Nothing to Hide

by Isabel Sharpe

  Maybe he should just sneak out. If she caught him, okay, at least he’d be an intruder in her bedroom, not in her bed.

  Small problem: he was naked. Should he get out of the bed and risk fumbling for his clothes on the floor? Better just to go downstairs and get more from his bag.

  Another problem: she’d been able to get into bed with him, and he’d registered her only peripherally, but he was considerably larger. If he moved, she’d notice.

  Damn.

  A bad situation. He’d just have to choose one of the equally bad options.

  As carefully as he could, Jonas lifted the covers...

  * * *

  ALLIE’S EYES SHOT open in the dark. What the hell was that? The mattress had moved. She swore it had.

  It moved again.

  Erik.

  She was going to kill him.

  No, torture him, and then kill him.

  Of all the sleazy....

  She tore out her earplugs, unaware the storm had gotten so bad. Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight?

  Lightning provided what she needed: a view of Erik, in bed next to her! The jerk!

  She didn’t think twice, turned and shoved him with her feet as hard as she could. He shot off the bed and landed with a thud on the floor.

  “Ow!”

  Served him right. “What the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”

  “Nothing!”

  “For God’s sake, Erik,” she shouted. Honestly. The only thing stupider than a horny guy was...an amoeba.

  “I’m not Erik,” he bellowed. A flash of lightning showed that he’d stood up. He wasn’t wearing anything. And he wasn’t Erik.

  Jeez-o-Pete. The Meyer slimeball brothers. What had Jonas thought? A few friendly emails meant he could just sneak into her bedroom and—

  She blinked, her brain catching up to her eyeballs. What a great body.

  “What are you doing here? You’re not even supposed to be here. Especially not naked!”

  The rain slacked off abruptly, leaving her last word shrieked into relative silence.

  “Allie.” Lightning showed him holding the bedspread over his best bits. “I didn’t know you were in here. I came to the cottage so I wouldn’t bother you and Erik, arriving at the big house so late.”

  Her breath was still coming fast. She didn’t know when she’d experienced such a huge adrenaline rush, first fear, then anger. So it took a while for his words to sink in. To process them. To make them appear possible. The rain calmed further.

  “Just hang on. Let me get dressed and find a light.”

  She waited, trying to understand what had happened. She’d been asleep. Had woken up, needing to use the bathroom. Had trouble finding it, trouble using it in the total darkness. Made her way carefully back, annoyed at the lightning for holding off when she needed its brilliance. She’d gotten back into bed and sensed him when he moved.

  She heard a thud, followed by a curse. Allie grinned savagely in the dark, still shaky and breathless. Served him right. “Having fun?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’m sure I can just hobble for the rest of my life. Hold on, there’s a kerosene lamp over here somewhere.”

  Long pause. Another thud. Another curse. Allie snorted. This sounded like a Three Stooges movie.

  “You don’t have to enjoy my pain.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  “There.” A glimmer as he struck a match, then fed the flame to the wick of a kerosene lamp and replaced the chimney. A soft glow filled the room and showed that he was now wearing jeans. And that he was even more gorgeous than she remembered, with Erik’s blue eyes and strong chin, but darker hair, thicker and curling.

  No, no. Until he proved he didn’t deserve her fury and outrage, she could not risk melting into lust.

  “So.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing he wasn’t getting his second view of her with advanced bedhead and no makeup, wearing a shapeless sleep shirt. “What happened?”

  “My dinner appointment tonight canceled, I texted Erik that I was coming. I arrived, came up here, got into bed and you joined me.” He lifted his hands and let them slap down on his thighs. Long, solid, very nice thighs. Not that she was looking. “Nice to see you again, by the way.”

  “Well...oh.” What was she supposed to do with that story? So devoid of evil or plot or menace of any kind. Almost disappointing.

  “I’m sorry I scared you, Allie. If it’s any consolation, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you next to me. I thought I was alone in here, had started drifting off, listening to the rain, then the lightning flashed and guess what?” He mimed comic terror, clutching his chest, mouth hanging open, eyes bulging with shock.

