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Secret Pleasure
Taryn Leigh Taylor
She’s sweet as sin…and he’s twice as wicked!Bombshell burlesque performer Kaylee Whitfield has perfected the art of the tease—especially when deliciously gorgeous Aidan Beckett is watching. Of course Aidan has no idea that she’s his ex-bestie’s little sister, or that he broke Kaylee’s teenage heart. It was supposed to be one sexy—and secret—tryst. But Kaylee has a few things to learn about searingly hot temptation…and risking her heart.


She’s sweet as sin
...and he’s twice as wicked!

Bombshell burlesque performer Kaylee Whitfield has perfected the art of the tease—especially when deliciously gorgeous Aidan Beckett is watching. Of course Aidan has no idea that she’s his ex-bestie’s little sister, or that he broke Kaylee’s teenage heart. It was supposed to be one sexy—and secret—tryst. But Kaylee has a few things to learn about searingly hot temptation...and risking her heart.
TARYN LEIGH TAYLOR likes dinosaurs, bridges and space—both personal and the final frontier variety. She shamelessly indulges in clichés, most notably her Starbucks addiction—grande six-pump whole milk, no water chai-tea latte, aka: ‘the usual’, her shoe hoard (I can stop any time I… Ooh! These are pretty!) and her penchant for falling in lust with fictional men with great abs. She also really loves books, which was what sent her down the crazy path of writing in the first place. Want to be virtual friends? Check out tarynleightaylor.com (http://tarynleightaylor.com), Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1 (http://Facebook.com/tarynltaylor1) and Twitter, @tarynltaylor (https://twitter.com/tarynltaylor?lang=en).
Secret Pleasure
Taryn Leigh Taylor


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07151-2
SECRET PLEASURE
© 2018 Taryn Leigh Taylor
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Tina—this book would not be without you.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And for Crystal—alpha consultant, proof-reader,
sanity-restorer, best friend. I don’t know how you do
it all, but I sure am glad you do. I hope this one lives
up to pineapple-shorted expectations.
Contents
Cover (#u132a95b3-93c4-5ae5-b0f3-da72034c9ea2)
Back Cover Text (#ue727226f-263c-5874-bc48-e837ad188f91)
About the Author (#ua27859ef-99d9-5996-b8ac-4cbe2f9c4f22)
Title Page (#u71e93607-7389-5f77-a6ad-e3f902a70d80)
Copyright (#uc805b127-1a7d-5d5c-8c88-49aaf11ab879)
Dedication (#ud43a7185-a3e8-56a4-9689-3a16002cbf6e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u53854196-0ac9-5594-8933-56f70ef8896d)
CHAPTER TWO (#u98d6ce56-4da2-5795-ba0a-b1c88c5c12bb)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufc3690a7-8792-57af-9a03-d9a763f68d56)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u43d90534-f895-5411-a039-982dc04f96e1)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u75a90bef-81f1-581a-9f4e-20c4dd153778)
CHAPTER SIX (#u7f525010-3333-556c-9219-4645374b4a06)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, put your hands together for the one and only Lola Mariposa!”
The rush of that moment, the split second before anything happened, hit like a freight train. Nervousness, excitement, fear, anticipation, all toppling over one another, crowding her chest, grappling for dominance.
The curtains whooshed open. The spotlight beat down. She could feel their gazes on her.
It thrilled her to her core.
The music started, the old song sounding a little tinny and scratchy in the top-of-the-line speakers, and just like that, Kaylee Whitfield disappeared completely into her braver, sassier, sultrier alter ego.
The blond wig, blue contacts, and stage makeup helped, of course, but there was something magical that happened when she was out on the stage. Anonymous. Free.
She sat at the prop vanity set, her back to the club, pretending to brush her hair and apply blush. Then the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald launched into the first verse of “Bei Mir Bist du Schön” and Kaylee threw a coy glance over her shoulder, careful to keep her sight line just over their heads as she placed her index finger between her ruby-red lips. In a practiced move, she tugged her black satin glove off with her teeth before twirling it over her head and tossing it aside.
She never made eye contact while she was onstage. Because her performances weren’t for the crowd.
No, this moment in the spotlight was all about her.
She let the silk dressing gown slip off one shoulder before pulling it back up. Someone in the back gave a catcall, and Kaylee’s sultry grin grew more so.
Being onstage was a physical expression for the rebelliousness she’d been swallowing down since she was old enough to realize her mother’s terse rebukes of “You’re embarrassing yourself” actually meant Kaylee was embarrassing her mother, her family, and the esteemed Whitfield name, and that some Draconian punishment awaited her when they arrived home. As a result, Kaylee had learned early on how to blend in, to not cause a scene. She was a master at dousing her wants and desires under an impenetrable veneer of propriety and good manners.
