Beautiful Secret

  “Of course.” I propped myself up on two pillows, and a thought occurred to me. “Last night—?”

  But what had I meant to say? Last night was amazing? Confusing? Terrifying?

  Pretty much all of those.

  “Was it enough for you?” he asked, and I knew he wasn’t looking for false praise or ego boosting, he was simply wondering.

  “More than enough. I don’t think people appreciate the awesomeness of a good fingerbang.”

  He laughed, shaking his head as he focused on his hands knotting his tie. “The things you say.”

  “I’m serious. When we’re young, each step is a milestone. First kiss, first base, second,” I said, ignoring the way he watched me. I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “If I could go back and tell Teenage Ruby anything . . . well, first I would say to wear more sunscreen, but the second most important thing would be to slow down and enjoy all those firsts. Enjoy the anticipation. Once you have sex, all the good stuff becomes a means to an end. Nobody wants to just make out anymore.”

  Niall looked up and smiled at me from across the room. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being patient with me, with all of this. I know I come across as . . . uptight at times. But I assure you . . . I’ve grown quite fond of you, Ruby.”

  I bit my lip through a smile. “I’m quite fond of you, as well, Niall Stella.”

  He walked over to the bed and bent, kissing my forehead. “See you in a bit, darling.”

  I took my time getting ready back in my room—slim black dress, smooth, straight hair, and my favorite special-occasion lipstick—and grabbed a quick breakfast at Norma’s before heading to the office. I needed an extra layer of confidence today and this outfit always did the trick. Manhattan was chilly, and I tugged at my coat—red, to match the lipstick—bundling it a bit higher against my throat.

  I’d decided to walk this morning, opting for a different route than I’d used before, having googled a landmark I knew my mom would love to see in a photo. I remembered an old copy of Love Story on her bedside table, while growing up, and that the cover was inspired by a version of the sculpture located on Sixth Avenue.

  It was easy to find. Groups of tourists crowded around it, re-creating iconic poses while they took each other’s photo. It was simple: red capital letters with blue accents, the L and O set on top of the V and E, and I pulled out my phone, hoping to snap a quick photo to send to her.

  “Well, hello there, Miss Miller,” I heard, in an accent so familiar it sent goose bumps up and down my arms.

  “Max!” I said, and dear God the men in this family were gorgeous. It was obvious Max and Niall were brothers, even if Max’s hair was a bit lighter and he had more green than brown in his eyes. They had the same straight nose, the same sharp jaw, and the same dimpled grin; Max’s just made far more appearances. And wow, were they both tall.

  I hoped he’d assume the blush that warmed my cheeks was because he’d just caught me taking a photo of myself on the streets of New York, and not because I’d just realized how insanely gifted his family’s gene pool was. Then I noticed Will—sweet Jesus, Will looked like sin in a suit—standing just behind him on the phone where he offered me a small wave.

  “Where’s baby brother this morning?” Max asked.

  “Something last minute came up. I’m meeting him at the office later.”

  Max winked and tugged a leather glove on over his left hand. A thick wedding band gleamed in the morning light. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into joining us for coffee, then?” he asked.

  Will finished his call and stepped up beside him, smiling and nodding in agreement. I had no idea how the women in their lives got anything done.

  I’d already had a cup but how could I pass this up? “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  “Excellent. William?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” he said, offering his arm to me.

  I took it in sort of a daze, even more so when Max took my other arm. What in the world had I just agreed to?

  At a small café just up the block, I followed them both to a table near the back of the room, crowded with tourists and businesspeople grabbing breakfast before work. Our drinks were brought out almost immediately, and I couldn’t help wonder what Niall would think of my having coffee with his brother.

  “I saw a picture of Annabel,” I said. “She’s absolutely stunning. Congratulations.”

  Max, who had been unwinding a scarf from his neck, beamed at me. “Niall showed you my little miss?”

  I nodded. “She looks so much like you.”

