All the Secrets We Keep (Quarry Book 2)

by Megan Hart

  Theresa laughed into his open mouth, then let her tongue slip along his as she drew him closer. Her chair creaked. His back and neck ached a little from the awkward position, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing her. He slipped an arm behind her shoulders to get her up and out of the chair. He turned her until she sat on the edge of the table. He eased between her knees, his hands roaming over her back until one anchored at the nape of her neck. He kissed her as hard as he’d wanted to do the past couple of weeks while the flu had cock blocked him, and she kissed him with as much fierce hunger.

  When she cupped him through his jeans, Ilya groaned her name. Her soft laughter sent another surge of arousal through him. He pushed into her touch, already aching from wanting her.

  They hadn’t done more than kiss since the sex in the diner, and that had been before they’d had any sort of discussion or agreement about where they were going with all this. He didn’t want the second time to be on a kitchen table. “Wait . . .”

  Theresa broke their kiss, her expression almost comical with surprise. “What?”

  “Not here. I want this time to be . . . slower.” He kissed her until she responded and then withdrew to tease her with only the brush of his breath on her face. “I want to take my time. I want to make you crazy . . .”

  “I’m already crazy,” she said in a rough voice.

  “I want to make you lose your mind.”

  She laughed huskily. “I have a bed upstairs, you know. You could take me up there. It has fresh sheets and everything.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, searching her gaze. “You want this, Theresa?”

  “Yes. Of course.” A shadow drifted across her expression. “Do you?”

  He did, more than anything, but somehow it was going to be different this time. No hasty, furtive coupling, with both of them pretending it meant nothing. The idea of it, that they might be getting ready to make love instead of fuck, sent a series of tingling chills, sharp as shattered glass, up and down his spine.

  He wanted this time to matter. More than that, he needed to be worth mattering to her. He kissed her again, softer this time.

  “Yeah. I want to make love to you, Theresa. But upstairs. In a bed.”

  She noticed his deliberate turn of phrase. He saw it in her eyes and the curve of her smile; he felt it in the way she kissed him slowly but without lingering. She pushed him gently away from her so she could get off the table, and then she took him by the hand and led him upstairs.

  ÍIlya touched her with reverent hands. Not hesitant or uncertain, not fumbling, and not even particularly gentle, which Theresa loved, because the harder he held her, the better it felt. He touched her as though she were precious. He excavated her a layer at a time until she was revealed to him, nothing left to hide, but so much left to discover.

  She murmured his name when he moved his mouth over her collarbone, the syllables of it hissing into a sigh at the nip of his teeth. She arched under the delicious sting, and he cupped her breasts so that he could kiss the nipples, one at a time. When he drew one into his mouth, sucking gently, Theresa cried out. Her hands were over her head, gripping the spindles of the creaking headboard.

  “Make that noise again,” Ilya said as he slipped a hand between her legs to toy with her there. “Aah, God, babe, you’re so wet.”

  She made the noise again, helpless to stop herself at the stroke of his fingers on her and the sound of aching desire in his voice. Ilya had promised her he was going to make her lose her mind, and she was well on her way. At the teasing pinch of his fingers between her legs, she let go of the headboard to dig her hands into his hair. She hadn’t meant for it to be a command, but she didn’t complain when he moved down her body, his mouth skimming over her bare flesh, to settle between her legs.

  “Tell me you want this.” His breath gusted against her heat, making her incredibly aware of her arousal.

  She licked her lips, forcing herself to make words. “You love that, don’t you? Making me say it.”

  “I do.” He gave her a slow, exploratory lick and chuckled at her gasp, then muttered a cry when her fingers twisted in his hair. “Tell me you want my mouth on you.”

  “I want . . . your mouth . . .” It was too much, trying to speak around the urge to moan.

  He gave her what she’d asked for. Teasing flicks of his tongue that sent her close to the edge but not over it, then the slow, steady pressure of his lips. She was mindless with it, muscles tensing and the world going away until there was nothing but Ilya and the pleasure he was giving her. He was talking to her, words muffled as he brought her ever closer to climax with his mouth. She could not hear what he was saying, could not make sense of it, nor could she answer him with anything but the low, rasping noises that forced their way out of her throat.

  She came, finally, in a series of pulses so strong the pleasure bordered on the edge of pain. She heard herself crying out, but it was the sound of Ilya’s answering muttered moans that tipped her into another wave of orgasm that hit hard on the heels of the first. It left her plundered.

  She tasted herself on his kiss when he moved up her body, and she managed to open her eyes. His hardness rubbed her belly, and she shifted, meaning for him to slide inside her. Ready for it.

  “Tell me that you want me,” he breathed.

  She tipped her face to kiss him, adding a nibble on his chin. “I want you.”

  Still, he hesitated, a confusing array of emotions moving over his face. Theresa frowned. “What?”

  “I don’t have anything.”

  She laughed, softly at first, then louder and louder until she bit off the giggles so she could kiss him again. Her hand moved between them, stroking, until he shook and groaned and pushed into her grip. She looked at him.

