Twisted Secrets Read online

  If I told them I was here…

  I pictured tears pooling in my mom’s eyes like they sometimes did when she watched the sunrise and thought no one was watching. My throat went dry when I thought about the terrifying quiet fury that stilled my father when he caught the corners of her eyes starting to shimmer. Even Uncle Horse would fist and flex his hands while his Hulk shoulders rolled and he cricked his neck.

  Fuck.

  Calling wasn’t an option. I slammed my beer too fast when it arrived, hoping to wash down the ick that had settled there, then picked at the full pie in front of me. At least it would be good leftovers tomorrow as I quietly drove away from this city and kept my few days here as a secret until the exact right moment.

  Go now. The whispering voice of the wind seemed to nudge me.

  I shook my head and savored a green pepper that had slipped into the deep black cast iron in front of me. Not yet. The voice deep-rooted inside me countered.

  Brye was temptation and a reckless impulse, but there was something pulling me to him. Something I knew I should ignore, but just couldn’t. I wanted to go to that dinner. I needed to know what was pulling on me with only half-hearted consent. I sipped the second beer a little slower, but my vision started to swim all the same. Right and wrong went a little fuzzy.

  I reached into my purse to find my wallet and pulled out some cash. The top bill was the scratched twenty. Fate had made sure it found its way back into my hand at that moment.I’d accepted early on that magic wove in its own way through the Ryan household. Was that what tethered me to Brye? And if so, was it the pure magic of fairy tales or the something darker that always held me just a little more rapt?

  With a deep breath, I threw money on the counter, took my pizza and went back into the Windy City. The warm air wrapped around me as I walked back to my Air B&B then got ready for my date. I tried not to pay attention to the inkling it was a date with destiny.

  He was waiting just inside the restaurant. Or probably was. I was already a few minutes late when I froze outside and opened back up the should I, shouldn’t I debate. I was supposed to be faceless, nameless in Chicago, only here to walk the halls of some of the greatest museums in the country and explore secret and forbidden corners.

  This city was off limits for no other reason besides because I said so. Other parents probably overused that line but mine had always been so honest, so open… They hadn’t said it to be dicks, they’d meant it and when I was honest with myself, Brye was the personification of off limits. I sighed and turned on my heel, ready to steel my resolve and settle the swirling questions in my brain on my own.

  “Going somewhere?” Brye was the suited brick wall directly behind me that I almost crashed into.

  He was wearing a perfectly cut light gray suit that hugged him in all the right places. The crisp white shirt he wore underneath was unbuttoned a few buttons and hinted at the contours of his chest. He sported a new thick cut on his chin, held tight with two thin butterfly Band-Aids. For some reason, the little bit of grit mixed with a fresh streamline suit made him all the more tempting. Bad boy with a better wardrobe. I tried to wet the desert cracking in my throat.

  “I’m sorry I was late, it was an…interesting afternoon.” He thumbed the sore spot on his chin and winced.

  “Oh, uh, it’s fine.” I took a step back from him.

  The same shadows I’d envisioned earlier seeped from his body, reaching for mine like ropes that could bind. The duality I’d recognized inside him had solidified into something as formidable as stone with the company of darkness. There was no gentleness in the man before me. He made my heart hammer and my palms sweat. He was wicked.

  I wanted him even more.

  “Is this a bad idea?” I hadn’t meant to ask out loud.

  “Having dinner with a beautiful woman is rarely a bad idea.” His voice was smoke tendrils unwinding across glass as he stepped toward me.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.” I gulped and stutter-stepped back once more. He simply followed, almost pressing himself to me. “I was never supposed to be here.”

  He looked down on me for a moment and cocked his head as if he was deciding something. The look he gave me was indecipherable and that sent me off-balance. I could usually read people so well. When his face changed again, I knew he’d made a decision, just not what about. The whole world froze while I waited to find out. Whatever hung between us in that moment was significant, I just didn’t know what it was.