  Will frowned as he tore open a sugar packet. “No way, not this guy,” he said. “Sara’s a knockout and that little girl is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s going to have her uncle Will standing at the door with a shotgun, ready to blow the balls off any boy who even looks at her wrong.”

  “Ta, William. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Her mother, Sara, is stunning. If my little Beloved is even half as vivacious and charming . . . I am well and royally fucked.”

  “Oh, you are,” Will said, holding up his drink.

  “Do you have any children?” I asked Will.

  Max snorted into his water glass.

  “Uh, no,” Will said, his smile softening. “None for us, yet.”

  “Not for a lack of practice though, mate,” Max said.

  “This is true,” Will said, looking appropriately thrilled.

  Pouring cream into his coffee, Max turned his smile on me. From what I could tell, Max was always smiling—especially when he was teasing someone—and he had a rare kind of charm that made me want to spill all of my secrets, talk about everything . . . because something told me he was dying to hear.

  “So, how’s Niall treating you?” he asked.

  “Great,” I said, stirring my drink. I kept my eyes on my cup, watching foam disappear into caramel-colored liquid, hoping I could pull off casual and completely unaffected. I had nothing to say. Nope, no dirt to spill here. “He’s great—I mean, it’s great—he’s treating me great.”

  Nailed it, Ruby.

  “Is he, now?” Max drawled.

  “Stop that,” Will said, pointing his coffee stirrer at Max. “Don’t think I don’t see that face. You’re worse than my mother; leave the poor girl alone.”

  Max’s eyebrows lifted with exaggerated innocence. “Your mother’s a lovely woman. I find that comparison rather complimentary.”

  “Ignore him,” Will said to me. “He’s a busybody who loves nothing more than knowing what’s going on with every person he meets so he can give them shit about it. Don’t tell him a thing. Make him suffer.”

  Max reached out to stop a waitress who was passing our table. “Sorry, love. Think you could bring this one ’round a bowl of bran?” he said, motioning to Will. “He’s a wee bit irritable this morning and a bit of fiber might help to sort him out.”

  The waitress looked between them and nodded awkwardly, before walking away. For his part, Will just chuckled into his cup.

  I was beginning to see that this was just their thing, and exactly what Niall had meant when he’d said his brother was a character. I could stay here all day and watch it.

  “Would you like me to leave you two alone?” I asked finally. “I could let you have my hotel room for the day?”

  They both turned to me; Max was already laughing.

  “This one’s got your number,” he said to Will. “Quite like to keep her ’round.”

  “You sure your guy’s ready for her?” Will said, lifting his chin to me. “She’s got some fire and Niall—”

  “Aw, he’s all right, in’t he?” Max cut in, sounding sweetly protective. “Just needs to clean his system of the other one. Bloody nag, she was. Niall likes adventure as much as the next bloke.”

  I nodded in emphatic agreement.

  “I think you’re right,” Will said.
“What was it you said about repressed sexual energy?”

  “Enough to power the whole bloody city, if you ask me,” Max said. “That’s where his real urban planning skill would come in—hooking himself up to the grid . . .”

  Will laughed into his mug. “Well, it worked for Chloe and Bennett. A little boss, a ball-busting intern—”

  “Niall is not my boss,” I said, with perhaps a bit too much conviction. It was like someone gathered up all of the awkward in the room, wrapped it up in a bow, and dropped it right in the middle of our table.

  Thankfully, they were each polite enough not to acknowledge it. Instead they took sips of their coffee, straightened their silverware, and checked the time. Subtlety was not their strong suit.

  “Okay,” I said with a sigh, unable to take their dramatic silence any longer. “I like him. A lot.”

  Max’s enormous grin was back and God, just like his brother, so damn endearing.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Will said. “This limey’ll never butt out. Might as well invite him to move in. Plan all your dates, your wedding. Name your children—”

  “Just be patient with him,” Max said, ignoring Will. “He’s a tough egg to crack.”

