Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1)

by Julie Olsen

  “That’s because they’re looking at you,” he intoned. “I wish I could spend all afternoon here, looking at you.” He reached over and tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear before smiling wistfully. “Paul is here.”

  That was the cue that our idyllic lunch was over. Sighing, I sat up and began tidying the containers.

  “Paul can do that. Come, your carriage awaits.”

  Taking his hand, we walked to the car and left the tranquility and beauty of Forest Park behind.

  * * *

  “Weldon, you got a minute?”

  Weldon looked up from his desk, his readers just barely hanging onto the tip of his nose.

  “I’ve got lots of minutes, chica.” A sly, toothy grin emerged beneath his glasses. “What’s up?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure why I had been dreading this conversation. Weldon had always been supportive, and never judgmental. Still, there was a part of me that sought his approval. I guess that was where the pseudo daughter/father aspect came into play. I was afraid he would show signs of worry, that sweet grin of his losing some of its brilliance as I explained that not only had I met someone, but I was effectually living with him.

  Still, until he actually met Damien, it was normal for him to worry, the logical side of me argued. And once that meeting happened, I knew Weldon wouldn’t be able to help being as supportive as he had always been.

  So it was with a certain amount of trepidation that I said what came next.

  “I’m seeing someone. He’s…‌well, he’s amazing. And it would mean a lot to me if you could meet him.”

  In true Weldon fashion, a slow grin crept over his face. “I wondered when you were going to tell me.”

  Weldon’s grin was an infectious thing, and I could feel my own lips tilting up.

  “How did you know?”

  Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair. “You kidding? You’ve been walking around with a giant smile for days.”

  Giggling, I tried and failed to stop smiling. “I can never keep a secret from you, Mr. Smarty-Pants.”

  “Liv, it’s a well-known fact you can’t keep a secret from anybody. One look at your face and anyone can tell what’s going on in that little head of yours. So, tell me all about him.”

  After ten minutes Weldon was up to date with my love life, minus the intimate details, of course.

  “So, he’s trying to find the guy who hit you? Any leads?”

  I frowned, partly in embarrassment at my lack of concern. “To be honest, I’ve not thought a lot about it, and Damien hasn’t filled me in on the progress. But,” I lowered my voice, “Damien’s looking into the possibility it could be Travis.”

  Weldon leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I admit I never considered Travis as a suspect.” A cloud crossed his expression for a fraction of a second. “I’m happy he’s looking after you, chica. Really happy. I can’t wait to meet this Damien Stone.”

  “Thanks, Weldon. That means a lot.” I smiled warmly at him, relieved both to have my relationship with Damien out in the open, and that Weldon was undoubtedly truly happy for me. He always had my back and I trusted his opinion, so knowing his happiness for me wasn’t simply pretense truly meant the world.

  “I know you’ve got the kids, but Damien wants to go out Friday night to meet my friends, and that definitely includes you. Location to be determined. I’d love it if you could sneak out to join us.”

  It felt good to be able to count Weldon among my best friends, and from his answering smile, the pleasure was not only mine.

  “Friday, huh? That gives me a couple of days to find a sitter.” He gave me a cool-as-a-cucumber nod. “I’ll do my best. Wouldn’t be the same without the Weldon.”

  Meeting his high five, I agreed. “It’s never the same without the Weldon.”

  * * *

  At four thirty my phone vibrated in my pocket. I’d begun keeping it with me, as opposed to tucked away inside Weldon’s desk drawer. After the phone fiasco of Sunday, I decided I’d never put Damien through the uncertainty of wondering if I was ignoring him again, especially if I truly wasn’t. Besides, a phone call from him had to top my list of Things I Crave, with chocolate and shoes taking up the next slots.

  Things I Need and Can’t Function Without was another list entirely. Lucky for me, Damien appeared to share the same list.

  Checking the screen, I saw Damien’s name in all caps. “Hello, you,” I answered.