  “Secret’s safe with me,” he said just before his hand slid to the small of my back and pulled me in tight. Scorching heat bloomed across my collarbone as my hands flew out to steady myself against the sudden movement. He was all washboard abs and sculpted muscles beneath my braced fingertips and his intoxicating, fresh laundry and cool spice of deodorant wafted around me again. I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. I’d been screwed when he was simply intriguing but if this became more... “Never was a fan of rules myself.” His dark honey voice slid across my skin just as his hand explored the curve on my backside a little too low as he turned me.

  It was so unabashedly forward, I should have driven my knee into his crotch and shoved his body into the street. Instead, I looked up at him, with wide eyes. Wide eyes that were asking what the fuck are you doing and will you do it again. He smirked and arched his eyebrow as he looked down at me, still a good six inches shorter in heels. He knew damn well what he was doing, he was seducing me and he had no intentions of stopping.

  I was in such unending shit.

  “Shall we?” His fingers gently drummed at my back and I felt the goosebumps rise beneath.

  The answer was no. Hell no. I needed to get out while I still had the good sense to do so. But I found myself nodding. My body was operating on its own, drawn to him as it had been since he crackled to life in my periphery. I rolled my eyes at myself as he turned me toward the restaurant.

  Brye reached around me for the door and my skin sang where he grazed my arm. He was close enough that his warm breath danced on the back of my neck. One little tremor shook me head to toe.

  “After you.” He held the door and when I looked back to thank him, he was watching me so intensely, his eyes hooded, that I lost the words completely and could only nod. His answering husky chuckle shot right between my thighs.

  I took a deep breath while he checked in with the hostess, trying to steady myself but then her smile curled up as she gave him the once-over. Something primal and colored green curled in my stomach--another something I’d never known toying with my body. I put my hand over my stomach to try and calm the foreign beast. When he gave her his name, her face fell and she took a small step back. She must have seen the same darkness I did and it made me smile, the feeling in my stomach suddenly satiated.

  “Mr. MacCowan, right this way.” The hostess walked a little too fast in front of us and shook when she gestured to our table, small and secluded on the open, breezy patio.

  “You make them anxious,” I said simply as he reached to pull out my chair. I leaned toward him automatically, and every single molecule of my skin vibrated, hoping, wishing, praying to feel that little quake and shiver that his touch had brought on before.

  “You pay close attention.” He smirked as he returned the favor and examined me as he took his seat across the table.

  “That’s not an answer.” I met his gaze and held it.

  “My father makes them nervous.” His thumb lifted to graze the butterfly bandages again and I got the feeling it was a subconscious movement, a ghost of a thought.

  “Did he give you that?”

  His hand dropped automatically from his face and the light flickered behind his eyes. He looked me up and down again and his plump lips moved side to side beneath his teeth.

  “He’s a monster, but then again, so am I.” Brye’s voice was soft, seductive but with an edge. I gulped. Even though I’d known, hearing the words made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Does that scare you?”
r />   “Yes.” I bit my lip and sucked in a deep breath. “But I kind of like that. I’m interested anyway...”

  “Hmmmm,” he mused as he leaned in and templed his hands in front of his face. “A girl who likes ugly and evil?” His voice turned up along with his positively devilish smile.

  “A girl who likes something with depth,” I corrected.

  “And you think I’m a man of depth?” He leaned in closer and the stories I could see behind his eyes entranced me. There were layers there, so many layers. Ones I didn’t think even he knew about.

  “Unending,” I answered unequivocally.

  He eyed me then sat back. “And if I were to say that you strike me as naive?”

  “I’m not naive.” My back bristled at the comment.

  “Fine,” he relented. “Innocent then?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  His smile grew and somehow softened. “Absolutely nothing. Perhaps I find you as oddly refreshing as you find me.”

  Blush rose in my cheeks. It wasn’t quite a compliment but it made my insides hum.