But once a week, burlesque saved her, set her free.
She loved its costumes and pageantry.
She loved its tongue-in-cheek showmanship.
And most of all she loved how in control it made her feel.
There was power in the art of the tease, in bringing people to the brink before retreating, only to do it again. She drew power from leaving them wanting more.
She tugged off the other glove in the same fashion before pretending to do a final check of her makeup in the vanity mirror and standing up.
As planned, she twirled one end of the sash holding the dressing gown closed and did her slinkiest walk toward the front of the stage. What was completely unplanned, though, was when her coquettish sweep of the crowd—carefully aimed just above their heads, of course—collided with a pair of green eyes that stopped her dead.
Not that she could see their color from the stage. But despite the distance and the dim light of the club, she knew they were rich jade, darker around the edges, and unlike any eyes she’d seen before...or since. That they squinted when he concentrated. That they sparkled when he teased. That they cut when he was angry.
Aidan.
It had been ten years since she’d last seen him. Five since he and her brother had unceremoniously ended all contact. Still, she’d know Aidan Beckett anywhere.
Something suspiciously like desire bloomed in her abdomen, reminding her of hormone-addled summers spent pretending to read books by the pool so she could furtively admire Aidan’s sun-kissed chest and the way rivulets of water clung to his back muscles as he and her brother, Max, showed off for the omnipresent bevy of interchangeable, age-appropriate, bikini-clad girls giggling and preening nearby.
If he’d been sitting like everyone else watching the show, she never would have seen him. But instead, he was leaning against the wooden pillar at the edge of the seating area, with a bottle of beer in his hand, looking bigger and broader and more delicious than he had when he’d visited during college breaks. Manlier. Like he knew what he was doing.
In fact, he was so devastatingly gorgeous in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket that she couldn’t look away.
With a deep breath and a swivel of her hips, she reminded herself that in addition to being a decade older, she was wearing a damn good disguise. And even if she weren’t, there was no way he’d ever associate the sexy, sensual Lola Mariposa with the awkward teenage incarnation of Kaylee Whitfield.
Then Aidan shifted and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, the way it had all those years ago, right before he’d leaned in and kissed Natasha Campbell, unaware that a young, puberty-addled Kaylee had been jealously spying on the two of them from behind her mother’s prized rosebushes.
And just like that, lust and vindication shoved fear of discovery out of the way.
Because if he’d recognized the woman onstage as Max’s shy little sister for even a second, there was no way he’d be staring at her with such undisguised hunger.
And Kaylee intended to do everything in her power to make sure he stayed hungry.
She shed the dressing gown with no fanfare, catching her routine up to the beats of music she’d let slip by, reveling in Aidan’s undivided interest.
His attention crackled across her skin like an electrical current. A rash of goose bumps followed the same path as she expertly controlled his gaze—rolled a bare shoulder, swept her fingers along the sweetheart neckline of her black satin-and-lace corset, cocked a hip before tracing the edge of her matching panties. She shot him a mischievous smile before bending at the waist as she ran her hands the length of the leg closest to him, from the top of her garter belt down her black thigh-high it held in place. She paused at the bottom so she could undo the strap of one three-inch metallic-edged black T-strap heel, and then the other one.
Free of her shoes, she settled into the rest of her routine, letting her body dip and sway with the music, daring him not to want her.
Even her favorite part of the routine, when she put all the hours of ballet class her mother had forced on her to taboo use and used her perfect développé as an opportunity to unhook her garter belt before perching her toes on the stool and tugging the seamed stocking down and all the way off, was dedicated to Aidan tonight.
She spun so she was sitting on the stool and extended the other leg so she could remove that stocking, too, being sure to aim her flirtatious looks in his direction.
Her routine was all vintage bump and grind, from the music to the victory rolls in her faux blond hair, but there was nothing old-fashioned about the way her body was responding to having his eyes on her. She loved being onstage, but it had never turned her on like this before.
Kaylee put her back to the audience so they could watch her loosen the laces of her corset, every cell in her body acutely attuned to Aidan.
When she turned to face front, her body subconsciously angled toward him as she began undoing the hook-and-eye closures that ran the length of the bustier. After unfastening all of them under his careful watch, she held the stiff garment to her body, drawing out the big reveal, and her nipples tightened almost painfully as she imagined how differently her evening might have ended if, instead of a club full of people, this had been a private show for Aidan. Heat pooled at the apex of her thighs, and she bit her lip against the erotic thought of their bodies pressed together.
When her corset hit the floor, Kaylee was clad in nothing but sequined pasties and ruffled panties, but in all her performances, she’d never once felt so deliciously naked or so desperately wanted. She barely heard the applause and whistles. There was only her and Aidan and his stark look of desire as she executed an impressive shoulder shimmy and struck her final pose as the music ended.
