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

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Aren’t you worried about someone coming in?” I managed to ask.

  “No one’s coming but you,” he said. He tugged the lace of my panties to one side, baring me to him. The heat of his breath puffed against my delicate flesh. “Jesus, you’ve got a pretty pussy.”

  I closed my eyes again, unable to maintain intelligible speech, and waited for him to do something, anything, to relieve the agony of anticipation. The tip of his nose nudged along the apex of my thighs. I felt naughty and wanton with this virile man on his knees before me. The second his tongue flicked my clit, I choked back a cry of relief. My hands found his hair and dug in.

  After a few well-placed licks, all I could think about was how good it was to have a man at my feet with his face buried between my legs. “Beckett. Beckett. Beckett.” His name rolled off my tongue, over and over. “Oh, God.” One of his fingers slipped inside me and curled up to tease the secret spot. My hips jerked, causing my legs to shake and my knees to dissolve. The more I squirmed, the tighter he held me, forcing me to endure the overwhelming sensations. Waves of fire undulated down my thighs.

  Oh God. It hadn’t been like this with Etienne. He’d been quick and rough, more focused on his own orgasm than mine. No man played my body like Beckett. He knew how to mingle pleasure with pain, nipping and sucking, walking me along the edge of overload, but always bringing me back before I imploded. While I whimpered through the last of my orgasm, he waited for my trembling to stop before he lowered my leg to the floor and stood. I let him straighten my panties and tug down my skirt before I opened my eyes. I swallowed and tried to avoid his gaze, feeling like he’d split open my chest and laid my soul bare to the world.

  “Oh, no. Not now. Not when we’re making progress.” He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my head, forcing me to look at him. Dark eyes stared back at me, infinite and warm. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting me. “Don’t shut me out.”

  “I’m not.” It was a bald-faced lie, but I meant for it to be the truth. My gaze drifted down to the obvious bulge behind his zipper. The sight of it resurrected my lust. I dragged a palm over his hardness. “Can I help you with this?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Absolutely. But not here. Not like this.” He cupped my chin in his hand and swept a thumb over my lower lip. The scent of my wetness lingered on his fingers.

  “Oh. Okay.” Was this rejection? Every time he touched me, I went away feeling more confused than before.

  “Hey, look at me.” His eyes searched mine. “This was for you, not me. You think it’s always about sex for me and it’s not. Not with you. It’s more than that.” A hint of stubble had appeared on his jaw, lending to his dangerous vibe. He was probably one of those guys who had to shave a couple of times a day. “I want to do this right. Let me take you out first. On a date.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you feeling okay? I thought Piers Beckett didn’t date.”

  “Better than okay,” he said. “And you’re wrong about that.” He dropped a kiss to the tip of my nose, then his arms went around my waist, and he pulled me into a warm hug. “Piers Beckett dates you.”

  Our date consisted of a movie at the theater, followed by dinner at a nearby pub. We ate pizza then took a horse-drawn carriage ride to a nearby ice cream shop, where I indulged all my pregnancy cravings. Beckett held my hand, his big fingers curled around mine. My heart skipped a beat every time our eyes met. This feeling went way beyond anything I’d ever experienced. It terrified and thrilled me.

  “Having fun?” The rumble of his voice reverberated in my ear when the carriage returned to its station.

  “Yes.”

  He let go of my hand to jump out of the carriage. With his hands around my waist, he swung me to the ground. His hands lingered until I regained my balance. When they moved away, I missed his touch. “So, what do you want to do now?” he asked as we stood by the street, waiting for a taxi.

  “It’s getting late,” I said. A sliver of moon hovered in the black sky overhead. Even though we’d been together for hours, I dreaded leaving him.

  “I suppose we should head home.”

  “Yes,” I answered. We stared at each other. Beckett shoved his hands into his pockets and pursed his lips like he wanted to say something. I wanted to kiss that mouth, to feel his hands on me again, the weight of his body on top of mine. “When you say home, do you my place or yours?” He cocked an eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth curled in a sinful smile at my question. “Because I still owe you for this afternoon.”

  "Are you sure?” he asked. The way he was looking at me, pupils dilated and nostrils flared, sent a spear of lust straight between my legs. I didn’t care where we went as long as we were together and the fire in his eyes kept burning.

  “I’m sure.” I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.

  Back at his place, I sat on the sofa and tried to hide my amusement as he scurried around the room, hiding his dirty laundry and shoving things into the closets. He obviously hadn’t intended on having company, a thought I found curiously comforting. It was good to know he didn’t take us for granted.

  He caught a glimpse of my smirk and stopped to grin at me. “Okay, I’m a slob. No denying it.”

  “It’s fine. I’m a slob, too,” I said, finding his embarrassment adorable. “Stop worrying about it.”

  He flopped onto the couch beside me. “Good to know.” His rock-hard thigh pressed against mine. Awareness raced down to my toes. His arm rested on the back of the sofa behind me, proprietary and comforting. I leaned into him. He tapped the end of my nose with a fingertip. “I like learning things like that about you. What other secrets are you hiding?”