  Allie smiled unwillingly and shrugged, her breathing slowing down. “Well, I guess it’s just a big, weird mess.”

  “I guess.” He was standing by the bed watching her, hands on his hips, jeans slung low, chest bare. She hugged herself more tightly, hoping she was covering her nipples adequately because they were reaching for him like baby birds for Mama.

  The silence stretched. She had a sudden fantasy of him lunging for her, dragging her down on the bed and covering her mouth with his, her breasts with his hands, her—

  “You want a beer or something?”

  “Yes.” Her breath rushed out in relief. “I would love a beer or something.”

  “Clarissa usually leaves some in the fridge downstairs. Let’s check it out.”

  Carrying the kerosene lamp, he led the way downstairs, accompanied by a distant growl of thunder and the now-gentle patter of rain.

  There was indeed beer in the refrigerator, plenty of it, plus wine, champagne, at least two kinds of cheeses, orange juice, limes and tonic. The cottage was clearly party central. Jonas opened two bottles of Bass Ale and offered Allie a glass, which she declined.

  They sat at the small pale yellow table in the kitchen area with the lamp between them spreading its light surprisingly far into the room.

  “Why isn’t there power in the cottage?” Allie took a sip of her beer. She generally preferred a lighter brew, but right now the Bass was seriously working for her. Probably the circumstances. Undoubtedly the man. “Wait, and if there’s no electricity, how is there a refrigerator?”

  “It runs on gas, like the stove and water heater. My great-grandfather wired the big house for electricity but was stubborn on keeping this place ‘pure.’ Grandma Bridget felt the same way when she inherited it, and it just stayed that way. I like it.”

  “I do, too. It’s sort of romantic.”

  He chose that moment to put down his beer and meet her eyes. “It is.”

  Allie had trouble breathing. What was it about him? The dim light, the smooth gold of his skin out of which his blue eyes blazed, the fact that he was incredibly handsome and hot and she’d just seen him naked? Yeah, that might be it.

  Ulp. She needed to break the silence, but her mind had gone blank. She could only sit there gawking stupidly at him.

  “So, are we okay with everything?”

  “Oh.” Allie brought herself out of her daze. “Well, sort of.”

  “I know.” He shook his head, looking perplexed. “I’m not straight on some of it, either. Where were you before you got into bed with me?”

  “Bathroom. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t know you were there until the lightning showed you.”

  She narrowed her eyes skeptically over her beer, which was already half-gone. “I climbed into bed with you, and you didn’t notice?”

  “It was dark. The proverbial couldn’t-see-my-hand-in-front-of-my-face dark.”

  “The mattress must have bounced.”

  “I felt nothing.” He gestured toward her, up and down. “You’re a wee thing.”

  Allie snorted. “Come on.”

  “Okay.” Jonas pushed back his chair and stood. He narrowed his eyes, which made him look bad-boy fierce and even sexier. “You don’t believe me? Come on. We’ll reenact
it.”

  “No, no...”

  “Look, my honor is on the line here.” He picked up the lamp and headed for the stairs.

  Allie hesitated a moment, then left with the choice of being abandoned in a dark, unfamiliar room versus being upstairs in a bedroom with a god among men, she followed him.

  She was not stupid.

  “Lie down.” He set the lamp on the bedside table and pointed to the bed. “Here, where I was.”

  “Fine.” Allie lay on the edge of the mattress.

  “Now close your eyes. I’ll lie on the other side. Bear in mind I’ve got at least sixty pounds on you.”

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes and waited. When he climbed on, the mattress tugged and dipped some, but nothing like the earthquake she’d expected.

  “Anything?”

  “Yes. But, okay, not that much.”

  “If I was as light as you, and you were changing position at the same time, you might not feel anything.”

  “Hmm.” She kept her eyes closed. “I guess I might not.”

  “Come on, victory is mine. Admit it.”

  She turned her head to scoff, trying not to let on that she was pretty fired up being this close to him. “I admit nothing.”