She was breathing faster than normal, not from exertion but from the sensual thrill of stripping for the beautiful boy she’d wanted with her whole heart back then and the sexy man she wanted with her whole body now.
He lifted his chin and raised his beer bottle in tribute, and the intimacy of the moment in a club full of people stole her breath altogether.
Then the curtain rushed closed and swallowed him from sight.

CHAPTER TWO (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
JEE-ZUS.
Aidan Beckett took a long swallow of his beer.
He didn’t know how the fuck it had happened, but he was half-hard for the leggy blonde with the tiny butterfly tattooed on her ribs who’d just seduced him in a room full of people.
He’d never seen a burlesque show before. It was different from strippers. The women had a spark to them. No dead eyes and rote movements. There was joy on the stage. Cheekiness. Playfulness that made you feel like you and the performer were sharing some sort of inside joke, even if you couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
He’d been scanning the bar, half cursing his PI for sending him here on a wild-goose chase, half following the dance moves of some redhead in sparkly lingerie shimmying around and mugging prettily about diamonds being a girl’s best friend.
Then the audience had erupted in appreciative cheers, and he’d glanced at his watch as the emcee of the evening introduced the next performer.
That’s when she’d appeared.
Lola Mariposa.
There’d been something...electric about her, something that transcended the mile-long legs. The way she danced. Hell, the way she’d looked at him. Before they’d made eye contact, he would have sworn she didn’t even care that she had an audience. She looked like she had a secret she wasn’t about to share.
She might be dancing, like the performers before her. She might be saucily removing most of her clothes, like the performers before her. But unlike like the performers before her, there was something aloof about her, a definite “you should be so lucky” vibe, and he’d liked it.
But then, Aidan had always liked a challenge.
When their eyes had locked, something had pulsed between them.
Attraction.
Desire.
She’d ensnared him and she knew it. Reveled in it. It was one of the sexiest damn things he’d ever seen.
The kick of lust had caught him off guard. He’d been in a dark place lately. Too dark a place to put the effort into seducing someone. So he’d been making do, tiring himself out at the gym and in the boxing ring, and rubbing one out when the need arose. But for the first time in a long time, his hand seemed like a poor substitution for a down-and-dirty fuck.
The burlesque dancer had made him realize how much he’d missed sex—the give and take, the heat and friction, that release. She’d unwrapped her body and his libido at the same time.
He pushed away from the rough beam at his back and set his half-empty beer bottle on the tray of a passing waitress.
If it was any other night, he might have sought Lola out. Explored that pulse of want that had crackled between them. But tonight, he had business to attend to.
He’d come to the club looking for someone, but the minute he’d pulled his bike into the parking lot, he’d known the intel was shit.
Little Kaylee Jayne Whitfield, apple of her mother’s watchful eye, wouldn’t set foot in a burlesque club on the edge of downtown LA. But the PI he’d hired to track her down was the best, and he said he’d seen her car here on Friday nights for the last month.
No silver Audis had graced the parking lot when Aidan had arrived tonight. But his curiosity had him walking inside for Booze and Burlesque Friday anyway. He’d dropped Kaylee’s name, and a fifty-dollar bill, but the bartender hadn’t heard of her. A quick survey of the patronage hadn’t panned out any better.
He needed to have a word with his intel guy.
Aidan pulled his phone out of his leather jacket and headed for the side door of the club. Ignoring the Emergency Exit Only warning stuck to the door in peeling red letters, he pushed through into the parking lot, wedging one of his riding gloves between the door and the jamb. He’d go back in and do a final sweep of the club before he called it a night.
“What’s up, Aidan?”
“That’s what I want to know. You’re sure this is where you saw the car? Because it’s not the kind of place a Whitfield would normally frequent.”
He remembered a young Kaylee, her dark, shiny hair twisted in a bun, her mother forever dragging her to ballet class or violin lessons. This place was definitely not her style. Too seedy for matriarch Sylvia, not fucking seedy enough for patriarch Charles. There’d been a time when he could have talked Max out of his country-club ways and into a night of debauched fun at a place like this—but that felt like a lifetime ago.
Aidan shook off the inconvenient memory and focused on the phone call.
“I told you predictive stuff wasn’t a hundred percent. But yeah, it was her car. She’s been showing up at that address on Friday nights like clockwork.”
Aidan raked his fingers through his shaggy hair, shoving it back from his forehead. “I’ll do one more lap, but if I can’t find her, we’re going to need a plan B.”
“Well, she’s pretty consistent with her time at the gym, but I’m leaning toward the coffee shop. Her regular haunt starts construction on Monday, and with a coffee habit like hers, I think she’ll find a new place for her caffeine fix. I’m running numbers on her most likely deviation now.”
