Beautiful Secret

  When he smiled at this, one dimple flirted shamelessly with me. “You enjoyed last night, then?” he asked.

  Ah. There it is. “I’m pretty sure we both know I enjoyed last night.” Fighting the heat of my blush, I continued on to the more pressing matter: “But then today, when you were touching me and . . .” I took a sip of my wine, mouth suddenly dry. “I wasn’t sure all day where your head was.”

  “I’m not sure where my head was, either,” he admitted. “My body kept pushing me forward, but I’m still hesitant. Not because I’m not attracted to you. I am—hopefully that much is obvious. But I’m not sure I trust my navigational skills in relationships.”

  “There’s only one way to learn,” I told him, honestly. “I’m not sure I have it any more figured out than you do. Besides, your marriage lasted over a decade. You had to have done some things right.”

  “I’m afraid that even when Portia and I were together, it wasn’t always . . .” He trailed off, clearing his throat before starting over. “With Portia, one has the sense that one does most things wrong.”

  What had she done to him? I imagined straight blond hair pulled tight, pinched features, and a constantly sour expression. A husband who felt he could never do anything right. “Well, her name is Portia, for starters.”

  He gave me a small smile to acknowledge this. “We found a rhythm in day-to-day life, I suppose. It was quiet, but it was predictable.” He took another sip of wine. “But with you, when everything feels so intense and overwhelming . . . when I’m alone afterward, I find myself overthinking it all, and floundering.”

  God, he was so adorably stuffy I could hardly stand it. I’d seen glimpses of how much fun he could be—when he’d caught me in the hallway, taking a selfie in front of Radio City, talking about his niece—he just needed to loosen up a bit. “I think it’s best between us when we both don’t overthink it. When it’s just us hanging out, it’s been really good.”

  “Agreed. Yet . . . with matters of intimacy, I’m less well versed. So—”

  “You mean sex,” I said, trying to put it plainly.

  He shook his head at me, a patiently amused smile curling his mouth. “Not just sex. Intimacy including and beyond that. We didn’t have sex last night, but it was one of the most bare, intimate experiences I’ve had. I’m still digesting that a bit.”

  I held my breath, nodding slowly. So he did understand how different last night was, how much deeper it went than a quick tumble on a hotel bed.

  He scratched his jaw, contemplating his wineglass. “You’ll find,” he began carefully, “that much of this may feel like a retread for you, if you’re used to discussing up front what a relationship will be, or how it will proceed. But for me, this is all unfamiliar. Portia decided we would be together, and then we were. After that, she and I were more likely to discuss the weather than emotion. As far as sex . . . to discuss that was unheard-of. So the mere fact that you and I are sitting here, discussing what we did last night—and yet we haven’t really kissed or even touched . . . it’s a bit of a revelation for me.”

  “A good one?” I asked, not able to hide my hopefulness.

  “A good one,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I enjoy your company. I just want to explore this in the right way.” He paused, meeting my eyes. “We’ve been quite intimate already without really knowing each other.”

  I nodded, swallowing a heavy lump in my throat. The oddest twinge came over me, because I felt like I did know him. But upon reflection, it was true; he didn’t know me yet. “We can take a few steps back. Learn about each other.”

  Shaking his head, he murmured, “That’s just it. I’m not sure I want to move backward, or that I need to. Why do I need to know everything about you before we enjoy each other physically? I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

  I shrugged, feeling my stomach twist as I watched him work through it all. “It is for me. It doesn’t have to be for you.”

  “I want it to be. There is a unique freedom I feel near you.”

  Smiling into my wine, I asked, “Yeah?”

  “You make me feel adventurous and interesting . . . and fun.”

  “Fun?” I repeated, with feigned shock. “Mr. Stella, you must banish the thought.”

  His answering laugh was deep and warm, sending a shiver across the surface of my skin. “You also make me think about things I don’t consider gentle, or chaste or very proper.”

  “Like what?”