  “Olivia.” Just the single word, my name spoken in that deliciously deep timbre, set my blood on fire. He affected me so easily. “This is last minute, but circumstances have necessitated dinner with a business associate tonight. I’d like you to accompany me.”

  “Oh. Okay.” My mind immediately whirled through the meager collection of formal wear in my closet. “I will have to stop by the house. I assume it’s formal, right?”

  “No need. It’s all been taken care of. And frankly, you could wear a gunnysack and still be the most gorgeous woman in the room. All that’s needed is for you to say yes.”

  A warm rush of delight spread through me. What did that mean, it had all been taken care of? I pursed my lips, wanting to question him further but the only thing that came out was, “I’d love to, Damien.”

  “Perfect,” he said soft and low. “Do you have any idea how your voice sounds over the phone? It’s like melted caramel. Soft, sweet and melt-on-my-tongue sexy all at once.”

  “There you go again, stealing my lines,” I teased.

  He sighed deeply but said nothing and neither did I. No words were necessary. When it came to conversation between us, words sometimes got in the way.

  “I’m leaving to get you in a few minutes. Be ready at five, vixen.”

  I breathed out a giggle. “I’ll be here waiting.”

  I heard the sound of another call coming in. “Baby, I’ve got to take this call. I’ll see you shortly.”

  “Bye, Damien,” I said, then the phone went dead.

  For the next thirty minutes, I couldn’t help but wonder what Damien had arranged for me to wear. Had he or Paul picked through my closet at my house, and how did I feel about that? I did a mental rundown of every formal dress I owned, which was a short list indeed. What if he had chosen something I had been meaning to send to Goodwill? And what about shoes? Jewelry? What did he know about a woman’s wardrobe needs? After stressing about it until my head hurt, I finally decided it was what it was, and I would know soon enough if what he’d picked was suitable.

  All afternoon the skies had darkened until they finally burst. An April thunderstorm was in full bloom as I exited the gym. I waited to see Damien pull up before running out in the rain, holding the remains of today’s Post-Dispatch over my head, but as soon as I stepped outside, Damien was at my side holding a massive umbrella.

  He pulled me to him, his arm going around my waist as he guided me to the passenger seat of the Cayman.

  “In you go,” he said, holding the umbrella so that I barely got pelted by a single drop. Within a few seconds, he was safely behind the wheel, rain drops glistening on his dark hair and dotting his shoulders, since in putting away the umbrella he had taken a direct hit from the showers. He had changed out of the jeans and T-shirt, switching up to dark pants and a light gray V-neck sweater, with just the opened collar of a white dress shirt showing. My mouth watered just looking at him.

  “This will take several hours. You don’t need anything from the apartment?”

  “No, but aren’t we headed there to get ready?”

  He smiled slyly. “Nope.”

  I looked at his gorgeous profile as he handled the powerful sports car through the rain-laden streets, realizing he was going in the opposite direction of the apartment. Damien said nothing, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re not telling me where we’re going, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  I shook my hea
d. “I hope you didn’t actually bring me a gunnysack. You didn’t, right?”

  “Nope.”

  Exhaling deeply, I knew he had a surprise in store and decided to sit back and enjoy the ride. We said nothing, lost in our own thoughts. When he exited toward the Spirit of St. Louis airport, I threw a glance his way.

  “Airport?”

  “Yep.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh, and my hand automatically covered his.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re flying to?”

  “Chicago. My PA was able to reschedule a meeting at the last minute.”

  I digested this. “I’ll need to shower, you know.”

  “All taken care of. Trust me.” He looked sideways at me, and I smiled hesitantly back.

  He steered us through a gated entrance and across the tarmac. Within a minute we were stopping in front of a small jet with STG emblazoned in deep red across the fuselage. The rain had let up to a sprinkle as a blond-haired man approached us with umbrellas.

  Damien hopped out as the man opened my door and offered me his hand. “This way, Miss,” he said kindly, sheltering me under the umbrella and closing the door behind me.