Damn. This was getting too complicated.
That’s exactly why plan A was for him to “accidentally” run into Kaylee tonight, play the “old friends” card, and hope his ongoing feud with her brother wouldn’t deter her from accepting his offer to take her to dinner tomorrow. From there, installing the malware on her phone and downloading a copy of the app should be easy. According to his sources, she was one of five people that Max had trusted to test the prototype version of SecurePay, the digital cryptocurrency app that was poised to take Whitfield Industries to the next level.
Actually, plan A had been to buy the damn SecurePay app legally and have his guys pull it apart to find the string of code he needed to prove Max had violated the exclusivity clause in his contract with John Beckett. Unfortunately, thanks to a security breach, the launch of Whitfield Industries’ flagship tech had been scrapped at the last minute. So now if Aidan wanted to gain the rights to his father’s legacy, he’d have to improvise.
“Let me know what you come up with.”
“Will do.”
He hung up and glanced over at his bike, pulling a hand down his face.
Jesus, he hated this covert bullshit.
You have a problem with someone, you tell them to their fucking face.
Like you’re doing right now? his conscience asked.
Aidan frowned.
He had no choice. Right now was when the stars had aligned.
Charles Whitfield had been indicted for blackmailing a key member of the SecurePay team, Emma something-or-other, and Aidan was damn sure it wasn’t the first time. Because five years ago, the same day he’d died, Aidan’s dad had signed away all rights to the code that represented the pinnacle of his life’s work, a move so out of character that coercion was the only explanation that made any sense.
No way in hell was he going to let Max rule from on high, poised to make billions by commandeering tech that existed only because of John Beckett’s genius. Besides, he thought darkly, there was a certain poetic justice to using the only Whitfield who meant anything to Max—the shy, studious girl who’d stared at Aidan with hearts in her eyes, the intense, focused woman who currently served as her brother’s PR consigliere—to take him down.
Yes. Kaylee was the nuclear option—the quickest, most brutal way to ruin Whitfield Industries the way Whitfield Industries had ruined his father.
And Aidan wasn’t in the mood to wait.
“Damn it.”
Kaylee pulled her hand from her bag to find it covered in liquid foundation. Her jeans were coated in beige, her white T-shirt splotched with it. So much for a fast getaway. She’d been hoping to change and sneak out as quickly as possible. Fooling Aidan from a distance was one thing, but she didn’t want to tempt fate by running into him again.
She laughed at herself as she flipped the light switch in the tiny backstage bathroom with her elbow. As if Aidan would be looking for her at all. Unlike her, he’d spent the majority of their youth completely unaware of her status as a member of the opposite sex. She stuck her makeupy hands beneath the tap, washing the mess from her skin.
She remembered the first time she’d seen him. He’d stolen her breath, throwing her long-held beliefs that boys were gross and cooties were a fate worse than death right out the proverbial window. A golden boy with shaggy hair and a leather jacket. He’d been fifteen to her eleven, and she’d thought he was the coolest guy she’d ever met. So different than Max’s other friends. There was something rough about him, more dangerous than the country-club jerks she’d grown up with. But the best thing about Aidan was that he never ignored her. And sometimes, when Max was busy doing something for their parents, Aidan would talk to her, tell her stories full of adventure—races he’d won, fights he’d started, the trips he planned to take.
Her crush had only intensified with puberty, and by the time she was fourteen, she was counting down the days until Max and Aidan came home from university on break. By then, his boyish promise had been realized, and Aidan had grown into his cocky swagger. He didn’t just have the attitude anymore but a muscled body that could back it up. Kaylee had been mesmerized.
By that point, Max was a cool, distant stranger, but Aidan still made time to greet her, tell her a story, flirt a little. At least she’d thought it was flirting, until one fateful evening when she’d come home from studying at the library to find Max was having a get-together. Kaylee had witnessed firsthand what real flirting was like when she’d covertly watched Aidan and their neighbor Natasha wrapped in each other’s arms, indulging in the kind of kissing that Kaylee had only seen in movies. She’d fled from the passionate scene with a heavy heart, made heavier when she’d heard that Aidan had gone on to seduce the pretty blonde right out of her bikini. Or at least that was the story as Natasha had told it later that summer.
Her hero worship of her brother’s best friend had taken a big hit after that, and to punish Aidan for the transgression of not waiting for her, Kaylee had done her teenage best to treat him with polite disdain. Trouble was, he hadn’t even noticed.
And she’d realized for the first time that her crush had been one-sided. It had broken her infatuated little heart.
By the time she was sixteen, they were nothing more than polite acquaintances, discussing things no deeper than how school was going and summer plans. But he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Tonight, though. Tonight, Aidan had looked at her like he’d looked at Natasha all those years ago. With heat. With lust.
