A Dangerously Sexy Secret Read online

“Have you noticed anything strange going on in the studio? Any people hanging around that seem suspicious?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Any odd phone calls?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  “Have either of the other girls been acting strange? Asking questions about the storage room or security?”

  Her delicate shoulders lifted into a shrug. “Well, they wouldn’t ask me those questions because I don’t have any more access than they do. We all share an email account and work out of this room, and we take turns at the front desk and help Sean organize his schedule.”

  “So no one is in charge?”

  “Just Sean. There’s no hierarchy among us interns.”

  Wren had a good poker face, he’d give her that. He couldn’t be sure if she was telling the truth or hiding something, since her initial defensiveness seemed mostly related to the painting.

  Excitement stirred inside him. Imagining her sitting at this very stool, her mind on him as she swept her brush over the canvas, caused a tight ache in his chest. Why would she choose him?

  Drawing a deep breath, he shoved the questions aside. Right now he was on company time, so those curiosities would have to wait until later. He dug a card out of his jacket pocket. “Here’s my number. If you see anything out of the ordinary, give me a call.”

  “Sure.” She took the card and turned it over in her hands. “I’ll do that.”

  Silence hung in the air but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. Not yet. Not when she’d been the ghost in his mind for the last few days. The faint sound of Quinn’s voice floated into the room. She was still questioning the other intern.

  “I haven’t seen you around much.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

  Her lips lifted into a rueful smile. “That’s because I’ve been avoiding you.”

  “Honest. I like that.”

  “Well, cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it? You’re a smart man. I wouldn’t try to pull one over on you.” Her fingers toyed with her necklace, causing the blue stone to shift and catch the light. It was roughly cut, raw and natural in its beauty. Like her.

  “I felt like we had unfinished business after the other night,” he said. That was putting it mildly.

  “That’s what I’ve been avoiding.”

  So maybe he hadn’t misread the signals. “Why?”

  “I had a rough time back home and I came here to get away from it all. I’m still...wounded,” she said carefully, her eyes focused on the window that looked out into the alley behind the building. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not planning on hurting anyone. Well, other than the bad guys.”

  “Of course.” A smile crossed her lips but it didn’t quite come up to her eyes. “Very noble of you.”

  He cleared his throat. “If you feel like company tonight, I have a very comfortable couch and I’m not a terrible cook, if I do say so myself.”

  It was probably wrong for him to engage with her outside the boundaries of the job, but hell, they were neighbors. This conversation could have happened anywhere. And besides, this was Quinn’s assignment, and other than supervising her site visits, she’d be doing the investigative portion. So it wasn’t like there was a conflict of interest.

  Wren’s hesitation thickened the air around them. “A comfortable couch?”

  “Yeah, that thing people sit on while they watch TV? It’s long and has cushions—”

  She swatted him and laughed. “I know what a couch is.”

  “So come and hang out on mine. We’ll eat, have a drink... We don’t have to address the unfinished business if you don’t want.”

  The furrow of her fair brows tugged at his heart. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “You don’t know anyone in the city, as you said the other night.” He shrugged. “I thought you might like the company.”

  “Another noble gesture.”

  “And my apartment is fully furnished, so there’s that.”

  She tried to purse her lips but a grin broke through. “Are you judging the state of my apartment, Rhys?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’m going for the bohemian-chic look,” she said unconvincingly. “It’s all the rage.”

  “Is it?”

  Her tinkling laugh echoed against the high, white ceilings and the sound barreled through him. Damn, that sound could put him on cloud nine. “No idea. I’m just making things up as I go.”

  “That’s all any of us can do.”

  At that moment Quinn stuck her head into the room. “Ready to go, boss?”

  He stepped away from Wren, suddenly aware of how they’d gravitated toward one another. The space had shrunk between them until her shoulder was mere inches from his. She seemed to have that effect on him.

  “Yes, let’s make a move. I’ll meet you out front,” he said. When Quinn retreated, he turned back to Wren. “If you decide to come over, I usually have dinner around seven.”

  He actually had dinner precisely at seven every night, but he suspected that would sound a little type A if he said it aloud.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and a light flush crept over her cheeks.

  As he walked out of the studio, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward. If she came over, great. If not, well, he wouldn’t push it. But his body was already coiled tight with the thought that she might want to pick up where they’d left off.

  He’d just have to be careful to keep a clear demarcation between his work and his extracurricular activities. But it wouldn’t be an issue—he had no reason to suspect Wren was involved in the security breach. She had her own paintings—what could she possibly need with Sean Ainslie’s?

  5

  WREN HAD BEEN on edge ever since Rhys had shown up at work. Not just because he’d appeared as if the images in her head had come to life, but because he was there hunting for things she’d done. Naively, she’d assumed that when her attempt to get into the storage room had failed her boss would be none the wiser.