  “Champagne,” he ordered from our server the moment they approached our table. “Are you even old enough to drink champagne?”

  “Of course I am. I just turned twenty-one. But honestly, I prefer beer.”

  He let out a deep, rich laugh that brightened his entire being and changed the colors I saw surrounding him. Where there was shadow before, now I saw shimmer. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking.

  “That’s a good look on you,” I said as my smile widened to match his.

  “Beer drinker looks good on you too. I mean I would have guessed white wine or vodka soda. Again, oddly refreshing to be wrong.”

  “I grew up splitting my time between Mexico and France. I always preferred a Pacifico to any wine.”

  He cocked his head and the most adorable crinkle appeared over his brow. “Do you prefer the desert to vineyards?”

  “No.” I shrugged. “I love the wild and untamed of the desert. The sky is always such an incredible blue compared to the bland of the dirt. Life itself is bright, lived in a thousand colors there. But Paris,” I sighed. “There’s a magic in Paris. And the museums...” I trailed off feeling the longing for them like that of an old friend well up and break against my chest.

  “You talk about the world as it relates to art. Most people are the opposite,” he observed with a softness in his voice.

  “It’s a family thing.” I blushed again, I couldn’t help it. “Tell me about your family.”

  “There’s not much to say.” He shrugged but shadow fell on him all the same. “I’ve never left Chicago and don’t really need to. My father runs the family business and someday I will.” The was a finality to his voice that seemed self-assured, but I sensed the hint of sorrow laced beneath.

  “Do you have a say in the matter?” I took a guess.

  “No, not that I want one. But disobedience isn’t taken lightly in our family.”

  “Haven’t a clue how my folks would take it.” I rolled my eyes just imagining my dad puff up his chest and turn that furious shade of red. My mom would soothe him like always but then...what?

  “Oh man, innocent doesn’t even cover it,” he chuckled.

  “Chicago is a start.” I shot him a look then smiled. Words were easy with Brye.

  “Explain.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here.” I turned toward the door, my eyes traveling to the escape of Grand Ave. “I’ve been able to travel anywhere in the world, any time, but not here.”

  “You said that before, troublemaker.” He smiled a devious smile.

  I laughed. “The very fact that no one even suspects I’m here says how totally untrue that is.”

  “Well, Chicago is full of bad men. Murderers and mayhem.” I met his gaze and studied it. He kept saying it. I’d seen it. But I didn’t know what to actually do with the information. Did I follow my head? My gut? The sizzle of my skin against his?

  “Champagne,” our server interrupted, presenting the bottle for us.

  “Just pour it, please,” Brye waved off the offered taste.

  He did, then arranged it in the ice bucket he brought tableside. I watched him work for a moment before my temperature started to rise. Brye hadn’t taken his eyes off of me, he barely even blinked, and it made my blood bubble. I couldn’t meet his gaze again. Not while different parts of my body toyed with the word murderer the way his mouth massaged it. I studied the scrolling font of the label. The condensation as it built in a ripple on the sterling silver bucket beside us. The couple a few tables over and how their hands intertwined making shadows in the flicker of candlelight.

  “To bad decisions,” Brye interrupted my thoughts with his deep honey voice that called my eyes to his. He raised his glass and waited for me to do the same.

  “To bad decisions.” I clinked my glass to his and tried to shove aside the feeling that it was the words, not the glass that had echoed in my bones.

  “That modern stuff you were looking at today isn’t my favorite,” Brye said with a smirk as he popped an olive into his mouth.

  Our conversation had meandered into an easy place. Art was something that sparked and softened both of us. And now he was referring to the painting that had brought us together this morning and I couldn’t help but drop my jaw. It had taken my breath away in the crisp morning light. And now, knowing more, it reminded me of him.

  “I prefer the Impressionists,” he added as he drug a piece of bread through the drippings on a plate.

  A warm smile tugged on the corners of my lips. “Monet and his Water Lilies? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Cézanne and his skulls, Degas and his dancers. There’s a skewed reality and a realism to them both.”