And it had felt incredibly good to inspire something other than pleasantness in him. Even if he had no idea she was the one doing it. She knew it, and she would let the rush of it wash over her for a long time.
After shutting off the taps, she dried her hands with some paper towels and headed back to the dressing area. One of the other girls loaned her a simple black jersey skirt, and she donned it before stuffing herself back into her corset.
She’d sneak out the side door and wait outside until her Uber arrived to take her home. Of all the nights not to drive herself. But last Friday, one of the other performers had let her know some creep had been checking out her Audi, and Kaylee had decided it might be safer to get a ride this week. A woman couldn’t be too careful.
She skirted along the billiards area, glad that most of the attention remained on the stage, and Ginger Merlot’s performance, where it belonged.
She was almost at the side door, almost all the way to freedom, but she couldn’t resist a final backward glance at the man who’d made tonight one to remember. The pillar would probably block most of him, but she tried to discern the sleeve of his jacket from the post anyway. The creaky metal door to her right swung open and the sound stole her attention a split second before she slammed into someone. Someone big and solid. Someone wearing a leather jacket. Someone whose strong hands steadied her, warm against her arms.
She recognized the scent of him on a primal level.
His proximity did funny things to her pulse.
She couldn’t look away.
Neither of them said anything.
It took her a moment to realize he was still holding her, that she should pull back. But as she looked up at the man who’d starred in many of her girlish fantasies, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Because the rush of hormones and lust, the thrill of being so close to him and having him looking at her that way—like he felt some of the maelstrom of desire churning in her belly—was heady...like a wet dream come true.
And suddenly she wanted that dream. Wanted it desperately.
The seductive siren song of rebellion wound its way through her bloodstream.
What would it hurt?
He obviously hadn’t connected her alter ego with her real self. And there was no reason he should.
It was a great wig. She had her contacts in.
Why shouldn’t they both have what they wanted?
And he wanted her. She could feel it in the flex of his hands on her skin the second before he let go of her. Could see it in the flare of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw.
And she definitely wanted him. Always had. But there was nothing girlish about it anymore. It was a triple-X, adult-content-warning kind of want.
Kaylee was high on the rush of a live performance, of their public flirtation, so why shouldn’t it be Aidan instead of her detachable showerhead that made her come tonight?
She licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth.
Slowly, he dragged them back up her face. And the wicked, dangerous gleam she saw there made her wet. She didn’t want propriety or duty or sweetness from him.
She wanted passion.
She wanted him to want her.
The air grew thick and heavy between them. She could feel her pulse everywhere, as though her skin was beating with it. She didn’t see him reach for her hand, didn’t remember reaching for his, but suddenly there was skin to skin contact as their palms slid together, and the warm roughness of his hand around hers sent an arrow of lust right through her core. The next thing she knew, he’d turned and was tugging her along in his wake. She had to run to keep up with his long strides. Aidan spared a quick look around the bar before he pushed through a door marked Employees Only, and she followed him inside.
Because in that moment, Kaylee would have followed him anywhere.

CHAPTER THREE (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
THE STORAGE ROOM was dark and smelled faintly of chemicals. After a moment, Aidan found a light switch, and a single yellow bulb buzzed to life, revealing a small room filled with cleaning supplies and paper products lined up on four shelving units.
Kaylee didn’t have time to notice anything else, though, because Aidan grabbed her hips and pushed her back against the door, and then finally, he was kissing her. His lips crashed down on hers, his tongue driving into her mouth with a hungry urgency that shocked and delighted her. He tasted a little bit like beer and a lot like sex, and she couldn’t help a groan of satisfied pleasure at the culmination of her longest-held fantasy. Kissing Aidan Beckett.
Take that, Natasha Campbell.
Kaylee buried her fingers in his thick hair, raking her nails over his scalp, running her fingertips along his neck and across his shoulders before she pushed his jacket down his arms and he let go of her long enough for it to fall to the floor with a satisfying thump.
Then his hands were back on her hips, and he’d spun around, walking her backward until she collided with a shelving unit.
He stared down at her, and Kaylee shivered at his hungry look. He shifted closer, cradling her jaw as he lifted her face to resume their kiss. His fingers flirted with the edge of her hair, and some part of her recognized the danger even as his mouth tried to drag her into an abyss of pleasure.
Kaylee had to distract him, keep him away from the wig. She covered his hands with hers, pulled them down her neck and over her collarbone to the top of her corset. Aidan pulled back, but the moment of worry that he’d figured out this wasn’t her hair dissipated as he stared down at her, ran a finger over the swell of her cleavage, the look on his face almost reverent. Kaylee watched as he set about unhooking the closures of her bustier, his long, blunt fingers surprisingly deft on the tiny fasteners. She was mesmerized by the look of concentration on his face as he worked diligently on his task. Just him and her, and an understanding born of heavy breathing and no words.