  Wrong. Now he’d hired a security company to come in and investigate, which would no doubt throttle her ability to play detective.

  So why was she standing at Rhys’s door, her hand poised to knock?

  “Because you’re a glutton for punishment, that’s why,” she muttered. “You don’t know when to back away.”

  Her logical side—she did have one, though it was the runt of the litter—said it would be better to keep in contact with Rhys so she could stay abreast of his company’s investigation. Her emotional side thought that sounded manipulative, and she supposed it was. But the fact that Sean had involved a security firm meant he was extremely serious about protecting his privacy, and that made her even more suspicious of him.

  So she’d have to forcibly ignore her guilt about lying to Rhys. She didn’t like being dishonest, but she wasn’t about to give up on finding justice for Kylie.

  “You’re doing it for her.” She stared at the gold-plated numbers on Rhys’s door for a moment longer before she knocked. “Kylie would do the same for you.”

  Footsteps sounded inside and then Rhys swung the door open. Wren’s knees almost buckled at the dazzling smile he gifted her. Paired with the fitted black T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and the half apron accentuating his trim waist, it was a killer combination.

  “Couldn’t resist my offer?” He held the door open and motioned for her to enter.

  “I couldn’t resist the offer of a comfy couch. I think mine was home to a family of raccoons before I got here.”

  “If that’s what brought you here, I’ll take it.”

  Wren had been in
Rhys’s apartment before, but she’d been more focused on her bleeding hand and his half-naked state the last time she was here. Now she had the opportunity to take in his space.

  It was tidy to a fault, not a single cushion out of order. Next to the big-screen TV, he’d hung a shelf that was lined with books arranged by height. A set of hand weights rested in a rack near the window. They, too, were arranged by size. On top of the solid coffee table was a fancy-looking remote.

  “You may be the tidiest person I have ever met,” she said, gazing around the apartment and feeling slightly inadequate. “Seriously, I want to fling some paint across your floor just to mess things up.”

  “A clean space is a clean mind,” Rhys replied as he headed back to the kitchen. “I can’t think if there’s too much clutter. Besides, it doesn’t take much effort to keep something clean. I have a system in place.”

  “A system?”

  “Yeah, a routine, you might call it.”

  “Stop. This conversation is becoming way too adult for me.” She leaned against the kitchen counter as he gathered up a handful of chopped onions and tossed them into a pan on the stove.

  “I guess I shouldn’t tell you about my cleaning routine spreadsheet, then?” Laughter rumbled in his chest at her widened eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

  “I get the impression you’re one of those people who’s totally in control at all times.” She watched as he added green peppers to the frying pan and stirred them with a wooden spoon.

  “No one is in control of life at all times.” He thought for a second. “But I do try to keep a firm hand on things.”

  I wouldn’t mind if he kept a firm hand on me.

  Wren stifled a smile as she watched Rhys work the kitchen like a pro. He had his back to her, granting her a secret moment to openly admire his ass. The man wore a pair of jeans like nobody’s business.

  Why had she come here? To torture herself, apparently.

  A deep ache built within her. It had been so long since she’d had sex, and with the stress of her fleeing her hometown and getting herself installed at Ainslie Ave, she hadn’t made much time for self-appreciation, either. Her hands twitched with the desire to knead the firm muscles beneath his jeans. She could almost imagine how it would feel to clutch that ass as he plunged deep inside her.

  “Wren?”

  “Huh?” Her cheeks were as hot as an open flame.

  “I asked if you’re allergic to anything? I should have checked before I decided what to cook.”

  “Oh no, I’m healthy as an ox.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally...not so much. “I’ll eat pretty much anything. When you’re raised in a tiny town, you don’t always get a lot of choice.”

  “I’m sure small-town living has its perks.” Rhys cracked a few eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. “Not that I would ever consider leaving the city.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I like being able to keep busy.”

  “And I like the anonymity of the city.” She watched his deft hands making their dinner as gracefully as if he were conducting a symphony. You could tell a lot by watching people use their hands—and it was clear he knew exactly how to use his. “It’s so freeing to be able to leave the house without people gossiping about your every move.”

  “That happen a lot to you at home?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s kind of like being famous without any of the perks.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It truly is.” She sighed. “The worst thing is that people don’t hesitate to make things up.”

  “Why let the truth get in the way of a good story, right?” He shook his head. “I really don’t get why people thrive on gossip. There’s so many more interesting things out there in the world.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  Within minutes Rhys had put two perfectly formed vegetable omelets onto pristine white plates. The scent of garlic, cheese and eggs made Wren’s mouth water. She realized then that she’d barely eaten all day. Too busy worrying about the fate of her internship...and the possibility of what might happen if she saw Rhys again.