  “I cried the first time I saw a Degas. I was thirteen, maybe fourteen,” I said softly, remembering the first time my mom had taken me to see them. “I stood in front of Fin d’Arabesque and saw the dance, felt the music in my bones. I wanted to clap.”

  “You’ve been to Musée d’Orsay?” He looked over, his eyes bright much like they had been when he laughed. My heart backflipped at the sight.

  “Last time I went, my heart broke all over After the Bath, Woman Drying her Nape.” I lifted the beer I’d ordered after we’d finished the champagne and took a deep sip. “I want someone to look at me like that. With that tenderness. That intimacy.”

  “Maybe you’re not so innocent after all.” He waggled his eyebrows and bit his lip.

  “That’s none of your business,” I teased as I tore off a small piece of bread and threw it at him.

  “Did you just throw food at me?” he asked, somehow managing to be both mystified and menacing.

  “You deserved it.”

  He stood and took two powerful, prowling steps to my side of the table. He placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of my chair and leaned in. The formidable man who had been outside, who only broke when he finally touched me was back. And close. I swore I heard his heartbeat and that mine picked up pace to match. The smell of him mingled with the booze I’d been drinking, and for a second I felt drunk on him.

  “You’re very lucky you’re different. I don’t take insolence lightly.” He was scolding me, but there was flame lapping at his words. It threatened to burn.

  “I wouldn’t recommend calling me innocent again.” I could barely stutter.

  “Prove me wrong,” he challenged and I swallowed. Hard. “If you were the woman in the bath and I walked in, what would happen next?”

  My skin flushed scarlet. I tried to swallow again, but this time my throat had gone bone dry. I couldn’t imagine telling the gorgeous man in front of me anything truly intimate, let alone sexual. I wanted to, the inexplicable urge for him to see me as more than a little girl was almost overwhelming. But I couldn’t. The words just stalled out. The images though...

  “Is it wrong to tell you that I like it even more that you can’t? That you are innocent
?” he whispered as he leaned closer, the heat of him calling to the heat building in me.

  “Why?” I croaked.

  “Because when I tell you that I have been watching your long legs shift beneath the table, imagining what kind of heaven was up under your skirt, I want you to turn a shade of pink that puts your dress to shame.”

  I did exactly that, my body a slave to his voice. To those images...

  “Then I want you to shiver when you think about me slipping a finger inside you.”

  My whole body trembled, his slave completely.

  “Perhaps go a little breathless when you think about the way my lips would feel against yours as they demanded you match me and my skill.”

  F. U. C. K.

  “Why? Why do you want me? We just met,” I managed.

  He looked me up and down, his eyes moving slow and drinking in their fill. “Because you’re oddly refreshing.” He used his words from earlier. “But watching you go down in flames would be everything I’ve come to know and love.”

  No sooner had he said those violent disorienting words did he bend the last few inches to my lips and finally—for better or worse—kissed me.

  I could touch her, taste her even now in the low city light my large windows let into my bedroom. She’d been too beautiful not to etch into memory. Her sunshine blonde hung in loose waves down past her nipples that insisted on pressing against a simple pink silk dress. The spaghetti straps could have fallen off her slight shoulders and the skirt flounced just enough that I could see her upper thigh as we walked.

  Every moment tonight had been…disorienting. I was hard up for her and no amount of rearrangement or twisted thoughts could change that. But I liked talking with her too. And the way her hand fit in mine. She would get me talking about art and I became a whole different type of lost.

  I hadn’t let someone in in years. I hadn’t really wanted to.

  And that kiss... fuck. My world exploded in color when I stole that kiss from her. Bright green and deep blue. Sunset gold and sunrise pink. I felt something. And I got hard. I would have laid her out and fucked her on the table like one of my father’s depraved dinner parties except that we were in a restaurant. Or that was what I kept telling myself. It was easier than admitting the truth.