  I shook my head, unable to hide a wide smile. “Oh, no. I’m not falling for that one.”

  “So far I know that you’re a slob and a terrible driver.” His dark eyes softened and focused on my mouth. “But I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more perfect.”

  A flush of hot embarrassment heated my face. “You’re just saying that.”

  “I don’t just say things, V, and you know it.” He placed a finger underneath my chin, tipped my face, and brushed my lips with his.

  “I know,” I said on a shaky breath.

  He relaxed back into the sofa, drawing me with him, snuggling me into his chest. I melted against his body, comforted by the rise and fall of his ribs, the way I fit into the nook of his shoulder. With the remote control, he turned on the television and flipped through the channels to find a movie. We sat in silence for a while, my hand on top of his thigh, his lips pressing against my temple. It felt good, right, perfect.

  Before the end of the movie, my eyelids grew heavy. He was so warm, so comfortable, that I had to fight to stay awake. I yawned and covered my mouth with a hand. He shifted beneath me.

  “Tired, baby?” he asked in a voice textured with tenderness.

  “Yes.” I hesitated to leave the sanctuary of his chest. “I suppose I should go home. Will you call me a cab?”

  “You know you don’t have to go.” At his invitation, my insides quivered in anticipation. His tongue swept along the curve of his lower lip. “You could spend the night.”

  “Here? On the couch?” I lifted an eyebrow, trying to hide my excitement with humor.

  “Not here. In my bed.” He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips. His eyes met mine, filled with dark promise. “And just so you know, there will be nudity involved. Mine and yours.”

  “Well.” I drew in a shuddering breath as his lips found the sensitive spot below my ear and pressed a kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 29

  Beckett

  THREE WEEKS later, I got up on Monday morning, kissed Venetia goodbye then ran four miles to sort out the kinks in my brain. We’d spent every night together, alternating apartments. I was falling in deep, so deep I knew I’d never dig myself out, but I didn’t really care anymore. As I rode the elevator up to my office, I could still tast
e her on my tongue, hear her sweet moans when she came, and feel the velvety softness of her skin. I liked having her in my bed, spreading her legs and settling between them, watching her sleep, and waking to her disheveled beauty in the morning.

  Garth met me at the door to my office. I recoiled at his harsh expression. Dark circles shaded his eyes, and a patch of stubble peppered his cheek where he’d missed a spot shaving. I lifted an eyebrow. He ignored my questioning glance and pressed a file folder into my outstretched hand. “I was up all night last night doing research on Zabbos,” he said.

  “Nice,” I said and meant it. A smile brightened his tired features. Garth never failed to exceed my expectations. He deserved to be much more than an assistant, but I wasn’t sure I could function without him. I followed him toward his desk. He looked up from his computer monitor in surprise. “Good work,” I continued and wondered if I’d ever told him before how much I valued his efforts. “You’re an asset. I appreciate how hard you’ve worked on this case.” He smiled. “How’s your kid?”

  “He’s been running a fever,” Garth said, the smile slipping. “My mom’s taking him to the doctor this morning.”

  “Why are you here?” He was the sole parent for his two-year-old son, yet he never missed a day, hadn’t been late even once in two years. “Get out of here.”

  “No. It’s fine. She’ll call if it’s something serious,” he replied, but I could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he wanted to be there. He probably needed the income. Raising a child as a single parent couldn’t be cheap, and as an hourly employee, every minute of missed work took a chunk out of his paycheck.

  “Nonsense. Go. I won’t die without you for one day.” I picked up his phone and dialed the extension for the office supervisor. I understood the importance of family, of taking care of the ones closest to you. “Ms. Hartley, please send someone down here to cover for Garth today. He’ll be taking the day off. With pay,” I added.

  “Mr. Beckett?” The temp stuck her head inside my office door an hour later. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to figure out the intercom system. After demonstrating how to dial my office twice; my patience had thinned. “I’m sorry to bother you again.”

  I dragged my attention away from the computer to the nervous girl, unable to restrain the frustration in my tone. “What is it?”

  “You have a delivery.”

  “Sign for it.” I scrolled through my emails, ignoring her, but she didn’t get the hint.

  “He said he has to deliver it to you. Personally.” The temp shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands in front of her. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. This was probably her first job. I counted to ten inside my head.

  “Fine. Send him in.” I sighed and pushed back from the desk.

  The man who entered wore an expensive gray suit and dropped a gold key fob on the desk in front of me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your keys, Mr. Beckett. To your new car.” The gentleman spoke in a clipped Middle Eastern accent.

  “I don’t have a new car.” I pushed the keys toward him.

  “I beg your pardon, but you do, sir. Courtesy of Mr. Maxwell Seaforth.”

  Unable to believe what I was hearing, I followed the man down to the street. An Aston Martin gleamed at the curb, charcoal gray, sleek, and sparkling with chrome. I slid into the smooth leather seat and drew in a deep breath of new car scent. All my life, I’d dreamed of a car like this. For a few fleeting seconds, I imagined what it might be like to own such a piece of automotive perfection. And then I remembered the source of the gift.

  “I can’t take this,” I said, and handed the keys back to the man.