  “I’m discovering this,” I said. “He is not skilled in the art of the overshare.”

  Max laughed and lifted his cup in reply. “He may not say much, but I can assure you that for every one thought Niall verbalizes, there are at least six running through his head. Been like that his whole life.”

  “Great.” I dipped my head, staring at what was left of the foam floating at the surface of my latte.

  Across from me, Max set down his coffee. “Allow me to be protective big brother for a moment though, yeah?”

  I looked up and his expression softened when I murmured, “Of course.”

  Even Will, who seemed to realize the serious turn the conversation was taking, leaned forward to listen.

  “My brother is loyal to a fault, always has been. Whether to us, or his job, or a woman. I’m not sure how much you know about his divorce . . .” he said, letting the implied question—what has he told you?—hang in the air.

  “We’ve talked about it,” I answered, wanting to be honest but not wanting to betray Niall’s fragile trust. “A little. I get the sense she was . . .”

  How to finish that sentence?

  “Maybe a little difficult?” I said delicately.

  “Well put,” Max said with a knowing wink. “I think his loyalty is why he stayed for so long. And why, I think in many ways, he feels like he failed . . . or should have done something different, left sooner. She wouldn’t have been happy no matter what, but that’s a tough truth to accept. He’s had a rough go of it this year.”

  “I sense that.”

  “Give him time. Might have to chip away at the outside, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

  Niall was at his desk when I walked in, and I closed the door behind me. His pen stopped moving midsentence, and he set it down, slipping off his glasses to look at me. His eyes moved from the tips of my patent leather pumps to the top of my hair. Heat curled in my stomach and slithered lower.

  “Where have you been?” he asked. Not accusing, not upset. Just wanting to know.

  “I had coffee with Max and Will.” When his eyebrows rose, I added, “They found me taking selfies in Midtown.”

  “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

  “They’re . . . nice.” Tucking my hair behind my ear, I added quietly, “We talked about you. He’s quite a fan, that big brother of yours.”

  Niall’s smile curled one side of his mouth and he pushed back from his desk and stood, walking around to face me. I expected him to ask what we’d said, but he didn’t. He simply let his attention move over my face. I’m sure it was obvious that we’d talked about my feelings, about Niall and me together; I could feel how warm my cheeks were.

  “How was your meeting earlier?” I asked, out of breath. I’d taken the elevator; it wasn’t from exertion. It was the nearness of him, the way he was looking at me as if he was reeling through every touch from last night. This morning he’d been so brusque, and with the intensity of his stare now, I was able to acknowledge without triggering an internal panic that Niall had seemed to be freaking out—as if fleeing the scene of a crime.

  But had I misread him entirely?

  Had he simply wanted it to feel familiar? Or had he needed to know that I was okay, that this was okay?

  “It was good,” he said. “We’re very nearly done with our proposal.” His eyes barely strayed from my mouth.

  “That’s good,” I agreed.

  “Quite.”

  I bit my lip, pulling in a nervous smile before saying, “You seem a bit distracted.”

  Niall nodded, reaching up to carefully touch my bottom lip. “I’ve never seen you wear this color.”

  “Is it too red?” I asked.

  He blinked, shaking his head in two tiny movements. “No. Not too red.”

  Was this how I chipped away at the outside? By reminding him again and again that I wasn’t Portia, that I wanted him, and that it was okay to want me, too?

  My heart hammering, I turned to the door and locked it as quietly as possible before turning back to him. Pulling my purse up, I dug inside it for my lipstick. I still had no real idea what I was doing, only that he was transfixed by the color of my mouth and I felt physically unwilling to redirect his attention.

  While he watched, rapt, I uncapped it, rolled it up, and reapplied it.

  “You can’t be real,” he whispered.

  My pulse pounded so powerfully beneath my breastbone that I still couldn’t catch my breath. I set the lipstick behind him on the desk and then reached up, undoing his tie, releasing the top two buttons of his shirt. He stood completely still as I bent, pressing my mouth to the warm skin just over his heart.