  Damien grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the plane. “After you,” he said, guiding me toward the stairs. Ducking through the door, I entered the plane and waited for him to fold the umbrella.

  “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourself comfortable. I need to speak to the pilot and then we’ll be off.”

  Taking in my options, I snorted softly to myself. The last time I’d flown had been at Christmas when Lucy and I had spent a week in Florida with Mom and Dad. I had a feeling flying commercial coach would never be the same again. Damien was fast spoiling me for the ordinary.

  There were six seats and a long bench along one side. As the only occupant, I chose a seat in the middle and sat down to gaze at my opulent surroundings. The interior was upholstered in cream leather, with large square windows making everything bright and airy regardless of the dreary conditions outside. As I’d entered, I’d noticed a compact bar complete with mini fridge, microwave and hanging wine glasses.

  The blond man appeared with a garment bag, which he hung in a small closet. He then turned to me with a smile. “My name is Karl Anders. I’ll be co-piloting your flight to Chicago. Can I get you something to drink? Champagne? Water?”

  “Water is fine, thank you.” Since when did co-pilots serve drinks? Karl looked to be about my age, with light hair that just touched his shoulders. He was handsome, with Nordic cheekbones and coloring, and I immediately thought of how Justine would swoon at his looks if she were here. Karl turned to me and smiled, and I banished such inappropriate thoughts as I accepted the goblet of iced water.

  “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask. Blankets are in the drawer under your seat. The lavatory is at the back of the plane.”

  I nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Karl.”

  Damien strode through the door in his usual room-engulfing style, and all thoughts of a Justine/Karl matchup were utterly forgotten. He approached me as a panther to its prey, his eyes locked on mine. A gray-haired man in jeans and a black bomber jacket trailed behind him.

  “Miss St. Clair, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Bill Polster. I will be piloting the aircraft. If there’s anything you need, just let Karl or me know and we’ll do our best to help you.” He reminded me of Richard Dreyfus in that movie where he’s a firefighter pilot. His smile was warm and genuine, and I smiled pleasantly back as we shook hands.

  “Thank you, Bill. I’ll do that.”

  After a nod at Damien, Bill headed toward the cockpit.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Very,” I said, lowering my goblet and unable to look away from him. He sat in the seat opposite me and stowed his laptop case in the bottom drawer. “So, this is your company plane?”

  He nodded. “One of them. This is a Bombardier Learjet 85. She’s the cream of the crop among midsize aircraft.”

  I shook my head. “You’re full of surprises, Stone.”

  He grinned like a boy opening gifts on Christmas morning. “Got to keep you on your toes.”

  Biting my lip provocatively, I leaned forward and he met me in the middle. “I thought you liked me on my knees, not my toes,” I whispered into his ear, breathing in his male scent.

  Damien laughed, the deep rumble surrounding me, possessing me. His eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his seat. “As usual, it’s you who always keeps me on my toes. I’m just trying to keep up, baby.”

  As we grinned surreptitiously at each other, Karl appeared and took Damien’s order‌—‌ginger ale. We both took a minute to switch our phones to airplane mode.

  Karl returned with the ginger ale and, after the usual pleasantries, he walked down the aisle and into the cockpit. Within a few minutes the plane began its taxi toward the runway.

  “Buckle up,” Damien said, snapping his belt in place.

  “Yes, Sir,” I mocked.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You know, it’s a shame this is only a thirty-minute flight, or I might take full advantage of the couch, Karl be damned.”

  “I’m sure Karl won’t mind if you catch a quick catnap,” I said sweetly.

  “Keep smarting off, Olivia. You know how I like a challenge.”

  My smile faltered at the glint in his eye. Airplane sex. My inner muscles clenched at the thought, and a devious look appeared on his face. My eyes darted to the cockpit, which was concealed behind a now-closed door. I wondered if Damien had instructed them to give us privacy, or if Karl would check on our well-being any time soon. After all, he was a pilot, not a bona fide flight attendant.

