CHAPTER FOUR
AIDAN WONDERED IF Lola performed on Saturday nights.
Which was a pretty fucked up thing to wonder.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to distract him from thoughts of her as he sat alone in a booth in a shitty pub, waiting for a smug prick. Classic rock and the crack of pool being played in the back corner had nothing on his X-rated memories. He tried to blame his single-mindedness on the fact that he’d broken his sex fast, reminded himself how good it could be and that this...infatuation was just the result of being horny.
Except he wasn’t just looking for a willing partner, because if he had been, any number of the flirtatious glances he’d received when he’d walked in would have enticed him.
He wasn’t thinking about sex.
He was thinking about sex with her.
His abs knotted at the memory, drawing tight beneath his T-shirt. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to newness, to the risk of being caught, but that wasn’t the part that still had him by the balls. There was something deeper, something so...trusting about the way she’d looked at him, taken his hand, followed him.
It was almost as though—
“Christ. Remind me not to let you pick future meeting locations. This place isn’t ‘under the radar.’ It’s ‘waiting to be condemned.’”
Aidan’s head shot up at the verbal attack. Liam Kearney, Cybercore’s CEO, had managed to surprise him. And that wasn’t good. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a hot body and a butterfly tattoo right now. He stood and shook the man’s hand once, quick and hard, and if he’d gripped too tightly, it was only because his adversary had done the same.
Kearney ran an assessing gaze down Aidan’s brown leather jacket and jeans. “So nice of you to dress up for the occasion.”
The two of them slid into the booth across from one another.
“Yeah, I’m the one who looks like a fucking moron here.” Aidan rested an arm along the top of the beat-up pleather bench. Like he was going to take shit from some prick who wore a three-piece suit to a dive bar. He pulled an envelope containing their agreed-upon price out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Kearney. “Funny how your distaste for my clothes never keeps you from taking my money.”
Liam bared his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course I’ll take your money. You think Tom Ford suits come cheap? Besides, one of us should look good.”
Aidan caught the waitress’s eye, and with a tip of his chin she started toward them.
By the time he turned back to Kearney, the envelope was tucked away. Discreet. The prick had style; that was for damn sure. “You want a drink?”
Liam glanced at their surroundings and gave a disdainful shake of his head. “I’ve got a date with a supermodel in a couple of hours, so it’s in my best interest to avoid contracting hantavirus between now and then.”
Their server sidled up to the table. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”
“Scotch. Neat.”
“And for your handsome friend?”
“He’s not my friend. And he’s not staying.”
She sent Kearney a flirty once-over. “Too bad.”
The man placed a hand over his pocket square, which he probably wore to remind himself where his heart would be if he had one. “Sadly, I have a previous engagement.”
“Sucks to be me.” She cocked her hip, bracing the edge of her tray on the curve of her waist. “So, if you’re not friends and this one’s got ‘brooding bad boy’ on lock,” she said, thumbing in Aidan’s direction, “what’s that make you? His flashy, high-paid lawyer?”
Liam reached into his suit jacket and extracted his wallet. “If you’re asking if I think I can get you off, the answer is yes.”
She giggled as he tugged a couple of bills free and held them up between his fingers.
“Why don’t you bring my client here a double in a clean glass? And keep the change.”
She plucked the money from his hand with a wink. “You got it, counselor.”
When she was gone, Liam exchanged his wallet for a shiny silver cell phone, which he slid across the scarred wood of the table.
“This is a prototype version, but we’ve had good success in the first round of testing. You’ll have complete control of the target’s phone—location, microphone, camera, texts, whatever you want. Just open the program and get within a foot of your target’s phone to install it. Once you’re in, download at will. You can remove it remotely.”
Aidan whistled long and low. “You’ve outdone yourself, Kearney.”
“What can I say? As the enemy of my enemy, you’re practically my friend. That’s why I took the liberty of preloading this bad boy with all your stuff. Contacts, photos, apps. It’s all there.”
Son of a bitch.
“Is this where I thank you for hacking my phone?”
Liam’s smile was smug. “This is where you thank me for using my powers for good. I left your passwords the same.”
“Nobody likes a show-off.”
Which was precisely why Aidan was keeping it to himself that during a recent trip to Asia, he’d acquired a knockoff version of The Shield, Cybercore’s upcoming entry into the digital-cryptocurrency ring. At least until he proved both SecurePay and The Shield were based on his father’s code. He doubted Liam Kearney would be quite so arrogant when Aidan shut down both products with one fell swoop. But for now, Kearney was still useful to him.
As if on cue, the waitress sent a flirty little finger wave in their direction while she waited for the bartender to pour Aidan’s scotch. Kearney returned it. “Funny. That hasn’t been my experience.”
Aidan squelched the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Liam nodded but made no move to leave. “I don’t suppose I need to make clear to you that this tech is not intended for tracking private citizens without their knowledge. Cybercore cannot condone such usage. And if said activity is discovered by law-enforcement agencies, the company will disavow any knowledge of top-secret tech under development for government use being employed in such a manner. We will then prosecute any perpetrator thereof for the theft and misuse of our intellectual property to the fullest extent of the law.”