  I lifted my head to look up at him, catching his expression of wonder.

  “Again,” he rasped.

  I leaned forward, kissing lower, releasing another button, and then another. I kissed over his rib, bending to kiss again where chest turned into stomach.

  He remained silent, breaths coming out in sharp exhales that jerked his abdomen beneath my mouth.

  I looked over the red marks along his chest and stomach, starting to relish the idea of Niall walking around the rest of the day wearing me beneath his clothes. But I didn’t want to be done with this, and he didn’t seem to want it, either.

  “I can keep going,” I told him.

  He wants my kiss there. I can see it in his eyes.

  My fingers toyed with his belt, eyes studying his expression. If it tightened, if I saw even an inch of retreat there, I would back off.

  Instead, I saw relief, acquiescence, something just shy of desperation.

  His belt came free with a tiny clang of metal on metal. His zipper ticked down in the silent room. And then I waited, my fingers holding the open fabric of his dress pants. The straining tip of his cock pressed up against the elastic waistband of his boxers. The quiet was sliced apart every time he exhaled in a gust.

  I saw his eyes flicker to the door and then return to my face.

  I shook my head. “I can st—”

  His “no” was sharply hissed.

  With a little nod, I kissed the soft trail of hair on his abdomen, licked it.

  “Dear God,” he gasped.

  I slid my hand into his boxers, nearly undone by the dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, let his head fall back. I was struck all over again by the weight of him, the heavy length I pulled free as I kneeled in front of him.

  “I probably need more lipstick,” I whispered.

  With effort, he raised his head, looking down at me, and then blinked into awareness. “Of course.” His fingers fumbled behind him on the desk, knocking pens and papers to the floor before finding the silver tube.

  The cap came free with a tiny pop and Niall blinked away, to his own hands shaking in f
ront of him as he twisted the lipstick to reveal the brilliant red.

  With one hand cupping my chin, he reached down and pressed the lipstick to my bottom lip, carefully sliding it from middle to left, middle to right, before even more gently repeating the action on my top lip. “Ruby.”

  I smiled, holding his gaze as I bent to kiss the underside of his shaft, just in the middle.

  Niall’s grunt was rough, hands grappling behind him to grip the desk. “Christ.”

  “Okay?”

  He nodded.

  I kissed lower, leaving perfect red prints down to the base.

  I studied him in a way I hadn’t bothered to last night, looking at how he strained forward, filling my hands. “You’re so perfect I’m not sure what to do with you.”

  Tell me, I meant. Direct me.

  “L-lick,” he rasped. He understood. “Please, darling.”

  I smiled, darting my tongue out and sweeping it along his shaft. Niall groaned, low and broken.

  “There?” I asked.

  “No. No, please.”

  I smiled into another kiss in the middle of his cock. “Where?”

  His eyes closed for a second as he swallowed, and then said, “The head.” His eyes met mine again. “Lick the head.”

  I felt nearly liquid, chest thrumming with need, desire a wild pulse between my legs. When I slid my tongue over the wide crown of him, I tasted sweet and salt, earth and man, and felt more than heard his relieved moan vibrate through him.

  Long fingers ran over my jaw and into my hair, turned into a fist when I opened my mouth and took the entire tip inside, sucking down a few inches and back, surrendering the game in favor of giving him what I suspected was his first blow job in years.

  And what a tragedy. He was thick, intimidatingly long, but where his cock felt nearly savage in its size and need, his hands were gentle in my hair, shaking as he sweetly encouraged me.

  Down and up, sucking, wet. I didn’t care about the sounds I made or the way I lost my breath when I took him deep, coming back with watery eyes and a gasping, wet mouth. He stared at me as if I was a glowing star in the middle of this room, and it made me want to give him every drop of pleasure a man could possibly feel.