  Time to find out.

  “So, do you have any idea who might be behind the security issues at the gallery?” They took their seats at a small table with two chairs. The space was cozy and her knees brushed against his.

  “Not yet. Today was just a preliminary meeting. Quinn will be running the investigation, so she’ll most likely be back to ask more questions and help Sean set up a proper security system.”

  “A proper security system?” The omelet seemed to stick in her throat. There went her hopes of trying to break into the storage room again.

  She’d found out during her first week that he didn’t have any security cameras when she’d asked if there was a backup procedure for the camera tapes. She’d dodged suspicion with a false story about her duties at the community center back home, and he’d told her that he didn’t believe in keeping an eye on his staff in that way.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe he doesn’t have a proper security monitoring system in place already. If his paintings are worth that much, it seems crazy not to have cameras.”

  Wren chewed slowly. She was positive Sean had the money for security cameras. Which meant he chose not to have them because he didn’t want footage of the inside of his gallery. All the more reason to suspect he was doing something illegal or, at the very least, unethical.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Rhys said. “We’ll find whoever did this. And if they’ve committed a crime, we’ll hand them over to the police.”

  Had she committed a crime? Did going through someone’s emails count as an offense?

  All the more reason for her not to say anything to Rhys. She couldn’t risk getting fired and possibly fined—or, God forbid, arrested—just for the sake of a romantic fling.

  “That does seem crazy. Well, I hope you find whoever is doing these things.” Guilt twinged in her gut, but she reminded herself why she was here—to help her friend. The usually confident and bubbly Kylie had come home a shell of her former self, and she deserved payback. “This omelet is incredible, by the way. Thanks for cooking.”

  He reached for the bottle of wine and topped up her glass. “I’m just being neighborly and returning the favor.”

  “You patched me up when I cut myself—that debt was already paid.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

  The sound of their silverware clicking and scraping filled Wren’s pause. “I’m surprised, given what happened. I shouldn’t have kicked you out like that. It was rude.”

  “That night has been on my mind.” He sipped his wine and Wren watched him, transfixed, as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. Everything about him was so strong, so sure. So powerful and yet controlled. Restrained. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

  “You’ve thought about that night or just my painting?”

  “All of it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was going to make a move, Wren.”

  The confident way he spoke told her he wasn’t used to being rejected. And who would say no to him? Not only was he hotter than Hades, but the man was an utter gentleman. A rare combination in her experience.

  “You can tell me to stop being pushy,” he added with a sly grin. “It’s a bad habit, I know. I can be single-minded like that.”

  Grateful for the opportunity to delay addressing her attraction to him, she reached for her wine. “You’re driven. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “Driven sounds much better. Mom jokes I was born with a life plan in my hand.”

  “I bet she’s very proud of you.”

  * * *

  RHYS TRIED NOT to grimace at Wren’s kind—and no doubt well-intended—words. If only it were true. His mother was p
roud of him; she just happened to prefer expressing that pride from a distance.

  “My family is complicated,” he said eventually.

  “Aren’t all families?” She shot him an empathetic look. “I don’t think ‘unconditional love’ is as cut-and-dried as people would like to believe.”

  “Or as equally handed out.”

  “I’m the sister of an aspiring doctor. I get it.” Her head bobbed slowly. “Who’s the golden child, brother or sister?”

  “Stepbrother.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I can’t hate the guy. We’ve been best friends since we were in elementary school. It was like one of those kids’ movies. His parents were divorced and my mother was a widow.” Part of him felt disloyal for spilling his family drama to Wren. He loved his family. But in the short space of time he’d known Wren he’d become comfortable around her. He trusted her. “When my mom married his dad I thought it was the best thing that could have happened. But it got difficult as the years went on.”

  She tucked her feet up under her and cradled the wineglass in both hands. Her cascading golden hair and long, flowing skirt made her look like a goddess who’d stepped off a canvas.

  “Why did things change?”

  “We got older. I started to understand the way the world worked.” He kneaded at the knots in the back of his neck. “You see, my dad was black but my mom’s white. And my stepfather and stepbrother are white, as well. Which meant I spent a lot of time being asked if I was adopted.”

  “That would be awful,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, it’s tough enough being mixed. You feel like you don’t truly belong in either camp. And I wasn’t really bullied at school, but I was always on the fringe of things. Nothing I did ever got me into the inner circle of any group.” He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “What made it worse was that my mom only saw my dad when she looked at me. So after a while it seemed as if she stopped looking.”

  He’d never said that aloud to anyone before, never admitted that his mother had all but ignored his presence for a portion of his life. And the older he got, the worse it had become.