Aidan pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? gesture. “Don’t see any reason that you’d need to.”
“I didn’t think so.” Liam got to his feet. “Pleasure doing business with you, Aidan. We appreciate you choosing Cybercore for all your tech-related needs.”
Aidan waited until Kearney had left the bar before he hit the button on the side of the phone and watched the starting graphics flash across the high-res screen.
Although he didn’t know precisely what had Cybercore and Whitfield Industries at loggerheads—the feud seemed deeper and more personal than your typical business rivalry—using Max Whitfield’s biggest competitor for this scheme was a surprisingly satisfying fuck you to the man he’d once considered his closest friend. The man he’d trusted. The man who’d let him down.
Once again, Aidan was pulled out of a recollection, this time by the thunk of a glass on the table in front of him. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention.
“So how about you, hot stuff?”
He ran a hand over his close-cropped beard as he shifted his attention to the waitress.
She smiled invitingly. “You got plans?”
Aidan lifted his drink in response. “Just a quiet night with my date here.”
She shot him a practiced pout. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”
Aidan took a swallow of subpar scotch and watched her walk away.
He’d known something was off with his dad. John Beckett loved technology—tinkering, solving problems, cracking code. A high-paying tech job with Whitfield Industries should have bee
n a dream come true for his father, but instead, with each passing year, John had seemed less excited to go to work. Their phone calls and visits had become punctuated with disillusionment, references to how John felt trapped. Words like coercion and blackmail started to pepper rants about how his genius wasn’t appreciated, and in the next moment, John was stoic, resigned, saying it was no more than he deserved.
At first, the episodes were few and far between. By the end, his father had grown moodier, more taciturn. Like he’d been after Aidan’s mother had died...right before he’d started drinking heavily.
Aidan had known it was getting worse, but instead of flying home from his latest adventure and taking care of things himself, he’d called Max. The one person in the world he’d trusted. The guy who’d always had his back. He’d told his friend all his suspicions, that Charles Whitfield had blackmailed his father somehow, that something was wrong.
Max had assured him he’d take care of things.
Two weeks later, Charles had taken early retirement, Max was the new CEO of Whitfield Industries, and John Beckett was dead.
Aidan had been in Spain when he got the news.
Single car accident. Driving under the influence. Dead on impact.
He hadn’t even known his father was back on the bottle.
He should have known. Should have cut his time in Pamplona short. A good son would have.
Regaining control of his father’s code and keeping it out of the hands of the family who’d ruined John’s life was the least he could do. Too little too late, maybe, but an apology to his father all the same.
Aidan finished his drink in two long swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was time to get to the bottom of what had happened to his father.
He set down the glass and picked up the phone, tucking it away in his pocket as he got to his feet.
CHAPTER FIVE
KAYLEE TAPPED THE toe of her Louboutin on the tiled floor. Her usual coffee shop was under renovation this week—a fact she’d forgotten until she’d seen the sign on the door directing her to this location and thanking her for her understanding.
Judging by the length of this line, she wasn’t the only displaced coffee patron looking for a fix. She pulled her phone from her purse to check the time. She had about twelve more minutes to spare before she needed to be in her car and on the road. Otherwise she’d be late for work. Max might be an ocean away, but knowing him, he’d tasked his executive assistant, Sherri, with sending him daily reports about the office. Kaylee considered it a matter of pride not to give her exacting older brother anything to call her out for when he got back. The world didn’t stop turning because he was gone, and Whitfield Industries wouldn’t stop, either. She might have quit before he left, but it was her name on the building, too.
The memory stung. She’d let her emotions get the better of her that day. Last week, out of the blue, Max had announced a security breach, scrapped Whitfield’s project, turned their father in to the Feds, and then told her he was flying to Dubrovnik, leaving Kaylee to pick up all the pieces as PR director, daughter, and interim CEO. Something inside her had snapped, shocked that he would just dump all of that on her with no warning, and she’d given him her two weeks’ notice in a fit of pride. Truthfully, she was hurt that Max didn’t respect her enough to keep her apprised of the life-altering decisions he’d made.
But now that things were somewhat under control again, she was regretting her resignation. The six days since Max had taken off had reminded her exactly what she loved about PR—the challenge and the rush of making people think and do what she wanted them to. It was something she’d never really pulled off in her personal life, but she excelled at it in her professional life. Despite everything, she was damn good at her job, and that was because deep down, family drama aside, she loved it.
As if she’d conjured him, the phone in her hand buzzed, flashing Max’s photo and number across her screen. With a frown, she declined his call. Again. She was too busy and too pissed off to talk to him yet.
But underneath the skin-deep layer of mad, there was concern she just couldn’t quite purge. It was there in her bones. No matter how much her family infuriated her, she couldn’t help but care about them. And the entire situation was just so unlike Max.
