His Secretary's Little Secret

by Catherine Mann

Rain continued to drum on the roof, a soothing sound. But his words gnawed at her. The tone was direct, straightforward, when normally he flirted. So his honest question tugged at her more, compelling her to answer straightforwardly.

  “I’m comfortable in my skin, with my life, with my appearance.” She brushed off his compliments, the image of her mother manifesting in her mind’s eye. “I’m pleased with who I am, and where I’m going in my life.”

  “And well you should be.”

  “Thank you.” She avoided his gaze, picking up another decorative pillow and hugging this one to her stomach. “That peace was hard-won though.”

  “How so?” He sat next to her, confusion coating his tone.

  His thigh brushed against hers and a part of her wanted to just succumb to the attraction, to avoid this discussion, to avoid the future. But his eyes probed her with undeniable curiosity.

  She didn’t really like discussing this. Usually made it a habit to avoid this kind of conversation. But she’d decided to share more with him, and she intended to follow through on that. “My mother was the first runner up in the Miss Nevada pageant. She was bombshell gorgeous with pinup poster curves. She’d grown up poor, making her own dresses and costumes. She found her stiletto heels for competitions at yard sales and dyed them herself. The world thought she made a fabulous match with a wealthy casino magnate in Las Vegas, my dad.”

  Fabulous? More like financial. Her parents had made each other miserable the minute his money dried up and he’d been sent to prison for tax evasion.

  “But you may already know this,” she added.

  “I don’t.”

  That came as a shock. She would have expected him to know all about her history. “You didn’t have me investigated when you hired me? I would think given your family’s money...”

  “I did a work history check, and called your professional references, all of whom spoke of you in glowing terms. But we’re not talking about work. And even if they’d told me personal details, that wouldn’t have been from your perspective. I want to hear about your life. From you.” His tone was genuine, but firm.

  She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. But best to finish the story and get the sad truth about it out there and hope he wasn’t the sort to judge her for her parents’ actions the way others had.

  Easton didn’t seem the judgmental sort. She liked that about him.

  She continued, “My father lost all his money when he went to jail for tax evasion. He died in jail a few months later of some strain of flu—he was a lot older than my mother.”

  Her dad had kids from another marriage and hadn’t been much for the family scene. But he’d taken Portia to work and let her sort casino chips by color. God, she hadn’t thought about that ritual of theirs until now.

  She shook off the memory and moved on, eager to finish this convoluted history. “My mom...she drank herself into a liver crisis that was compounded by an injury in a car wreck. She died when I was thirteen and my brother was seven.”

  Portia had been crushed over her father’s conviction, and she’d been devastated all over again when she realized her mother had only married for money. Taking the job working for Easton, Portia had been determined not to be drawn in by the wealth of the estate—or the man. And she’d managed to keep her distance from him for nearly two years, only to have her resolve crumble in one emotional night.

  “I’m so sorry you had to lose your parents that way.”

  “Me, too.” She shuddered, the memory wounding her all over again. “But they made their choices and paid a high price for them. My brother and I were lucky we had an aunt here in Florida who took us in so we didn’t end up in the foster care system.”

  “You and your younger brother.”

  “Yes, she didn’t want to be a mother that late in life. She was happily single.” Her aunt, while kindhearted, had been career minded and set in her ways. But her aunt had given them stability if not an abundance of motherly affection. “But she did her best by us.”

  “You brought up your brother.”

  “He means the world to me.” She swallowed hard, then froze as a horrible thought hit her. “I hope you don’t think I would ever have made a move on you to keep my job.”

  “No, God no. I know you better than that. You have always been a trustworthy person in the way you’ve handled business, the volunteers and the animals. I trust you, implicitly.”

  His praise and trust should make her feel good, but given the secret between them, she could barely hold back a wince of guilt.

  “What happened between us that night was impulsive.”

  And impulsive was not her style. She didn’t know how to roll with impetuous feelings. Ever since she’d become responsible for her younger brother, she had laid out a life plan. Put structure over desire because she had to. She didn’t want to end up like her mother.

  “But that night did happen, so why won’t you speak to me?” He linked their fingers and rubbed the back of her hand against his stubbly jawline, holding her gaze as if he knew full well what that rasp against her skin did to her senses.

  As if he knew full well how deeply attracted she was to him even as she sought to keep the boundaries high.

  “I am speaking to you now.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He kissed her fingers one at a time, and then lowered their clasped hands to rest on his knee. “But we can let that go for the moment. You were telling me about your mother.”

  “I told you already.”

  “You said she was first runner up for Miss Nevada. Why was that important?”

  A loaded question.

  Her mother had had full lips, long curly brown hair and the perfect hourglass figure. Conventionally beautiful. A fact her mom impressed upon Portia, who lacked those qualities. Her mother reminded her frequently that she was plain, average, in need of “sprucing up” with flashier clothes and makeup. Whereas her younger brother had a more classic cute kid look that her mom had insisted would make him a child television star.

