A Dangerously Sexy Secret

by Stefanie London

  Closing her eyes, she breathed in the surroundings. The scent of sex, the unique male aroma mingling with clean laundry, a hint of cologne. She wanted to absorb it all.

  “You still with me, Wren?” His lips brushed over her jaw and down her neck.

  “All the way.” Her fingers raked down his back as he shifted forward, the head of his cock pressing against her opening.

  “Tell me how it feels, okay?” His hand cupped her breast, and he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Amazing.” The word dissolved into a cry as he pushed inside her, filling her. Taking her.

  She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, willing her body to relax into it. As he started moving, all the blood in her body rushed south and she melted against him. Each stroke pushed her higher and higher, his hips bumping her as he built up speed.

  He rained kisses down over her. “You feel so good wrapped around me like that.”

  “Wrapped around you?” A wicked smile curved on her mouth and she lifted her hips, anchoring her legs around his waist. Urging him to go deeper. Drawing him in.

  “Wren!” His hips jerked and he pumped into her, the rhythm frantic as they chased pleasure.

  The muscles in his arms corded as he thrust, and she gripped him, digging her nails into his skin. Marking him as hers. Her name fell from his lips as he shuddered inside her.

  The silence washed over her as they lay there, tangled in one another, and a deep calm claimed her. Maybe her sister had been right all along. Sex was just what she needed to feel in charge of her life again.

  * * *

  RHYS HOVERED IN that fuzzy stage between sleep and wakefulness as sunlight breached the gaps in his blinds.

  Last night had been everything he’d wanted. He and Wren had shared a physical connection that could only be described as electric. Together, their bodies just...worked.

  After a steamy shower together, they’d tumbled back into bed and slept soundly until he’d reached for her in the middle of the night. In the darkness everything was new; he’d learned her body all over again. Mapped it with his hands and his tongue. Explored every inch of her until sleep had claimed them once more.

  His muscles ached as he stretched, his hand gravitating toward her as if that instinct had already been ground into his subconscious. But his palm connected with a flat surface. Blinking, he pushed up to a sitting position and surveyed the room.

  No Wren.

  “You have to wake up to reality at some point,” he said to himself.

  They hadn’t exactly made any promises to one another last night—it had been raw and unbridled. Spontaneous. Without expectation.

  In other words, the total opposite to how he did everything in his life.

  He rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen. The rush of early morning traffic greeted him from the open window, highlighting the quietness of his apartment. Still no Wren. Disappointment curled low in his gut. He’d been hoping to wake up with her and perhaps extend their night of passion into the morning. Before he had the chance to decide how to handle her stealthy exit, his work ringtone cut through the silence and he grabbed the phone from the coffee table.

  “Rhys?” Quinn’s excited voice made him cringe. “I’m glad you’re already up.”

  He looked at the screen. It wasn’t even seven thirty, and Quinn was notoriously not a morning person. “How much coffee have you had?”

  “Not much,” she said in a way that told him she was well and truly caffeinated. “When do you think you’ll be in?”

  His gaze swept over the empty apartment. It wasn’t as if he had anything to hang around for given that Wren had vanished. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Why?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I was doing some digging on Sean Ainslie and his employees. I found some interesting stuff.”

  If this were any other job he would have told Quinn to run with the information and only come to him when she got stuck—managing the tech side of security for Cobalt & Dane kept him too busy to be involved in every single assignment. But he wanted to keep an eye on the situation in case things became dangerous. It wasn’t too long ago that a seemingly ordinary information security job had resulted in Quinn being cornered alone by a person connected to their client.

  He didn’t want anything to happen that might put Quinn—or Wren—in the crosshairs.

  “Keep digging,” he said, heading back into his bedroom. “I’ll find you when I get in and you can bring me up to speed.”

  By the time Rhys made it into the office, Quinn was almost bouncing off the walls. She sat at one of the senior security consultant’s desks and was talking a hundred miles a minute.

  “You’ll have to cut her off, Rhys,” Owen said, laughter crinkling his eyes. “If she consumes any more sugar and caffeine she’ll launch into outer space.”

  “I haven’t had that much,” Quinn protested, her smile bright and slightly too wide.

  “Her eyeballs are vibrating.”

  Rhys shook his head. “You have to take better care of yourself. Coffee is no substitute for sleep.”

  Owen snorted. “Have you seen what she drinks? You can’t call that coffee. It’s basically a liquefied energy bar.”

  “Come on.” Rhys tilted his head toward the boardroom. “Let’s go through what you found.”

  “I invited Owen to sit in,” Quinn said as the three of them headed to the empty room. “He’s got capacity at the moment, so he can accompany me on the site visits rather than taking up more of your time.”

  They all took a seat at the large boardroom-style table. The room was often set up as a “war room” for big assignments and strategy planning.

  “Are you sure you’ve got capacity, Owen?” Rhys leaned back in his chair and kept his tone even. “I don’t want to take you away from any other assignments that Logan has you working on.”

  The senior consultants all reported straight up to Logan Dane, so there was no way Rhys could tell Owen not to assist Quinn with the case, especially if he’d been directed to lend a hand by the big boss.