No. No emotions.
Being good at PR meant being calm and collected, and if there was one thing that Kaylee excelled at, it was swallowing her feelings. She supposed she could thank her mother’s lifelong obsession with perfection for that.
“A lady remains poised and calm no matter the situation at hand.”
Besides, screw him, she decided with a certain measure of detached equanimity. She was an adult with a caffeine addiction, and she’d get to work when she got to work, whether he had his assistant tattling on her or not. Max didn’t deserve this loyal streak she couldn’t quite banish. He hadn’t thought twice about walking out on her in the middle of the biggest PR crisis to hit the company since she’d started working there.
She glanced at her phone again. Seven minutes until she should hit the road.
But caffeine wasn’t optional today. She hadn’t slept well all weekend, haunted by hot, furtive dreams of Aidan’s hands on her, of him thrusting deep and driving her out of her mind.
God. She hadn’t known sex could be like that. She wasn’t sure if it was the naughtiness of semipublic sex, the danger of being caught, or Aidan himself. Maybe it was the magical combination of all three.
The memories brought a secret smile to her lips, even in the midst of the busy coffee shop. Made her square her shoulders. Made her stomach muscles clench with a shot of hot lust. Sex was good for the soul. And good sex, well, that was even better. She seemed to be oozing sensual satisfaction. She’d been hit on three times in the last two days.
“Well, well, well...”
Make that four times in three days, she thought at the sound of the deep voice close behind her. She prepared to deal firmly and disinterestedly with the ever-classy What do we have here? and its accompanying leer, but when she turned, her mind short-circuited and her mouth refused to open.
Which was okay because the man behind her didn’t even say, What do we have here?
Nope. He said, “If it isn’t little Kaylee Jayne Whitfield all grown up,” and she had no firm-but-disinterested answer to that, especially not when he was smiling that rebel smile at her—at her—the sexy one that flipped up the right side of his sinful mouth.
“Aidan!” She took an awkward step back on her high heel, bobbled on the slick tile. And he reached out to steady her, like he had Friday night when they’d bumped into each other, but not before her phone crashed to the floor.
The sickening clatter left no doubt that it hadn’t survived its run-in with the tiles, but she could barely bring herself to care—not when Aidan had his hands on her again. God he was beautiful.
Get it together, Kaylee.
She pulled free, crouching to retrieve her phone at the same time he did. He beat her to it by virtue of his longer arms.
His handsome face grew serious—almost annoyed—as he picked up the phone and looked at it.
“Bad news,” he told her, turning it so she could see the shattered screen. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Ouch.” She did her best to smile as he handed her the useless phone, but his fingers brushed hers, and her skin tingled to life. Which was really inconvenient. She didn’t need all her nerve endings sparking up an electrical storm right now. She needed to focus on acting like a grown-ass woman instead of a gangly teenager with braces and heart eyes for her older brother’s adventurous best friend.
She stood quickly, needing space and cursing the cruel irony that would see all of her mysterious sex-goddess vibes destroyed by the man who’d gifted her with them in the first place. She dipped her head, let her hair shield her face, felt herself getting smal
ler, trying to escape notice. She couldn’t have him ruining her incredible secret night by recognizing her as the woman from the supply closet. She wished she had the darkness of the club at her disposal now. Or at the very least, the magic, confidence-giving power of her sparkly pasties.
Then he stood, still close enough that she could smell him—man and fresh air and leather and motorbike, all warmed by his bronzed skin.
“Stand up straight, KJ,” he teased, his voice soft and low as he quoted her mother, tacking on the nickname that only he had ever called her. It reminded her of their past, when he’d sometimes felt like her only ally. A tiny smile curved her lips despite herself as she lifted her face to make eye contact.
But the chaste sweetness of the moment morphed into heat as she looked up at him.
He might not recognize her from the club, but her body recognized every inch of his big frame. Her nipples beaded instantly, and she was glad she was wearing a padded bra beneath her ivory blouse.
Her childish crush on him had been based on nothing but his kindness and her journey into puberty. But what was happening now was built on torrid, sexy memories that raced along her skin. Her belly pulsed back and forth like the shoulder blades of a jungle cat preparing to pounce. And she wanted to pounce. Her whole body purred at the idea of being in his arms again.
Could he feel the sizzle that had taken up residence beneath her skin, or was the heat only flowing one way?
He leaned close so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, and her heart stuttered an SOS, even as her chin notched up involuntarily to bring their lips into alignment. “Line’s moving.”
She released the exhalation stuck in her chest in a disappointed sigh as she stepped up to the counter. “I’ll have a vanilla latte, please.”
“Can I get a name for the cup?”
“Kaylee,” she started to say, but before she got to the second syllable, Aidan stepped close behind her, and the dazzled barista stared distractedly over Kaylee’s shoulder.
“You can add a black coffee to that.”
Secret Pleasure Page 3