  He blinked up, met my eyes. “I believe I’d prefer to show you. I just have to give myself permission, if you’d agree.”

  It didn’t seem possible that my chest could grow any tighter but it did. I barely managed a hoarse “Okay.”

  His eyes were so earnest, so expressive when he asked, “Will you continue to be as open with me as you were last night?”

  I nodded, lifting my glass to my lips with a shaking hand. How was this happening—

  How?

  “In that case,” he said, seeming to tamp down some renewed nervousness, “I know it may be hard to explain such preferences, which is to say, it is difficult to vocalize things that are more a matter of physical reaction . . .” He babbled helplessly, finally looking up at me. “But it helps to know.”

  He’d completely lost me. “To ‘know’? To know what?”

  Niall swallowed, blinked to his left to confirm the couple beside us weren’t listening in. “To know what feels good,” he said, hesitating. “To be frank, I’m not sure she ever . . .”

  “Came?” I guessed.

  “Ah, no . . . she always came,” he said, rubbing his jaw with his index finger. “But I’m not sure she ever wanted sex. Wanted me.”

  It felt like an elevator car dropped through my stomach, and I needed a moment—and a little wine—to clear any heartbreak from my voice before I could answer him. “Well, then she really is a beast. Like I said earlier, have you looked in a mirror lately?”

  He laughed and then seemed to instantly regret it. I felt terrible. “Ruby, I don’t want to malign her. You must understand that she’s the only woman I’ve been with. What I’m trying to say is that we didn’t explore very much. There’s a lot of mileage between getting somewhere and enjoying the journey.” He looked up and grinned, eyes dancing. “Last night—and your uninhibited show—was a completely new experience for me.”

  I paused, looking out over the water while I considered how to respond. No wonder he had such a wall up. She’d built a fortress around their sex life a decade ago.

  “Do you still love her?” I asked.

  “No. Heavens no. But without a doubt our relationship shaped me. I was made very aware of the fact that she had sex with me, for me. Never for her.”

  I raised my glass. “Well, I’m fine having it be all about my pleasure, if that helps,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “How very generous of you,” he said with my favorite, dimpled smile. “That’s just it, though. What do women really like? Pornography is rather unhelpful in this way.”

  “Not always,” I corrected. “We do like big dicks and dirty talk.”

  It was a testament to his newfound comfort with me that he barely flinched.

  “But oral sex, for example . . .” he began and then left the rest unsaid, simply raising his eyebrows.

  “Most women, you’ll find, tend to be a fan of the oral sex.”

  He was straightening his silverware, and looked up at me from across the table. “Receiving?”

  “Is that a serious question?”

  “It is, unfortunately.” He grinned at me, and in that moment—just a heartbeat—he looked so young and playful. “And giving?”

  I bit my lip, imagining how good it would feel to drag my tongue around the tip of his cock, hear his quiet groan. “Oh, yes.”

  He took a moment to look around the room, just long enough to make sure we weren’t at risk of being overheard by the other diners. “Do women like to swallow?”

  This conversation had leapt off
the cliff and was sailing through the air. I could barely hold on. “I’m going to make a completely unscientific guess and say it’s seventy-thirty, in favor of not swallowing.”

  His eyes lit up with a teasing smile. “And which category do you fall into? The seventy or the thirty?”

  “With you?” I said in a whisper, leaning in, “I will.”

  Niall inhaled, his head jerking back slightly. The room seemed to shrink until I felt like it was just the two of us at this table, looking at each other. “I want it, too,” he admitted.

  The image, the idea seemed to take up the tiny remainder of empty space between us until it was this alive, pulsing thing.

  “Say something filthy,” I whispered, feeling brave. Feeling wild. “Tell me the craziest, dirtiest thing you can think of. Render me speechless.”

  He nodded as if I’d given him a normal request, and glanced at his clasped hands on the table for several breaths before blinking up to me. His brown eyes were so thickly lined with lashes and once again he looked just like a man, and less like the intimidating conquest I’d idolized for months.