  “I know it’s important to you,” Ilya began, his voice breaking as her hand moved.

  “We’ve both had all the tests, right? We established that.” He nodded, and she kept her hand moving. It was her turn to tease him, and she reveled in it. “I’m on birth control, and I haven’t been with anyone since I got the all clear. You?”

  “No . . . damn, babe, I’m not going to last long enough if you keep doing that.”

  All it took was another shift of her body, a slight press on his shoulder, a wiggle, and he was inside her as easily as taking a breath. Ilya shuddered again, pushing deep. He buried his face against the side of her neck, and she felt his gasp and the press of his teeth on her.

  “I want you,” she told him, urging him to move with her hands and the lift of her hips and the way she hooked her heels behind his calves. “I want you, I want you, I want you . . .”

  Ilya pushed up on his hands, his thrusts getting deeper. Faster. His expression turned grim at first, but then he smiled as he looked down into her face. When she dug her nails into his ass, he gave a low groan, shaking, but never looked away from her eyes. She watched his pupils dilate. She felt him surge inside her.

  “I want you,” Theresa whispered as Ilya slowed and finally stopped with a gasping breath.

  “You have me,” he said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It had been months since he’d lived in this house alone, and it still startled him a little to walk into the living room to find the television on and his mother on the couch. Most of the time she also had her laptop with her, typing away at whatever it was she’d found to keep herself occupied. Tonight she had the sound turned down low enough that she couldn’t have been paying much attention to the black-and-white movie scrolling across the screen.

  “I heard from your brother. He sent pictures,” she said without looking up.

  “Yeah. I got them, too. Looks like they’re having fun.” It had been a little hard to see Alicia’s smile, his brother’s arm around her. She’d never looked that happy with him, not that he could ever remember. It bothered him, although he didn’t want it to.

  His mother tipped her head to look at him over the rims of her reading glasses. “Wher
e’ve you been off to all day long?”

  “Working.”

  She laughed softly. “It’s good for you, to have something to do. Keeps you out of trouble.”

  “I’m not in high school.”

  “No, you’re a grown man who spent a lot of his time drifting,” she said.

  Ilya’s lip curled. “I wouldn’t call spending most of my adult life running my own business drifting.”

  “There are lots of ways for a man to drift. Some do it all over the world. Some do it all in one place.” She closed the laptop lid. “I never figured you for a restaurant owner.”

  “Me neither. But I’m doing the best I can.” He paused, unsure if he wanted to bring it up. Asking for her help before had been a mistake, but talking with his mother so often led to him tripping over land mines. “So, we’re having this thing. A soft opening.”

  “Sure, sure. A trial run. That makes sense.” She nodded.

  “I want to invite you,” Ilya said.

  Galina smiled. “Of course you do. I’m your mother. I should be there.”

  Her calm assumption that she deserved a place witnessing his success—or failure, as the case might be—was typical Galina. Still, Ilya couldn’t be sure he disagreed. She might have her quirks, and his dislike was certainly more deep-seated than his fondness for her, but she still was his mother.

  “It’s going to be a big deal. Lots of people there. It can really help get the word out about the place, get people excited about the changes we’re making. So I want to make sure it goes off without a hitch.”

  “What night is it?”

  “June fifth. It’s a Thursday. If everything goes all right, we’ll open on Sunday.”

  Galina looked stricken. “Oh . . . I have a conflict that night.”

  She’d missed baseball games and school concerts and birthdays and holidays, so he shouldn’t have been surprised she would miss this, too. He shrugged it off. “Okay.”

  “No, wait . . . what time? I’ll try. Okay? Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Of course I invited you,” Ilya said wearily. “You’re my mother. And it’s better than simply having you show up angry at not being asked. You know, like the wicked fairy in ‘Sleeping Beauty.’”

  “I said I’ll try to be there, Ilya. You don’t have to be cruel about it. Believe me, if I could be there for sure, I would tell you.”

  “So be there,” he said. “To be honest, what could you possibly have going on that would be more important than this? Why does it have to be so hard?”

  “It’s my final exam,” she snapped suddenly. Fiercely. Tears glittered in her eyes, and for once he didn’t feel like she was putting them on for show.

  “Final exam for what?”

  “I’ve been taking a class,” she said.

  Ilya shook his head. “Obviously, but in what?”

  “Microsoft Office.”

  This stumped him. Seriously set him back. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how to use any of the programs, and I need to,” Galina said with an angry swipe at her eyes.

  He frowned. “Why do you suddenly need to know how to use Microsoft Office so bad you have to take an actual class?”

  He saw her struggle with an answer, but in the end, she chose to keep her secrets, and he let her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The notice came in Theresa’s e-mail from the credit reporting company she’d been subscribing to. A credit inquiry, made in her name, had triggered it. It had been refused, thank God, although that only reminded her of how long it would be until she could get credit on her own.

  “If I can’t get a credit card because of this mess you put me in, what made you think you could get one? What made you think it would be anything close to okay for you to pull this shit again, Dad? Why would you do this?” Theresa tossed the printout she’d made of the message onto his shabby kitchen table, highlighting the part pointing out that her score had dipped once more.

