotions, not only fear but frustration and confusion and uncertainty too. And desire. But I’d already crashed and burned when it came to lusting after Luca, and in the background, a clock ticked down to his inevitable departure.

  I poked at the eggs with a spatula.

  He came back in a ribbed tank top, which was almost as bad as no shirt at all—it did everything for his muscles and nothing for the dick print. B
ut I couldn’t complain when he’d made the effort. Plus he finished cooking the eggs, buttered my toast, and poured me a glass of orange juice. Nobody had made me breakfast since Nonna in the days before her first stroke, and watching Luca move around the makeshift kitchen, knowing that he was taking care of me, set off a strange tingling sensation in my scalp that felt good in a weird way.

  And even when I got to work, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  That feeling lasted until ten thirty when one of the Baldwins walked in. Not that Baldwin, thank goodness, but Sara. The youngest of the clan, and technically she was a cousin rather than a sibling, which was perhaps the only reason I didn’t run out the back door and keep going until I hit water.

  Instead, I pasted on a fake smile.

  “How can I help?”

  “I’d like to learn to paint. I mean, I heard there was a class?”

  Hadn’t I already exceeded my dose of Baldwins for the week? Definitely, but this was work, and we didn’t turn customers away.

  “Sure. It starts at eleven.” I waved a hand at the tables set up at the back of the store. Before Darla rented the place, it had been a restaurant, and the tables had been there when she moved in. “We supply all the materials you need, but some people like to bring their own paints and brushes.”

  Sara fiddled with her silver necklace. “I think maybe I’ll start by borrowing yours.”

  “Do you want a drink while you wait? Coffee? Soda?”

  “Just water is fine.”

  I brought her a bottle of mineral water and a glass, then sighed with relief when the old-fashioned bell over the door jingled and another customer meandered in. I recognised Nelly Scott, the town’s realtor. Her husband was some big shot at a marketing firm in Portland, and he mostly stayed in the city from Monday to Friday and came back on the weekends. Nelly could talk about crochet patterns for hours, which was boring on a normal day but more enjoyable than making small talk with Sara Baldwin. What was she even doing here? Couldn’t she use some of her family’s fortune to hire a private painting tutor?

  Easton couldn’t have sent her to spy on me, could he? I wouldn’t have put it past him. He was a vindictive snake, and he’d no doubt blamed Luca and me for him getting tossed out of the town’s fanciest bar last night. From what I remembered, there’d been no love lost between him and Sara, but blood ran thicker than water in the Baldwin family.