  “Coward.”

  “Okay, okay.” She held up her hands. “It’s plausible. I’ll give you that much.”

  “I even said your name. Twice.”

  “Oh.” Allie pointed to both sides of her head. “Earplugs.”

  “Ah. That explains that. I thought about tapping you on the shoulder but I was afraid I’d give you a coronary.”

  “You probably would have.”

  “Good thing I didn’t.” He stretched out his arms, folded them behind his head and settled himself comfortably, closing his eyes. “So with that cleared up, you want to go to sleep?”

  “What?”

  “Why not?” He peeked at her, and then closed his eyes again, smiling faintly. “I like being in bed with you.”

  Allie struggled up on her elbows, squinting down at him, grinning in spite of herself. “Oh, really.”

  “Yeah. I mean it’s a little weird, since we don’t know each other, but look, we’ve got it all here. Excitement, drama, intrigue, possible conspiracy.” He turned to look up at her, stubble darkening his jaw and highlighting his cheekbones. “Everything.”

  Allie’s smile faded. She swallowed awkwardly. Those eyes were dragging her into him. The attraction was so powerful she could barely maintain the contact. Her gaze flicked to his mouth before she could stop herself. A beautiful mouth, masculine and full. She’d like to—

  “I was kidding. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

  “Oh.” She jerked her gaze back to his. “Yes, sure. Thanks.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t look away. “Okay, mostly kidding.”

  Allie drew in a breath, face and body heating. “I see.”

  “I can’t, though. Erik.”

  Allie shook her head quickly. “I have no romantic feelings for Erik.”

  “None?” His intense gaze got more intense. She had a crazy feeling he was pleased. Was that ego or real interest? Erik talked about Jonas as if he were a straight arrow, not a player by any means.

  “No. He’s a great guy. But not for me.”

  “He has feelings for you.”

  She wanted to laugh. “He thinks he does.”

  “Maybe. But he’s my brother.” Jonas sat up, clutched his chest and gazed off into the distance with comic gravity. “Therefore we must venture out. Together...but alone.”

  Allie giggled. Erik hadn’t mentioned his brother had a playful side. “Yes, my liege. Through storm and peril we shall uh, whatever.”

  “Yeah, that.” He came around the bed and gave her a hand up. She came face-to-face with him, nearly chest-to-chest. Well, her face to his neck, her chest to his upper abdomen. He was tall. Probably six-two. She was barely five-four.

  “I look forward to getting to know you, Allie.” He smiled warmly, a touch of mischief in his blue eyes that brought out more of his resemblance to his carefree brother. “Too bad we’ll have to leave it at that.”

  4

  “JONAS SAID, ‘TURN RIGHT on driveway after the big blue mailbox.’ Okay.” Sandra scanned the side of the road, her wipers going full power. Blue? She couldn’t tell blue from orange in the dark, and the rain wasn’t helping. Wait...there was a mailbox. Big, yes. Blue? She had no idea, but she was turning. Who would build a house out here in the middle of east bejeezus on purpose? Besides Bigfoot? She’d bet there wasn’t a decent slice of pizza or cup of coffee within fifty miles. Forget mani-pedis.

  Her tires bumped and bounced, sending her swaying back and forth. Secondhand car—its suspension was already shot when she bought it five years earlier. Ahead of her, the road continued through the rain-blurred woods as far as her headlights reached. Lord have mercy, Jonas called this a driveway? No. Driveways were about fifty feet long with nice, smooth pavement.

  She should have waited to drive up until the next morning, but she hated mornings. Getting up any time before ten required an entire pot of coffee. And when Gina, the “sick” friend Sandra had agreed to cover for tonight—she glanced at the car’s clock—make that last night, had made up with her boyfriend, she’d also miraculously recovered from her illness and could perform. Which meant Sandra was able to come early and surprise Jonas.

  Lightning illuminated a clearing ahead. Thank you, God. Must be the place. Two cars were there already: the insatiable Erik’s and that of the very enticing and wonderful Jonas Meyer.