  I wanted him even more.

  He leaned closer, saying, “I very much enjoy—”

  “Dirtier,” I cut in, breath catching. “Stop thinking so much.”

  His eyes seemed to darken as he looked down at my mouth. “I want it.”

  “Want what? Don’t filter.”

  “For you to suck my cock, and suck it so hungrily that you beg me with your eyes to let you swallow.”

  Oh.

  Niall Stella was a fast learner.

  The waitress came by with our food, setting it down before asking us if there was anything else we needed. I wanted to ask her for a bucket of ice. For my lap.

  I bit back a laugh, but Niall replied with a smile, “We’re good. Cheers.”

  “Wow. Well played,” I mumbled when we were alone again, still dazed. “I’m not sure how I’ll eat now.”

  The noise around us seemed to return in a roar, reminding me that we weren’t alone in a hotel room. We were leaning toward each other, nearly kissing across the table.

  “What are we doing to each other?” he whispered.

  I shrugged. “We’re . . . trying?”

  He lifted his knife and fork, cutting into his steak. “I’m actually famished now.”

  “Postcoital?” I joked.

  “Not hardly,” he growled, taking a bite.

  He looked up at me as he chewed. I watched his sharp jaw flex with the motion, his lips press together. How did he make eating sexy? Not even a little fair.

  Swallowing, he asked, “What?”

  “Nothing. You’re just a sexy eater. It’s distracting after what you just said about oral sex.”

  He pushed his lips together in an adorably dubious reaction before asking, “Normal topic then?”

  “Good idea.” Finally, I took a bite of my salmon.

  “Favorite word?” he asked.

  “Cunt,” I said without hesitation.

  He gasped in mock horror. “You stole mine.”

  I nearly choked. “I can’t even imagine you thinking that word, let alone saying it.”

  Laughing, he shook his head as he cut another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I imagine there are a great many things I think but never say. I love that word. It’s true I rarely say it aloud.”

  “What’s your favorite context for it?”

  Humming in thought, he finally said, “I like it as an insult in a game of footie, you know? Like, ‘Stop grabbing me shirt, yer cunt.’ ” He bent, taking a bite of green bean and oblivious to my wide-eyed swoon at his thick northern accent when he said it. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then said, “What’s your favorite context for it?”

  I gulped down about half of my wine. “Probably something a bit cruder than that.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, grinning in understanding. “I thought Americans hated that word.”

  “I don’t.”

  Niall lifted his wineglass to his lips, and took a long swallow. “I’ll remember that.”

  EIGHT

  Niall

  The playful banter slipped into something a bit quieter after we’d finished our meals. Conversation flowed as easily as did the wine. Ruby had youthful attitudes about sex, but surprisingly traditional attitudes about relationships themselves. She admitted, between dinner and dessert, that despite all the flirting, she didn’t like the idea of sex without some sort of understanding.

  I studied Ruby—soft mouth, wide eyes, hands gesturing sweetly in front of her to punctuate every thought she shared—and marveled over how effortless it seemed for her. She was patient with my inexperience and hesitations. Indeed, they didn’t even seem to surprise her.

  Our dinners finished, our drinks consumed, Ruby picked up her clutch and stood from the table. I watched her hands wrap around the leather, watched her neck stretch as she reached up and untangled her necklace from where it caught on the neckline of her dress. I watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and then turn to look up at me.

  She caught me staring; I was mesmerized with every movement she made.

  “That was delicious,” she said, giving me a cheeky grin.

  Dear God in heaven.

  “Every bite,” I agreed, helping her with her coat.

  “Do you bite?” she asked, making her way through the restaurant and out onto the street.

  The air was bracing between blasts of steam from vents, and a cacophony of noises rose from the street.

  “I imagine I might,” I began, and we turned onto Greenwich. “Depending on the circumstances.”

