Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3)

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I’ve got court side seats for next week’s game. You should go with me.” I heard my voice offer up the precious tickets before my brain had time to stop the madness. Had I lost my mind? Those tickets had cost a pretty penny, and I’d had to call in a few favors to get them. I’d planned on taking a client, but she seemed like a much better alternative. “It would get your mind off things.”

  Up to this point, we’d managed to avoid the topic of the baby. The minute I alluded to the situation, her eyes filled with sadness.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “But thank you.” The wall of formality lifted between us again. I became desperate to tear it down, to see the sparkle return to her eyes, and the smile to her lips. “Maybe another time.”

  “Sure.” Disappointment crushed hopes I hadn’t known existed until that very second. “It’s doesn’t have to be a date.” She glanced down at her lap, a small furrow between her brows. I caught her hand in mine.

  “Do you want it to be a date?” She lifted clear blue eyes to mine.

  “I don’t know.” I looked away. Relationships and commitment had never been my style. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with the truth, but I didn’t want to lead her on either. It was better for both of us if we were up front about our expectations. “No. Not really.”

  “Okay. Good.” The relief in her expression kicked my ego in the nuts. “I think we should both be free to see other people.”

  “Good? What’s that supposed to mean? Are you seeing someone?” For the first time, it occurred to me that she might have a man in her life, someone other than me. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I didn’t like the idea of some stranger kissing her or raising my kid, but I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  “No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “But I might want to.”

  Ouch. The more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea. However, it seemed unfair to tether her social life when I had no intention of curbing my own. I forced out a breath to dispel my anxiety. “We’ll work it out.”

  “This is going to be so complicated.” Her lower lip trembled, and she glanced up at me with worried eyes. “If I have this baby, it’s going to change both our lives forever.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” A small white lie, a half-truth at best. I came around the table and drew her to her feet. With my right hand, I swept the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “One of these days, we’ll both laugh about this.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll ever laugh about it.” She sighed and shook her head.

  “You will if I have anything to say about it.” I hooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face up to mine, needing to comfort her.

  Her gaze dipped to my mouth before locking with my eyes. The way she looked at me, like I was half god and half superhero, erupted a primitive need to claim her and fueled my ever-starving ego. It sent a surge of testosterone rocketing through my veins, headier than the sweetest wine.

  It would be so easy, so very easy to kiss her. One tilt of the head, a shift of our bodies, and our lips could meet. I imagined the brush of her mouth against mine, the succulent fullness of her lower lip when I dragged it between my teeth. Would she taste like grapes? Behind the fly of my jeans, my cock pulsed. I brought both hands to the side of her face and cupped the fragile bones gently. I wanted this kiss. I needed it in the worst way, if only to prove my imagination outdid the reality and put an end to my suffering. I closed my eyes and leaned in. One kiss, and I could end this ridiculous fantasy.

  “I should go,” she said. Her breathing quickened.

  “Right.” I dropped my hands and stepped away. An uncomfortable silence thickened the air.

  “Or maybe we could watch some TV?” She turned huge, hopeful eyes up to mine. My mouth went dry, and every question about what we were doing disappeared from my head.

  “Great idea.” I took her hand and pulled her toward the sofa. We could do this, be friends. We were already friends. I felt a responsibility to Sam, Tucker, and now Venetia. Their wellbeing mattered to me, more than I cared to admit. And now, Venetia needed me. As angry as I was at our foolish mistake, I couldn’t blame her. It was as much my fault as hers.

  “Have you thought any more about what you want to do?” The question scared me, but I had to ask. If she chose to terminate the pregnancy, we were going to have a fight on her hands. I didn’t want a child, but I’d been down this road once before, long ago, and I knew the pain of regret over such a permanent decision.

  “I’m still not sure, but I’m leaning toward having it,” she said after a lengthy pause.

  “Just consider it. Please.” A loose strand of hair fluttered over her eye. I swept a finger over her temple, tucking the strand behind her ear. “It’s all I ask.”

  “I can’t think about anything else,” she admitted. “I feel like my life is in limbo until I decide how to handle this.”

  The profound sadness in her voice tugged at my heart. If only I could take away some of her indecision, help her realize this wasn’t the end of the world. It had happened to me before, and I had lived through it. I wanted to tell her about my experience, but I couldn’t summon the words or the trust to confide in her. No one knew about my teenaged mistake, and I intended to keep it that way.

  For the rest of the night, she sat on the sofa next to me, one leg tucked beneath her, a pillow on her lap. Halfway through the movie, her eyes closed and her head fell onto my shoulder. The weight of her, trusting and innocent in sleep, stirred my protective animal instincts. Instead of waking her, I picked her up and carried her to my bed. Venetia never flinched, and I couldn’t blame her. She had to be exhausted. I tucked her beneath the covers and brushed the hair from her forehead before grabbing a blanket and heading to the couch for the night.

  Chapter 16

  Venetia

  I AWOKE in an unfamiliar bed to the smell of coffee and toast. Once I’d rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I took a glance around and remembered the comfort of sitting next to Beckett on the sofa, his thigh pressed to mine, the accidental brush of his bare foot to my toes, and the way my body reacted with tingles of sexual attraction deep inside my core. The glow of sunrise lingered in the apartment, along with the scents of aftershave and shower gel.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Beckett called from the kitchen.