  But that didn’t mean he would let go of the assignment completely, either. Not while Wren could be at risk.

  “I’m more than happy to help out,” Owen replied with an easygoing shrug. “Quinn told me there are some tech security elements, which is out of my realm, but I understand there could be some physical security elements, as well. She mentioned a possible break-in attempt.”

  The technology and information security stuff fell squarely in Rhys’s territory thanks to the years he’d spent helping banks protect their information. But Owen was a former police officer and had come from a background that made security a key component of his life. A personal obsession, one might say. Between Quinn and Rhys’s tech smarts and Owen’s robust experience, they made the perfect team.

  Whatever was going on at Ainslie Ave, they would figure it out quickly and quietly.

  “There was a failed attempt to access a locked storage room, but the owner of the gallery couldn’t find any signs of a break-in to the gallery itself,” Rhys said.

  Owen nodded. “So we’re looking at the possibility of an inside job.”

  “It is possible.” Quinn flipped open her laptop. “But the gallery owner himself is behaving strangely. He’s got this expensive security system for the one storage room and an alarm system for the building. Yet he has no security cameras inside the gallery. It’s possible someone who’s not a staff member got inside without setting off any alarms, but we have zero proof because there’s no footage.”

  “So what did you find last night?” Rhys asked, eager to move the conversation along. He drummed his fingers against the top of the desk.

  “I was digging around to see if the client has had a falling-out with anyone, or has any s
hady connections that might point to who’s behind the break-in attempt. Sean Ainslie comes from a very wealthy family. Old money. His father was also a judge, and he retired a few years ago, so I wondered if he might have enemies.”

  “Okay,” Rhys said. “And?”

  “That’s not what I found.” She held up her hand when he huffed with impatience. “The website has profiles for all the interns that he currently has working for them: Lola, Wren and Aimee.”

  “So what?”

  “Well, the old profiles of the past employees are still saved in the back end of the gallery’s website. I compiled all the head shots.” Quinn turned her laptop around so Owen and Rhys could see the screen. “Do you detect a common theme?”

  Fifteen young female faces stared back at him. Wren’s fair skin and blue eyes immediately captured his attention. In the photo, she was laughing. Her eyes shone like they had last night when he’d taken her to bed.

  Memories flooded him, his body instantly recalling the feeling of her hands on his chest. Cupping his face. His ass as he thrust into her.

  “Boss?” Quinn waved a hand in front of him. “I said, ‘Do you detect a common theme?’”

  “They’re all young women.” He shrugged. “What’s your point?”

  “Attractive young women,” Owen added. “Are you thinking that he might have become involved with his interns?”

  Quinn nodded. “It’s very possible. Especially since I found photos of him with a few of these women at industry events.”

  Rhys’s stomach churned at the thought of Sean hitting on Wren. “Go on.”

  “One news article references a huge fight he had with a Marguerite Bernard. It said that his gallery was hosting a show for another local artist but the night ended abruptly when the couple had a huge screaming match and he kicked everyone out. According to her website she started working at a different gallery a few months later.”

  “It could just be a lover’s quarrel,” Rhys said.

  “I wouldn’t have thought much of it until I saw this.” She reached around the computer and brought up another picture.

  It was a picture of a woman. Swelling had almost closed her eye over completely and an eggplant-colored bruise mottled her fair complexion. The skin appeared to be split across her cheekbone.

  “Shit,” Owen muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

  Rhys grunted in agreement and clenched his fists.

  “This is Marguerite Bernard,” Quinn continued. “This picture was posted on her Instagram page two days after the incident at the gallery. The caption says, ‘He will get away with this. His father will protect him and I won’t have the chance for justice. Remember, control is not love.’ There are a bunch of hashtags under it, as well. She doesn’t reference Sean by name, but the timing certainly fits.”

  Fighting back the sick feeling in his stomach, Rhys tried to focus on the job at hand. Now, with even more reason to be worried for Wren’s safety, he needed to ensure that they handled this situation accordingly. Knowing Quinn’s background and recent experience, she might want to jump in and blame Ainslie. But they had to tread carefully, refrain from doing anything that might spook him until they had more information.

  Which meant Rhys needed to play devil’s advocate.

  “I understand this is very disturbing,” he said. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with the potential break-ins. Do you think Marguerite might have done it?”

  “Not necessarily, but I’ve looked into a few of the other women who’ve worked for Ainslie, and a number didn’t stay at the gallery very long.” She closed the lid on her laptop. “I’m going to reach out to them and ask if they experienced anything shady about Ainslie’s practices.”

  “You seem to be treating him like a suspect rather than a client,” Rhys warned.

  Her head bobbed. “I have a funny feeling about this guy. Something doesn’t seem right, but point taken. I’ll be discreet.”

  “I thought Quinn and I might head over to the gallery later today so I can suss this guy out,” Owen added. “Can’t hurt to get another set of eyes on him, right?”

  “Of course.” Rhys nodded. “I want to be kept fully updated on this assignment. Okay, Quinn?”