Her corset joined his jacket on the concrete floor, and she bit her lip to keep from mewling with frustrated pleasure as he cupped her breast, running his thumb across the sparkly black pasty that kept her nipple from basking in the attention it craved.
He was so goddamn gorgeous. The years had been kind to him, darkening his golden hair, turning his features more rugged, widening his shoulders and sculpting his body. He was all man now, and proving her younger self wrong, for teenage Kaylee hadn’t believed there was a way to improve on the perfection of him.
And now he was hers to kiss, to touch, and she didn’t want to miss anything.
She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pushed it up his chest. Aidan was quick on the uptake, pulling it the rest of the way off. Kaylee couldn’t help her sigh. His chest was a masterpiece, all ridges and planes, a smattering of hair across well-defined pecs, and abs that deserved to be immortalized on the cover of a fitness magazine. And then, just for good measure, there was a six-inch scar along his ribs to mar all that perfection and make him look even sexier. Even more dangerous.
She couldn’t remember wanting anyone so badly.
Leaning forward, she kissed her way along the ridges of his stomach as she tugged her ruffled panties down her thighs. They fell to the ground, and she licked her way back up to his clavicle.
The rough sound of his voice as he swore raised goose bumps across her chest.
She reached for the button on his jeans, undid it, and then gave his zipper a firm tug, reveling in the inadvertent brushes of her fingers against the evidence of his desire.
At some point he’d retrieved a condom from somewhere, and she tugged her borrowed skirt up her legs in preparation as he pulled himself free of his underwear. Jesus, he was beautiful. Long and thick. Kaylee watched in fascination as he fisted his cock, stroking the length of it twice before rolling on the condom with his other hand.
She was so turned on, desperate for him to ease the ache he’d built inside her. Everything went still for a moment, and then they were all over each other, and he was hoisting her up, the edge of the cold metal shelf pressing into her bare ass. Kaylee grabbed the shelf above her head as an anchor.
The thrill of wanting to touch him but not being able to heightened her pleasure as he buried his lips against her neck and pushed deep inside her. She was so wet, so primed for this, the culmination of this incredible night, and the hot, sweet friction didn’t disappoint. He growled with pleasure, nipping the sensitive skin of her neck before laving it with his tongue.
Oh God. This illicit tryst made her feel so damn sexy, like being onstage but more potent. More visceral. To be lusted after by this man she’d wanted for so long was everything. She locked her ankles together at the small of his back, glorying in his panting thrusts, loving everything about the moment. The clean, spicy smell of him, the rasp of his beard abrading her skin, the sound of his ragged breathing.
Aidan was fucking her in a dive-bar supply closet.
Aidan was fucking her like he meant it.
Aidan.
It was too much. Too much sensation. Too many feelings.
The tingling in her abdomen said she was close, even though it was way too soon.
Desperate to touch him, she let go of the shelf above her head and grabbed his face. His beard prickled the palms of her hands as she buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his lips to hers, gasping against his mouth as she came.
The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, gathering force as it rolled through her before crashing in a burst of pleasure that put everything she’d ever accomplished with her showerhead to shame.
This was not what she was used to—staid, missionary sex with a long-term partner.
This was passion unleashed. Elemental.
This was a decade of wanting made real.
When he’d grabbed her hand and tugged her into a supply closet, Aidan had been expecting a quick, utilitarian fuck against the wall. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to melt all over him after a couple of strokes, but she’d definitely come, gasping against his mouth before she’d kissed him into oblivion.
Sexy as fuck.
And yeah, it had been a while for him, sure, but that didn’t explain the way she was blowing his mind right now. There was something about this woman, something different that he didn’t understand at all.
He slid his hands up her torso until his thumbs made contact with the soft, sweat-slick undersides of her breasts, and he wondered what shade of pink her nipples might be under the sparkly pasties. Not knowing just made him want her more. He flexed the fingers of his left hand on her rib cage as though he might be able to feel the butterfly etched into her skin.
He was so goddamn close, but he wasn’t ready to lose this mindless pleasure quite yet, wasn’t ready for this to be over. And then, to his surprise, she tightened her legs around his waist and started undulating her hips. The way she was grinding and twisting herself against him and the sudden restlessness of her body, the soft noises she made in her throat, signaled she was going for round two.
Jesus. She was going to come again, and the realization made him so hot that it took everything in him to hold off the heat and desperation that was building in his balls, the unstoppable rocking of his hips.
He focused on the bite of her nails on his skin, doing his best to read the rhythm of her movements, granting her wordless requests as she brought herself to the brink again, falling over the edge with a sweet cry, and this time, he couldn’t help but follow.