  I ran a hand through the mess of my hair then followed his voice. He stood behind the counter, the picture of success in a charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and ice-blue striped tie. I made a mental note to thank his tailor. Each of his suits had been cut to accentuate the inverted triangle of his broad shoulders. I swallowed and blinked away before he caught me watching him. “What time is it?” Judging by the heaviness in my limbs and the fog in my brain, I’d been asleep for a very long time.

  “Six,” he said.

  “I can’t believe I dozed off. I’m sorry.” I caught a glimpse of my tumultuous appearance in the polished stainless steel refrigerator and cringed. There was nothing sexy about rumpled bed hair or smudged mascara. As irrational as it sounded, I wanted him to want me even if neither of us could act upon it.

  “It’s okay.” His lopsided grin eased my embarrassment. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding when he turned to rinse his coffee cup in the sink. The sight of his rock-hard ass beneath the wool blend of his trousers reminded me of our history, and I curled my fingers to stifle the urge to touch him. “I’ve got to get to work or I’d have breakfast with you. Stay. Help yourself to the fridge or the shower. Whatever you need.” His dark gaze travelled the length of my body, and a shiver of lust stiffened my nipples. In spite of our declaration to keep our relationship platonic, the sexual chemistry between us was off the charts. “Or I can drop you at home? It’s on my way.”

  “I live down the street, Beckett,” I said. “I can walk.” A flash of heat brought a clammy sweat to my brow. I frowned and dragged a hand over my forehe
ad.

  “Are you sure?” His concern brought a blush to my cheeks. “It’s cold outside.”

  “I’m sure. I could use the exercise.” A strange bitterness lingered on my tongue. “Can I borrow a shirt?”

  “Absolutely.” An uncomfortable silence cooled the air between us. He cleared his throat and backed toward the front door.

  I ducked my head, unsure what to say or do next. “Okay. Thanks.”

  The unease must’ve been obvious in my voice, because Beckett pulled me into his chest, tucking my chin into the hollow of his sternum. The scent of starch and laundry soap mingled with the spiciness of his cologne. I melted into the warmth of his body and closed my eyes.

  “You’re a strong woman, V.” His deep voice reverberated through his chest and into my ear. “Everything will work out.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I mumbled. My hands, unable to resist the temptation, slid up his chest and curled into the fabric of his shirt. An unpleasant rumble wracked my belly. Bile rose in my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

  “What?” Beckett asked, eyes round.

  I pushed him away and galloped toward the bathroom but only made it as far as the kitchen sink. The few remaining contents of last night’s dinner raced up my throat. Strong, masculine fingers gathered my hair at the nape of my neck and held it out of the way as I hurled into the garbage disposal. Within seconds, the nausea subsided.

  Beckett released my hair and smoothed a soothing palm down my back. “Are you okay?” he asked, his deep voice filled with shock.

  I turned on the water and flipped the disposal switch to destroy the evidence. I brushed the back of my hand over my mouth. He handed me a paper napkin then turned to fill a glass of water from the refrigerator tap. “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, but my hands shook as I took the water from him. I drank two sips. The liquid hit the bottom of my stomach and bounced back up, splattering the floor and Beckett’s shoes. Oh. My. God. I covered my face with both hands, horrified beyond speech, too humiliated to look at him. “Oh, Beckett, your shoes.”

  “Fuck the shoes.” Before I could open my mouth, he scooped me into his arms and deposited me on the sofa. Worried brown eyes locked with mine as he kneeled beside me. All the color had drained from his face. He lifted his phone to his ear. “I’m calling the doctor.”

  “Beckett, no.” I sat up and put a hand on his forearm. “It’s just morning sickness. I’m starting to feel better already.” He lowered the phone but didn’t seem convinced. “I think I need something to eat. Do you have any crackers?”

  He rushed to the kitchen and returned with a box of saltines. While I nibbled the corner of a square, he watched me like I was a bomb about to explode. God, he was so sexy. In his turmoil, he’d loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. A few rough hairs peeked through the opening at his throat. Even when he was worried, he exuded a primal vibe that curled my toes.

  “I’m calling in.” He reached for the phone in his pocket. “When’s your appointment with the doctor?”

  “Next week.” The crackers began to absorb the acid in my stomach. My head stopped spinning. I breathed a sigh of relief. “You don’t need to stay here with me. I’m fine. Really.” To prove it, I stood up and smiled. “See? All better. I’m sure you have important things to attend to this morning.”

  “No.” His dark gaze took in every detail of my face. One of his arms slipped around my waist and tugged me into his chest. “I’ll stay,” he murmured. His hand stroked my hair as he spoke. “Nothing is more important than you. If you need me, I want to be here for you. For the baby.”

  No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Words like those made me forget to keep an emotional distance between us. Words like those made my hands slip inside his suit jacket and slide up the groove of his muscular back. I rested my cheek against his chest and savored the steady, solid thump of his heart. “Thank you. For caring. It means a lot to me.”