  We lifted off, the plane sliding effortlessly into the air. I glanced out the window as the ground fell away beneath us. I looked back at Damien to find him still assessing me.

  “Sorry.” I took a sip of water. “I got carried away.”

  He raised a brow. “Seems I’m not the only one who likes to tease.”

  My eyes widened at the realization. I had read him the riot act this morning for teasing me, and here I was doing the same thing. I was such a hypocrite.

  The plane ascended smoothly as Damien continued to gaze at me. My cheeks must have been flaming by now, embarrassed as I was by my guilty realization. My eyes darted to his and found him studying me with a pleased expression.

  I swallowed and crossed my legs before meeting his stare. “You’re right. I do like teasing you sometimes. And I realize now that you don’t do it to be mean, but that it’s a form of affection. I’m sorry I was so bitchy this morning. I guess we’re both learning how to do this.”

  He nodded. “And I’m sorry, too.” He leaned forward and took my hands in his. “We’ll figure this out, I know it. Have faith, Olivia.”

  “I do,” I whispered, and unbuckling my belt, I moved swiftly and gently lowered myself onto his lap. His arms came around me, holding me firmly, and his lips caressed my hair. My arm slipped around his neck while my other arm rested against his warm chest. My ear was pressed against him, and I could hear as well as feel his deep, even breathing. It was organic, this position. I fit so naturally against him, his strong arms around me.

  We sat like this for the entire flight. Karl didn’t approach to ask if we wanted peanuts or pretzels or another drink. We didn’t speak, and we didn’t sleep. We just sat, together as one, our thoughts unknown to each other and yet intertwined on some deep level.

  When the plane began its descent, we could feel it, and Damien nudged me into my own seat where I sat and stared at him, my arms wrapped around my middle while his hung haphazardly at his side. Away from his warmth, my body chilled. The emptiness of his lap was like a beacon that I automatically gravitated toward, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  We landed in Chicago where a limo awaited to whisk us to our destination. At some point during our flight, the rain had stopped, and although the stree
ts here were dry, the atmosphere was leaden and oppressive. The chauffeur held the door for us, and Damien helped me into the back. It was another luxury vehicle, with black leather seats and padded doors. The windows were tinted and the carpet was black. Although spacious for a car, it was aesthetically opposite the bright confines of the plane.

  “Barring traffic, we should be at our hotel shortly. We can both freshen up before dinner.”

  “Damien, I have work in the morning,” I said hesitantly. Surely he knew this?

  “Trust me,” he said sharply, and I looked away quickly.

  “I do trust you,” I whispered toward the window, “but you’ve not told me anything about tonight.”

  His hand lifted my hair from my neck, his lips at my nape. “Trust me.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Damien had reservations at The Drake Hotel, a fact that became apparent as the limo pulled up in front. It seemed a waste of money to be checking into a hotel‌—‌a very fancy hotel‌—‌when we could have simply gotten ready at home before the flight. But this apparently was the way Damien did things. When money was no object, spending it became easy.

  As Damien checked in, I gaped at the plush lobby. I felt seriously underdressed in my training clothes because this hotel was undoubtedly where people of means stayed. It reminded me of something right out of Prohibition Era Chicago. If Al Capone strolled past me, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.

  With Damien’s hand at my elbow, I was guided to the elevator and we ascended swiftly to our suite. As soon as we entered the elevator, I noticed it contained a couch, and I automatically glanced at Damien to find him looking at me knowingly.

  “You think someone’s trying to tell us something?” I asked with a half-smile of my own.

  “It’s nothing I don’t already know. Damn time crunch.” He moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my front, bending down to nuzzle at my neck. I leaned back into him, craving the warmth and hardness of his body.

  “So, when are you going to tell me what to expect tonight?”

  “It’s a business dinner. We are meeting with the CEO of Houston-Garbey, a company I want to acquire. Did you know you have the softest skin?” he murmured at my nape.