  My skin hummed, my fingers twitched at my sides until, finally, I gathered the nerve to place my palm at the small of her back. Beneath my touch, she straightened and then shivered, before reaching behind her and taking my hand.

  Her long, thin fingers weaved between mine and she pulled me into step with her. “Are you worried about work?” she asked quietly.

  “About work . . . ?” I asked, confused.

  “About this, and work.”

  I felt my brow lift in understanding. “Ah. Well, no, not at the moment.” I raised a hand and hailed a taxi, holding the door for her. “I think we’ll need to be clear on what we’re doing, and then make sure that it doesn’t interfere with our ability to do our jobs but”—I followed her into the car, noticing her amused smile as I babbled—“I don’t think what we’re doing is forbidden according to company policy.”

  “It isn’t,” she said, leaning into my side and looking up at me. “I checked forever ago.”

  “ ‘Forever ago’?”

  She pulled her lip between her teeth and bit down as she smiled. “Maybe four months ago?”

  We drove in silence for a few blocks. “Four months ago I didn’t . . .”

  “Know I existed,” she finished for me, “I know. I think I was hoping to talk myself out of liking you,” she said, laughing. “Maybe I’d see it was forbidden and, well, that would be that.”

  “Or maybe you’d want it more,” I said, and ran my thumb along the side of her jaw.

  “Maybe,” she asked, turning into my palm. “When did you notice me?”

  “The day Tony told me you’d be accompanying me in his place was the first day I really noticed you—”

  She touched her finger to my chin, drawing my eyes back to her face. “You’re getting nervous needlessly here. I know you were oblivious to me before. It doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

  I swallowed, studying her sweet, pink mouth, her calm, green eyes. “I wasn’t oblivious to you but, ah . . .” I struggled to hold her gaze. “You see, and this stays strictly between us . . . Tony may have suggested I use this trip to get a leg over.”

  “ ‘Get a leg over’?” she repeated, shaking her head. I stared at her and smiled wanly as realization struck and she burst out laughing. “He is such a pig.”

  Her reaction calmed me immediately, until a thought occurred to me. ?
??He’s never touched you, I hope.”

  Tilting her head, she said, “No, he’s just a creep. The way he looks at me and Pippa sometimes . . .” She shook her head, shivering.

  I grimaced, not wanting to confirm that much of the time I felt the same way about how he looked at women in the office. On more than one occasion I’d been inclined to carefully request that HR keep an eye on him.

  “But I do love that phrase,” she said, blinking away. “ ‘Get a leg over.’ It’s hot in a crude sort of way. I like the idea of your long legs over mine, pinning me down.”

  I closed my eyes, steadying myself with a deep breath. “I assure you his suggestion carried little weight with me. But I’m a man, after all. And even if he hadn’t said that, just knowing we would be traveling together would have sent me into a spin.” She laughed, and I registered again how well she seemed to know me, how much she had picked up simply by observing. “I ran into you in the lift and—”

  “And I was a maniac.”

  “Yes, you were. A menace, really,” I teased. “But I wanted to get out only because I felt somewhat disoriented being that close to you.”

  “My derpy awkwardness overpowered you?”

  “Without a doubt,” I murmured, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re joking, but I’m not. Something about you . . .”

  She closed her eyes and I let my fingers linger at her neck, drawing them down to her collarbone. Beneath my fingertips, her skin was cool from being outside, and so smooth. I could scarcely imagine how intense it would be to kiss her, let alone make love to her. I would likely tear her clothes, as she suggested only last night. I would most definitely bite.

  “But I’d noticed you before. In meetings, we’d a shared look once or twice . . .”

  Ruby opened her eyes again and her expression grew dubious, as if I’d begun to toy with her. “It’s okay if you didn’t notice me. It’s also okay if this is just an experiment in seeing someone other than Portia. I promise I have my big-girl pants on.”

  “It’s not . . .” I started, but then stopped when the cab pulled up at the curb.