  “It means a lot to me, too.” His lips brushed the crown of my head and left me wondering where we stood with each other. Were we friends? Was it even possible after the night we’d shared, with a baby on the way? I had no idea how to categorize the unusual position we were now in. “Beckett.” I pulled back to look at him. “Is this weird?”

  “Not to me.” The irises of his eyes warmed into a rich dark chocolate, almost black, then he frowned and dropped his hands to his sides. “Is it weird for you?”

  “A little,” I admitted. So many questions flew through my head. There were things I needed to know, boundaries to set, before I could feel at ease with him. “I’m not sure how to act.” I waved a finger between us. “Are we friends? Not friends?” A groove deepened between his eyebrows. “I mean, I didn’t ask if you’re involved with someone. Are you? Seeing someone, that is?”

  “We’ll always be friends, V. No matter what,” he said, but didn’t answer my question about the women in his life. The warmth in his eyes chilled. He backed away and put a hand on the door, and left me to improvise the answer. “I guess we need to iron out some details, don’t we?” I nodded, and he bent to pick up his briefcase. “Let’s talk tonight. No, wait. I’ve got some things to take care of this evening. Let me look at my calendar, and I’ll call you later. Promise me you’ll call the doctor if you get sick again.”

  “I promise.” I nodded and watched him walk out the door then I ran over to the window. Beckett exited the building onto the sidewalk, his steps confident and sure like he owned the street. At the curb, he lifted a hand to hail a taxi. An elderly woman hovered at his elbow, waiting for a ride of her own. He turned to smile at her, spoke a few words, then helped her into his cab and waved down another one for himself. The gesture was so sweet, so selfless, that I felt a surge of pride and something more, something that made my chest ache. Maybe he was a playboy, and maybe he wasn’t the ideal candidate for a father, but he was a good person, and that was enough for me.

  Chapter 17

  Beckett

  BECAUSE I got a late start this morning, I was off kilter for the rest of the day. Between depositions and research, I tapped out a quick text to Venetia. When noon rolled around, I still hadn’t heard from her. Was she okay? She’d seemed fine by the time I left her, but worry consumed me. What if it wasn’t simple morning sickness? What if she had some kind of serious medical complication? She might be lying unconscious on the floor of my kitchen. I had no experience with the symptoms of pregnancy. I had three younger brothers, all of them unmarried, and no close female relatives except my mother.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Beckett. No messages from Ms. Seaforth,” Garth said when I stopped by his desk.

  “Tell Margaret I’ll be a few minutes late for the next meeting,” I told him and drew out my phone to call Venetia. I stepped into an alcove next to the conference room, away from the buzz of voices and the ring of telephones, and cupped a hand around the phone.

  She answered on the second ring, her voice harried. “Hello?”

  “V? Thank God.” I melted against the wall at my back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Car horns beeped in the background, and I heard the whoosh of traffic.

  “I’ve been texting you all morning.” I thrust a hand through my hair and fought to keep my voice level. “Why didn’t you text me back?”

  “I told you I had an interview,” she replied, frustration evident by her clipped speech.

  “You couldn’t find two seconds to text me back?” My voice rose and several of the paralegals peered at me over their cubicle walls.

  “I’ve got a life, Beckett,” she said, her voice sharp. “I have two job interviews today.”

  “Right. Sorry.” I paced the length of the alcove, all three steps of it, and turned to do it again. “I was worried.”

  Her voice softened, and the sweet tone of it made my head spin. “I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Great.” Until that moment, I had no idea how heavy my concern had weighed
on my mind. I didn’t want to care so deeply, but I couldn’t help it. I’d promised Sam to keep an eye on her. I might have let him down by impregnating her, but hell if I’d disappoint him again.

  I met Margaret in the conference room. She closed the door behind us. I went straight to the conference table, where she’d laid out the last will and testament for Maxwell. It was a full ream of paper. I picked it up and riffled through it one last time.

  A man of Maxwell’s stature and wealth required careful planning and detail for his estate. There were corporations, subsidiaries, and land holdings to take into account, as well as each of his three children, and now a wife and her children. Margaret and the assistants had spent hours combing through the technicalities.

  “This can’t be right. Venetia’s not in here anywhere. Or did I miss it?” I frowned.

  “I’m not sure.” She peered over my shoulder, skimming through the pages after me. “Are we missing a page?”

  “Not that I can see.” I scratched my head.

  “I saw her picture on the internet yesterday with that reality star. What’s her name?” Margaret asked.

  “Sydney.”

  “Right. That’s the one.” A few beats of silence passed before she said, “Venetia’s pretty.”

  “Yes. Very,” I replied, still studying the document.

  “You’re friends with her?”

  “Yes.” I gritted my teeth, ill at ease with this line of questioning, afraid I might spill my guts to the first willing listener. Until I had Venetia’s blessing, I had to keep our little problem under wraps.

  “She seems young. How old is she, anyway?” she asked. Even with my back to her, I felt the burn of her gaze.

  “Um, twenty-three, I think.” I scanned through the pages of the will, slower this time, looking for anything out of place.

  “She’s just a girl,” Margaret said. “I thought she’d be older.”