  She didn’t entirely regret ending their sexual relationship—how many years ago now? Eight? Well, okay, sometimes she did regret it. He was hot and she was human. But it had been the right thing to do. She’d started having more than casual feelings for Jonas, had started seeing him as an easy rescue from her financial and personal struggles. The problem with that? Jonas hadn’t given up on true love yet, and as much as he adored her, she knew she was never going to be “the one.”

  Three years after she cut off their contact, they’d bumped into each other and met up shortly afterward for such a nice lunch that they’d decided to stay in touch. He was probably one of her closest friends.

  Ever since Jonas’s nasty breakup with that bitch Missy left him cynical and bruised, Sandra had been wondering if hooking up together permanently could still work out. They enjoyed each other. The sex had been great. They both liked kids. And, oh yes, his lovely money would make her life a hell of a lot easier. She was thirty-four and had just about reached the end of her tolerance for a life lived paycheck to paycheck. Not to mention she had next to nothing saved for retirement.

  They’d joked about ending up together, but she had a feeling neither of them had been totally joking. Maybe this was the weekend to have a serious talk with him if the opportunity presented itself.

  As she brought the car to a stop, the rain let up and visibility improved enough that she could see around her. Nice lake. Cute little cabin on the beach. Farther in, by the edge of the woods, the house. No, that couldn’t be it. Too small. There it was, nearly behind her. A mega-mansion, all lit up as if it was some kind of monument.

  She took a moment to breathe and tamp down the pain inside her. Ancient history, honey. This life didn’t belong to her anymore, hadn’t since she left home and then her marriage. She had no one to blame but herself for losing it all, and no one but herself to rely on if she wanted it back now. Living hand-to-mouth had been a satisfying rebellion in her twenties, but not so much in her thirties. Afterward came the forties and fifties, when her appeal to men her own age would wane. God knew she wasn’t going to get rich performing, and she didn’t have the brains or patience to go back to school. If she wanted financial security, she’d have to start nailing him down now.

  Practical, yes, but a bit sickening. She certainly hadn’t expected to end up in this situation when she’d marched defiantly out of her parents’ lives. Ah, the stupidit
y of pampered youth. Apparently she’d expected that money would just keep showing up, as it always had.

  The rain started coming down harder again. She cut the engine, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and bolted for the mega-mansion’s front door before it decided to pour again. Peering up, she couldn’t see any lights on in the house, not that she expected to. Most people were asleep at this hour. Performers were a different breed.

  Not wanting to wake anyone, she tried the door, even though she was sure it would be locked against the inevitable psycho with a shotgun who favored remote lake areas.

  The door wasn’t locked.

  Sweet Jesus, these Meyers were certifiable.

  Making her way inside the house, she shut the storm out behind her, locking the door as any sensible person would, and found a switch that bathed the entry in warm light. Wow. Look at this chilly museum of a place. She tried to picture Jonas as a kid, probably not allowed to bring sand or candy inside. Feeling as if you weren’t welcome or didn’t belong in your own home sucked. She should know.

  No wonder he leaned toward the conservative side. A place like this would beat the wildness out of anyone. It was a beach house, for heaven’s sake. Even her uptight parents decorated their place in the Hamptons with summery stuff. Nautical print rugs, painted buoys and model ships, seashell upholstery on the furniture, paintings of oceanscapes and sailboats on the walls. No big shock that Jonas wanted to sell. This wasn’t a house you fell in love with. He’d mentioned buying a place on Cape Cod. She could seriously get behind that concept.

  Climbing the stairs, she heard a door open and saw a man stumble out into the hallway. Not Jonas. Erik, then. Drunk? Or sleepy?

  “Hello?” She reached the landing in time to see him turn toward her voice.

  Well. Jonas’s brother was adorable. Not that she was surprised, given his success with women. Kind of a more casual, blonder version of Jonas, carrying a few more pounds that softened him and made him seem more approachable. The kind of guy you’d slap on the back instead of shake hands with.

  “I’m Sandra McKinley.”