His thighs shook as he twisted his hips as high inside her as he could get before he gave in to the inevitable, riding the contractions of her muscles to a climax that rocked through him with such force he had to grab the shelving unit to steady himself.
She was kissing him as she unlocked her ankles and slid down his body, a decadent, satiated kiss that felt like thank you and you’re welcome at the same time. When Aidan had recovered enough to open his eyes, it was to find her staring up at him, sexy and triumphant.
Which he understood. He felt like a fucking conqueror just then.
Aidan leaned down and kissed her again, lingering over her mouth before he pulled away. She smiled to herself as she tugged the skirt back down her thighs and reached for her discarded clothing. Aidan took care of the condom and zipped himself back into place before donning his T-shirt.
On a whim, he grabbed his leather jacket from the ground, pulling his phone and gloves from the pocket before he draped it over her bare shoulders. Startled, she looked up from fastening her corset, and something...familiar flashed through his chest, but he couldn’t quite place it. There’d been a flash of vulnerability, a glimpse of the woman behind the vixen, but he couldn’t get the pieces to fit.
“Take the jacket,” he told her, his voice sounding gruff, even to his own ears. It was too big on her, obviously, and there was no reason he should like seeing her in it, but he did. The realization made him uneasy.
He didn’t like the sudden shift in his chest. Meaning being assigned to what was nothing more than some great fucking in a supply closet. A momentary and mutual escape into pleasure. It was just a jacket, he assured himself as he turned away from her and pulled the door open a crack to check if the coast was clear.
It was, and he let her duck under his arm and slip through, awareness prickling all over his skin as she pressed into him more than necessary on her way out. Those electric-blue eyes snagged with his for a split second, a final farewell, and then she was gone.
Aidan closed the door behind her and wrestled his body, so recently sated, back under control before he, too, ducked out of the supply closet. He didn’t look for her again, just pushed out the side door, revved up his motorcycle, and took the long way home.

CHAPTER FOUR (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
AIDAN WONDERED IF Lola performed on Saturday nights.
Which was a pretty fucked up thing to wonder.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to distract him from thoughts of her as he sat alone in a booth in a shitty pub, waiting for a smug prick. Classic rock and the crack of pool being played in the back corner had nothing on his X-rated memories. He tried to blame his single-mindedness on the fact that he’d broken his sex fast, reminded himself how good it could be and that this...infatuation was just the result of being horny.
Except he wasn’t just looking for a willing partner, because if he had been, any number of the flirtatious glances he’d received when he’d walked in would have enticed him.
He wasn’t thinking about sex.
He was thinking about sex with her.
His abs knotted at the memory, drawing tight beneath his T-shirt. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to newness, to the risk of being caught, but that wasn’t the part that still had him by the balls. There was something deeper, something so...trusting about the way she’d looked at him, taken his hand, followed him.
It was almost as though—
“Christ. Remind me not to let you pick future meeting locations. This place isn’t ‘under the radar.’ It’s ‘waiting to be condemned.’”
Aidan’s head shot up at the verbal attack. Liam Kearney, Cybercore’s CEO, had managed to surprise him. And that wasn’t good. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a hot body and a butterfly tattoo right now. He stood and shook the man’s hand once, quick and hard, and if he’d gripped too tightly, it was only because his adversary had done the same.
Kearney ran an assessing gaze down Aidan’s brown leather jacket and jeans. “So nice of you to dress up for the occasion.”
The two of them slid into the booth across from one another.
“Yeah, I’m the one who looks like a fucking moron here.” Aidan rested an arm along the top of the beat-up pleather bench. Like he was going to take shit from some prick who wore a three-piece suit to a dive bar. He pulled an envelope containing their agreed-upon price out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Kearney. “Funny how your distaste for my clothes never keeps you from taking my money.”
Liam bared his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course I’ll take your money. You think Tom Ford suits come cheap? Besides, one of us should look good.”
Aidan caught the waitress’s eye, and with a tip of his chin she started toward them.
By the time he turned back to Kearney, the envelope was tucked away. Discreet. The prick had style; that was for damn sure. “You want a drink?”
Liam glanced at their surroundings and gave a disdainful shake of his head. “I’ve got a date with a supermodel in a couple of hours, so it’s in my best interest to avoid contracting hantavirus between now and then.”
Their server sidled up to the table. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”
“Scotch. Neat.”
“And for your handsome friend?”
“He’s not my friend. And he’s not staying.”
She sent Kearney a flirty once-over. “Too bad.”
The man placed a hand over his pocket square, which he probably wore to remind himself where his heart would be if he had one. “Sadly, I have a previous engagement.”