  “Are you worried that I won’t be able to handle it?” Her eyes narrowed at him.

  He drew a deep breath. Quinn’s insecurities had certainly improved since she’d started dating Aiden, but her journey to confidence wasn’t one that would happen overnight. Just as her defensive shield still popped up from time to time.

  “Did I say that?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “I’ve met with the client. Therefore, my name is stamped on this, and I don’t take that lightly.” He turned to Owen. “Quinn will run with this assignment and you can provide guidance and mentoring as appropriate.”

  Owen nodded. “Got it.”

  Rhys stood. “Good. I expect an update tomorrow morning.”

  In the meantime, he would have to stay occupied so he didn’t drive himself crazy over Wren. No easy task, since her beautiful face appeared the second his brain wasn’t fully engaged on a task.

  It’s just a fling. She’s already made it clear that she’s not going to stay, and the sooner you believe that, the saner you’ll be.

  Unfortunately for Rhys, knowing she was leaving didn’t necessarily mean he could avoid wanting her to stay.

  7

  THE LAST FEW days had been a whirlwind for Wren. She’d felt guilty ever since leaving Rhys’s apartment at the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning. Now it was Friday and she hadn’t seen him all week. Maybe she should have stayed. Morning-after etiquette wasn’t exactly her forte, and she’d wanted to save him the trouble of having to kick her out. Or, rather, saving herself the humiliation of being kicked out.

  Watching his beautiful sleeping form had stirred some uneasy emotions inside her. She was supposed to be in New York to figure out what’d happened to her friend. Not to be picking up devastatingly attractive men and using them to broaden her sexual horizons.

  But Rhys wasn’t just that. The way he’d made her feel...hell, it was soul-soothing. Healing. It was about the sex and yet it wasn’t.

  Which made her guilt over lying to him so much stronger. Not to mention that she’d yet to make any progress at the gallery.

  “You’ll bury yourself with all those thoughts,” she muttered to herself as she lugged her canvas up the last flight of stairs to her apartment. The messy interpretation of Rhys’s face stared at her as she trudged.

  At least the dust storm of feelings had the benefit of spurring her into action. She’d decided to take cupcakes to Aimee in the hopes a little “girl time” would butter the woman up and Wren could ask about her relationship with Sean. Turned out buttercream frosting was as good as truth serum.

  Aimee must have been looking for a sounding board, because she’d let the information fly as soon as they were alone in the gallery’s kitchenette. She’d fought with Sean recently; he’d gotten a little rough. The bruise on Aimee’s upper arm was hidden by a floaty top, but there was no denying the distinct finger-shaped marks.

  Had Kylie fallen prey to Sean’s charms, as well? Wren would never have thought her friend would be the type to get involved with her boss. But there were similarities that Wren couldn’t ignore and she already suspected Sean was to blame for Kylie’s black eye and fractured bones.

  Wren wondered if the email Aimee had tried to delete contained proof of Sean’s abuse. Or of their relationship? But when she’d had tried to get back into Sean’s email to see what else she could dig up, it looked as though he’d changed the password. After a few failed attempts to get in, she’d reluctantly stopped, afraid that if the password had to be reset he would get suspicious again.

  It was yet another day where s
he’d gone home empty-handed.

  From the depths of her bag her phone started to ring. “Dammit,” Wren cursed under her breath.

  She paused at the top of the staircase, leaning the canvas against the wall while she dug her phone out. “Hello?”

  “Big sis!”

  “Why do you always seem to call when I’m carrying stuff up stairs?” Wren tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “That’s some talent you’ve got.”

  “I aim to annoy,” Debbie said cheerfully. “How’s things? Banged your neighbor yet?”

  A strangled noise halfway between laughing and choking came out of Wren’s mouth. “What?”

  “I take that as a confirmation. Go, you.” Her sister laughed. “I hope my pep talk helped things along.”

  Wren rolled her eyes as she shuffled awkwardly down the corridor with the canvas and her bag. “My sex life has nothing to do with you and that’s how it should be.”

  “Whatever works. Was it amazing? Was he amazing?”

  “It was and he was, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.” She unlocked her front door and carried the canvas to her empty easel. Staring into her version of Rhys’s big warm eyes sent a flutter through her stomach.

  “I’m happy for you. Now we don’t have to worry about the prune—”

  “If you finish that sentence I’m going to come home and throttle you,” Wren threatened. “And don’t start again with the ‘I’m a doctor’ BS.”

  “You’re so mean.”

  “No, I’m setting boundaries. It’s a healthy thing to do. You should try it sometime.”

  Debbie huffed. “Well, I guess I won’t bother telling you the real reason I called, then.”

  Her sister could be a little melodramatic sometimes. Crocodile tears had been her best weapon as a child, her ability to wrap their parents around her little finger far surpassing Wren’s natural openness. Part of her used to resent Debbie’s way of doing things, but now Wren saw honesty as something to be wary of. Something to be used wisely. Like a currency.

  “Spill,” she demanded, wandering into the kitchen and flicking on her coffee machine.