  Portia settled on a benign response. “She even made it into the national pageant when Miss Nevada got pregnant and married during her reign. Mom didn’t crack the top tier at nationals though.”

  “You’re still not answering my question.”

  A lump grew in her throat. “Some parents play favorites. My brother was her favorite.”

  “That’s not cool. Parents should love all their kids the same.”

  “Maybe I misspoke a bit. She loved me. She just...liked him better.”

  “Why?”

  She plucked at the pillow in her lap. “He was everything she wanted in a child.”

  “How so?”

  “Charismatic. Attractive.” Her brother’s eyes were deep brown, his skin always easily tanned. He could have been a child model. Compared to him, Portia had been disappointing.

  “You’re mesmerizing and gorgeous, and most importantly, brilliant.”

  “You don’t need to stroke my ego. I told you. I’m comfortable in my skin. I don’t need a centerfold body.” This conversation had to end. Now. She didn’t like this level of flattery. It set her on edge.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Stop—”

  “I mean it. I’ve been clear about that.” He looked at her with intense curiosity, lifting a rose from the vase on the table. Easton handed it to her, a romantic peace offering of sorts.

  “Well, I did look like a drowned rat that night—” She stopped short.

  “So we’re finally going to talk about that night.” He leaped on her words, like he’d been waiting for any chance to discuss the night burned into her mind.

  “I was there. I remember it well. Very well.” For a moment, she imagin
ed the feeling of his lips on hers, his hand twining in her hair and wrapping around her ponytail.

  “As do I.”

  Five

  After weeks of strained silence, Portia finally looked ready to discuss the night of the storm with him. Perhaps there would be an explanation for why she’d shut him out so completely since that night, and why she squirmed away from his compliments. Because damned if he was any closer to understanding this woman.

  A knock at the door stayed her lips, causing them to shut tightly into a thin line. Easton was content to ignore the door, but she tipped her head in the direction of the continued tapping.

  “Room service,” Portia reminded him, starting to rise.

  He’d already forgotten he’d ordered them dinner—a bread basket, herb-crusted red snapper, jasmine rice and side salads.

  He grabbed her hand, gently tugging it. “Please, sit. I’ll get it.” He gestured for her to return to the tan couch or go to the small dining table. “Let me do something for you for a change. You’re always running around keeping my life in order.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Good. He hoped so, because he was doing his best to salvage something from this disaster of a date.

  Easton opened the door, met by a nervous-looking woman with bright red hair. She wheeled the overburdened cart into the center of the room and cast a glance at the rain-slicked window. Another crack of thunder sounded above them, sending vibrations through the building’s foundation. The food attendant winced. The lights flickered and she shot them a faltering smile. “I thought it would be an adventure to move here.” She quickly unloaded the food onto the table, and a blend of spices steamed into the air. “I’m ready to go back to shoveling snow. Um, sorry to babble.”

  “Please, don’t apologize. We understand.” Portia lifted lid after lid on the tray, inhaling. He heard her stomach growl in response, a blush rising to color her cheeks.

  Even in the smallest moments, Easton found her drop-dead sexy.

  The attendant nodded to Easton, and set three candles on the table. “Just in case we lose power.” She took her tip and raced out of the room as if in search of the nearest transport north.

  Easton pulled away the last of the covers, pleased with the results, especially considering how busy the hotel must be with the influx of guests due to the storm. “Come on, let’s eat. You sound hungry after all.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult my femininity.” She fixed him with a dark look, but he saw the amusement in her eyes.

  “Portia, your femininity has never been in question. I thought I made that abundantly clear two months ago. Unless you’ve forgotten about that night.”

  Her throat moved with a long swallow. “Of course I remember.”

  Good. Very good. “The rain sure sounds like that night.”

  He pulled out the rattan dining chair for her.

  Another whack of thunder overhead. The lights strained brightly for a moment. A strange buzz erupted and the lights winked out. Easton grabbed the candles and matches, lighting the wicks. They hissed to life.

  He was suddenly thankful for the lack of light. The flickering candle flame provided intimacy. Maybe the romantic date could be salvaged? Albeit in an unconventional way. But he never liked status quo anyway.

  Portia bit into her roll, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed before responding, eyes wandering past him to the window where raindrops beat onto the storm glass. “This tropical storm’s nowhere near as bad as that one.”

  “I know. I guess it just sounds louder since we’re not in a storm shelter,” Easton agreed, stabbing a piece of snapper with his fork.

  “It was secluded,” Portia agreed, her eyes fixed on the flame. She looked up through her lashes. “And crowded.”

  And that wasn’t his point, but at least she was talking.