  Her father gave her a pleading look. “I was behind on some bills—”

  “Join the club!” She whirled on him, sick with fury. Devastated. Hating him but not enough. Not quite enough. “I told you. If you ever pulled this again, I would report you. I would turn you in to the police.”

  “No, no, honey, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands, helpless.

  She shook her head. “I mean it, Dad.”

  “You can’t do that. I’m trying hard, I’m getting clean. It was a slipup. That’s all. I promise you.”

  “You know something, Dad? You’re the reason I hold back from everyone, even the ones I could love. How does that make you feel?” She wanted to sound angry but was unable to manage it. She sounded only sad.

  “You can’t blame me forever, Theresa. I know I’ve messed up, and I’ve made my amends to you—”

  “It’s no amends if you do the same thing over and over again!”

  He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. I was wrong. I had a lack of judgment.”

  “Were you stoned when you did it?”

  The look on his face told her the answer. That was it. She was done with this. With him. With everything that had happened.

  “Theresa. Honey. Listen . . .”

  “No. No more, Dad. No more excuses, no more apologies, no more forgiveness. I don’t want to hear from you or see you. Don’t call me. Don’t e-mail me. Do you understand?” He didn’t reply, and she stood in front of him deliberately until he had to look at her. “If you ever use my name to steal from me again, I will do everything I possibly can to make you accountable for it. Do you understand?”

  In a querulous voice, her father agreed. “I’m sorry. What else can I do?”

  “You can stay out of my life. That’s what you can do.” There was no more to say after that, and she left his apartment without another word.

  By the time she got to the diner, her hands had stopped shaking and she was able to breathe a little easier. She took a minute to freshen her lipstick in the rearview mirror, making sure her face showed no signs of her recent distress. She counted to ten with her eyes closed, pushing away the anger.

  In the diner’s small office, she found Ilya at the desk with a small sheaf of papers in front of him. He held one up. “Hey, babe. Look at what I got. It’s fancy stationery with our logo on it. B’s Diner. See, there’s a bee? I’m going to use it to print the invitations for the soft opening. Do you think it’s too much to invite the mayor?”

  She laughed, loving his enthusiasm. She loved watching him get excited about all the small details they’d been working so hard on. She loved him.

  The realization set her back a mental step, but Ilya was looking at her expectantly. “No. I think it’s great to invite the mayor. Did you get the name of the woman from the paper I sent you?”

  “Yep, yep, she’s on the list. Hey, come here.” He gestured for her to come around the desk and take a place on his lap. “Mmm. Hi.”

  “Hi.” She kissed him. The kiss deepened. His hands moved up her thigh. Theresa laughed and put her hand over his to keep it from moving higher. “Don’t get distracted.”

  “Can’t help it.” He grinned against her lips but pulled away a little to shift them both on the chair. He tilted the laptop screen toward her so she could see. “Okay, so, here’s the list I’ve been working on. I asked my mother, but she says she has something else to do and she might not be able to make it.”

  “What’s going on with her?” Theresa leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair while she looked over the list. “Oh, you can take my father off there.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  It was all there, ready to spill out of her. The credit cards, the debt, the truth behind her months of living in her car and crashing on couches. She meant to tell him. She wanted to. Unburdening herself of it all was going to be a relief. Yet at the last second, she changed her mind. If things didn’t work out with Ilya, and it was still entirely possible that they would not, she didn�
��t want him to know all this about her.

  “He’s not speaking to me,” she said.

  It wasn’t a lie. Not really. If her father wasn’t speaking to her, it was because she’d demanded that he stay out of her life. Ilya frowned, so she kissed him as a distraction. His hands settled on her hips, but he didn’t seem properly distracted.

  “You could send him an invitation, leave it up to him if he wants to come or not,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I never really liked your dad that much. But he should be there to support you.”

  Theresa smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “No. Don’t. We’re having a rough patch. So promise you won’t invite him.”

  Ilya frowned, clearly uncertain about this. Her fingers tightened in his hair to tip his head back so she could nuzzle him. At the nip of her teeth on his chin, he wriggled, pinning her arms against her sides so he could hold her still and duck away from her mouth.

  “I just want it to be the best night, for both of us, but especially for you,” he said. “We’ve worked really hard on this, and if not for you, most of it wouldn’t have come together.”

  “You did it,” she started to say, but Ilya shook his head.

  “No. You’re the one with the lists and the contacts. You brought everything together and kept me on track. I never would’ve thought to do this in the first place, and I never would’ve done it without you. I wrote the checks, but you’re the glue that’s holding this entire project together.”

  She shook her head, moved by his declaration but even more by the look in his eyes. “We make a good team.”

  “Better than anyone could’ve guessed, especially me. You were right, Theresa. I did need this.” He tugged her down so her mouth met his. “You sure you don’t want me to invite him?”

  “Promise me you won’t,” she said, too sharply. Too harsh. It confused him—she saw that—but in the end he must’ve thought about his own problems with his mother, because Ilya nodded and kissed her again.

  “Okay. I promise.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE