Secret Pleasure. Taryn Leigh Taylor
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 smaller, 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.”
Aidan handed her a couple of bills before Kaylee managed to retrieve her wallet.
“Oh! You don’t have to pay.” Kaylee dug into her purse. “I can...”
Aidan’s fingertips brushed her wrist to still her hand, and her voice trailed off. Her pulse fluttered madly beneath her skin. “Your money’s no good here, right...” He spared a glance at the smitten barista’s name tag before adding, “Tanis?”
The girl nodded dreamily. Kaylee was pretty sure Aidan could have said, This is a stickup—empty the till into this bag or I’ll kill everyone in here, and still gotten the same reaction. Seeing it reminded her that she wasn’t a teenager anymore and went a long way toward making her feel more like herself. She tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”
“Least I can do. It’s been a while.”
Two frustratingly horny days, her body reminded her. “Um, almost ten years, I guess?”
It wasn’t a guess. She knew. Aside from Lola Mariposa, in the storage room, with Aidan’s candlestick, she’d been seventeen the last time she saw him, freshly graduated and all packed and on her way to study at Oxford. Her crush on him had cooled by that point—no sense in pining over someone who would never see you as anything more than a kid sister—but that hadn’t kept her from reveling in the goodbye they’d shared.
“You got this, KJ,” he’d said in a way that made her believe him. And then Aidan had hugged her. The only hug she’d received. Max hadn’t. Her mom and dad hadn’t. And for a scared seventeen-year-old leaving her home for the first time, that hug had buoyed her courage, as though being wrapped in his arms had transferred some of his strength to her, some of his wanderlust.
It was a moment that had meant the world.
It was nice thinking someone