  The night with Portia had been all heat and fire. One that demanded attention and kindling. A draw he hadn’t felt since his teenage years when he’d fallen hard for a girl in a village his family had hung around in for a whole four months—a time that had felt like forever to him as a teen. But as always, the next move was always in the works. He’d learned a lot about starting relationships, but not too much about how to maintain them. “It’s a wonder we found a place to be alone and no one noticed we were gone.

  “In case you’re worried about gossip, I told the others you were nervous about the tropical storm since you’re from Nevada, and I was reassuring you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I would have told you as much if you would have spoken about that night before now.”

  “Well, you told me now. And I’m glad you stemmed any embarrassment.”

  “My brother was so caught up in his newfound love for Maureen I doubt he even heard me.”

  “They are a beautiful, happy couple. I didn’t think there was a chance your brother would find someone after his wife died. He grieved so hard for Terri.” A trace of sadness edged her voice. Portia had liked Terri, and he knew she was sad for little Rose to be growing up without her mother. The loss had devastated Xander and everyone at the refuge.

  “Their marriage surprised me as well, and Maureen is so different from Terri, too.” In fact, Easton had been more than surprised at his brother’s interest in Maureen, Easton’s quirky, outgoing second-in-command. Yet somehow, Xander and Maureen managed to make it work. “But there’s no doubting how he feels about her.”

  “That’s true.” Portia pulled a weak smile. A roll of thunder sounded, lightning coursing through the room, dressing her slender face in shadows. Darkness lingered in her eyes.

  He moved the candle to the center of the table. “You don’t look like you agree.”

  “I do, then and now. I was just thinking how their romance made me feel.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, kind of sad that night, seeing them together.”

  “How so?” Tilting his head to the side, he leaned on his elbows, drawing ever-so-slightly closer to her.

  “My life is such a mess I didn’t think I would ever feel that way about someone.” Portia sighed, that weak smile intact.

  Easton raised a brow, confused. “You’re the least messy person I’ve ever met.”

  She chased a piece of lettuce with her fork, a frown forming on her mouth. “My parents had an awful marriage. My brother, who I all but brought up, was barely keeping his head above water in school after a diagnosis of dyslexia. My plans for my life are on hold until he finishes college, and I can help him get his loans paid down. Then I’ll go back to school.”

  “And what about now?”

  She looked at him, a quiet resignation set in her brow. Everything about her stance looked defeated. “I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

  “Where would you like to be?” His voice dropped an octave, becoming gentler. Serious. He wanted her to know he was interested in what she wanted. Truly captivated by her.

  “In college.” She held up a hand. “But let’s stop with that line of discussion. I don’t want to talk about it. At all.”

  “Portia—”

  “Seriously.” She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. “No. I don’t want to discuss that. Let’s talk about something else.”

  One strike and she’d already declared him out. But he didn’t give up easily or play by the rules.

  With nothing left to lose, he decided to gamble. Ask the question he’d most wanted the answer to. “Okay, how about you tell me why you didn’t speak to me the day after the storm?”

  “We were busy cleaning up the place.” Her standard response was too calculated to be real.

  “You really expect me to keep accepting that answer?” he asked with a laugh, trying to inject levity into this dark moment.

  “It was wo
rth a try.” She smiled so wide her nose crinkled, then her grin faded.

  “Nice. But I would really like an answer.”

  She tore at another piece of her bread. He watched her try to collect herself. “Okay, you’re right that cleaning up after the storm just offered an excuse to keep my distance. The feelings were so intense that I worried if we repeated that night, I wouldn’t be able to keep working with you.” She set down her plate. “Now more than ever, I’m still not sure. And that’s why we need to keep our distance.”

  In a flash, she’d scooped up a candle and her pink purse. The chair rocked slightly from her departure, and her footfalls were lost in the sustained rumble of thunder. Portia’s hand covered the flame, bracing it from the air’s assault.

  Easton barely stood before she strode past the Jacuzzi and into the solitary bathroom. The door closed behind her slender back, coming into place with a definitive click.

  The sound of a lock.

  Damn.

  He heard water rushing through pipes, and he imagined her—a siren amid the water’s steam and bubbles.

  She clearly needed space, but that image tortured him. Especially after the intensity of their roadside kiss and the honest answers she’d given him.

  * * *

  Deep breath.

  Another.

  One more. She ran the bathwater, trying to calm herself with the sound, but her heart pounded and she found herself blinking back tears.

  With shaking hands, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. Her tired eyes squinted at the intense light of the screen as she found her brother Marshall’s contact information.

  One ring. Two. He should be picking up soon, up late studying for a test he’d told her about. Portia knew he was at school. He’d opted to take a summer class at University of West Florida in Pensacola in order to finish in five years rather than sliding over into a sixth.

  The ringing stopped and the light sound of music filtered through the connection.

  “Hey, sis.” Marshall’s voice was hoarse and distracted.

  She imagined his lanky frame hunched over his desk, his dirty blond hair buzzed shorter these days so he could sleep later in the morning after staying up late studying.