  He held up his palms in refusal. “It’s already done, sir. The car is titled in your name. You’ll need to take this up with Mr. Seaforth.” He pivoted and disappeared into a waiting taxi before I could open my mouth to call after him.

  My cell rang. Speak of the devil. I stared at the phone.

  “Piers. Did you get my gift?” Seaforth’s voice dripped with arrogance.

  “I was just getting ready to call you about it. This is way too generous.” I tried to temper my irritation and maintain professionalism.

  “Consider it a little token of my appreciation. There’s a lot of promise in you, son. Stick with me, and there will be a lot more than cars in your future. I can show you success and power like you never dreamed of.”

  The seductive tone of his voice raised my guard. I had no doubt he meant every word of what he said. He had the wealth and strength to propel my career into the stratosphere. For one nanosecond, I pictured a life filled with exotic cars, fast women, and stacks of cash. None of those things interested me. Not anymore.

  “You know I can’t accept this,” I said. “It’s against our company policy.”

  He laughed, the sound chilling to my ears. “We both know there are ways around policies. It’s how we make our living, you and I.”

  “Maybe for you, but not for me.” I had Venetia and our child to think about. I didn’t want to spend my life bowing to the whims of a megalomaniac asshole billionaire. If I accepted this gift, I became one of his pawns. Oh. Hell. No.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Steel edged his voice. “I’ve already cleared it with Daniels. Your partners are willing to look the other way. The car is yours. Keep it. Sell it. Hell, give it to one of your lady friends.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out an exasperated sigh. What I was about to say might ruin my career forever, but I wasn’t going to knuckle under to his strong-arm tactics. “Here’s the thing, Maxwell. It’s not about your rules; it’s about mine.”

  Chapter 30

  Venetia

  AFTER INTERVIEWING several people, I hired a woman named Helena as my assistant. She was in her mid-forties, divorced, and taller than my five-foot-eleven by at least two inches. Even though I’d been looking for someone young and fresh, I chose Helena because of her no-nonsense attitude. She could handle the day-to-day activities while I figured out how to start the business.

  I needed the help, especially with the baby coming and my thoughts looping back to Beckett at every turn. The mere mention of his name sent my heart into palpitations. We’d spent every spare minute of every day together since the carriage ride.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” Helena stared down her long nose at me and extended a hand for my notepad, bringing my wandering thoughts back to business. “Where do you want to begin?”

  I handed her sketches of Daniels’s office and went over my ideas. Within minutes, she was on the phone, setting up appointments to view artwork and furniture. She scheduled a dinner with a woman I’d met at the coffee bistro down the street who’d just bought a new house and was looking for an interior designer. While Helena chatted on the phone, I flipped through a book of samples. A small flutter happened low in my pelvis. It could’ve been nerves or indigestion, but a warm rush of emotion spread through my body. I was about four months along and my belly, although still small, was undeniably round. I placed a hand over my stomach and held my breath. Nothing happened.

  “Are you okay?” Helena asked, her gray eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, because I was. Life had taken an unexpected turn for the better over the past few weeks. The flutter happened again, a sensation like butterfly wings dancing inside my womb. “Oh,” I whispered and blinked back the moisture in my eyes.

  “Can I get you something? A glass of water? You’re flushed.” Helena set down the sample of carpet she’d been holding and rested the back of her hand on my forehead.

  “No. Thank you.” I steadied my nerves and raised my chin. “I’m fine. I’m just—I’m—I’m pregnant.” I braced for her reaction, for the judgment I knew would follow, but she only gave me a small, soft smile. “And I think the baby moved.”

  “How wonderful. Congratulations.” She went back to the carpet samples. “I wondered how long it
was going to take before you told me.”

  “You knew?” It was the first time I’d admitted it to anyone other than Beckett or Sydney. The weight of secrecy lifted from my shoulders. I had no idea how good it would feel to tell someone, to share the joy.

  “Of course I know.” Her shrewd gaze traced my figure. “You still have a waistline, but a cute potbelly like that doesn’t come from overeating. You don’t look pregnant at all from the back. But you won’t be able to hide it forever.”

  I rubbed the firm roundness. She was right. I couldn’t pass it off as normal weight gain any longer. Time was rushing by. With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone to dial Beckett, needing to hear his voice and to share this latest development in our baby’s life.

  Chapter 31

  Beckett

  DANIELS AND I headed downtown to Seaforth Towers. For our higher-profile clients, we conducted business at their location. Men of Maxwell Seaforth’s stature expected a certain level of privilege, and Daniels, Quaid, Beckett & Associates catered to their whims. I often enjoyed the change of scenery and looked forward to escaping the boundaries of my office, but not this time. Today, my stomach churned from too much coffee, lack of sleep, and an extreme sense of foreboding. A wise man never let his guard fall around Maxwell. He was up to something.

  Once inside the lobby, an incoming call vibrated the phone in my pocket. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Venetia. My Venetia. My pulse skipped a ridiculous beat. I stepped aside to accept the call, palms sweating. When had a girl done this to me? The answer was never. With each passing day, she meant more to me than the day before.