“Sucks to be me.” She cocked her hip, bracing the edge of her tray on the curve of her waist. “So, if you’re not friends and this one’s got ‘brooding bad boy’ on lock,” she said, thumbing in Aidan’s direction, “what’s that make you? His flashy, high-paid lawyer?”
Liam reached into his suit jacket and extracted his wallet. “If you’re asking if I think I can get you off, the answer is yes.”
She giggled as he tugged a couple of bills free and held them up between his fingers.
“Why don’t you bring my client here a double in a clean glass? And keep the change.”
She plucked the money from his hand with a wink. “You got it, counselor.”
When she was gone, Liam exchanged his wallet for a shiny silver cell phone, which he slid across the scarred wood of the table.
“This is a prototype version, but we’ve had good success in the first round of testing. You’ll have complete control of the target’s phone—location, microphone, camera, texts, whatever you want. Just open the program and get within a foot of your target’s phone to install it. Once you’re in, download at will. You can remove it remotely.”
Aidan whistled long and low. “You’ve outdone yourself, Kearney.”
“What can I say? As the enemy of my enemy, you’re practically my friend. That’s why I took the liberty of preloading this bad boy with all your stuff. Contacts, photos, apps. It’s all there.”
Son of a bitch.
“Is this where I thank you for hacking my phone?”
Liam’s smile was smug. “This is where you thank me for using my powers for good. I left your passwords the same.”
“Nobody likes a show-off.”
Which was precisely why Aidan was keeping it to himself that during a recent trip to Asia, he’d acquired a knockoff version of The Shield, Cybercore’s upcoming entry into the digital-cryptocurrency ring. At least until he proved both SecurePay and The Shield were based on his father’s code. He doubted Liam Kearney would be quite so arrogant when Aidan shut down both products with one fell swoop. But for now, Kearney was still useful to him.
As if on cue, the waitress sent a flirty little finger wave in their direction while she waited for the bartender to pour Aidan’s scotch. Kearney returned it. “Funny. That hasn’t been my experience.”
Aidan squelched the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Liam nodded but made no move to leave. “I don’t suppose I need to make clear to you that this tech is not intended for tracking private citizens without their knowledge. Cybercore cannot condone such usage. And if said activity is discovered by law-enforcement agencies, the company will disavow any knowledge of top-secret tech under development for government use being employed in such a manner. We will then prosecute any perpetrator thereof for the theft and misuse of our intellectual property to the fullest extent of the law.”
Aidan pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? gesture. “Don’t see any reason that you’d need to.”
“I didn’t think so.” Liam got to his feet. “Pleasure doing business with you, Aidan. We appreciate you choosing Cybercore for all your tech-related needs.”
Aidan waited until Kearney had left the bar before he hit the button on the side of the phone and watched the starting graphics flash across the high-res screen.
Although he didn’t know precisely what had Cybercore and Whitfield Industries at loggerheads—the feud seemed deeper and more personal than your typical business rivalry—using Max Whitfield’s biggest competitor for this scheme was a surprisingly satisfying fuck you to the man he’d once considered his closest friend. The man he’d trusted. The man who’d let him down.
Once again, Aidan was pulled out of a recollection, this time by the thunk of a glass on the table in front of him. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention.
“So how about you, hot stuff?”
He ran a hand over his close-cropped beard as he shifted his attention to the waitress.
She smiled invitingly. “You got plans?”
Aidan lifted his drink in response. “Just a quiet night with my date here.”
She shot him a practiced pout. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”
Aidan took a swallow of subpar scotch and watched her walk away.
He’d known something was off with his dad. John Beckett loved technology—tinkering, solving problems, cracking code. A high-paying tech job with Whitfield Industries should have been a dream come true for his father, but instead, with each passing year, John had seemed less excited to go to work. Their phone calls and visits had become punctuated with disillusionment, references to how John felt trapped. Words like coercion and blackmail started to pepper rants about how his genius wasn’t appreciated, and in the next moment, John was stoic, resigned, saying it was no more than he deserved.
At first, the episodes were few and far between. By the end, his father had grown moodier, more taciturn. Like he’d been after Aidan’s mother had died...right before he’d started drinking heavily.
Aidan had known it was getting worse, but instead of flying home from his latest adventure and taking care of things himself, he’d called Max. The one person in the world he’d trusted. The guy who’d always had his back. He’d told his friend all his suspicions, that Charles Whitfield had blackmailed his father somehow, that something was wrong.
Max had assured him he’d take care of things.
Two weeks later, Charles had taken early retirement, Max was the new CEO of Whitfield Industries, and John Beckett was dead.
Aidan had been in Spain when he got the news.
Single car accident. Driving under the influence. Dead on impact.
He hadn’t even known his father was back on the bottle.
He should have known. Should have cut his time in Pamplona short. A good son would have.
Regaining control of his father’s code and keeping it out of the hands of the family who’d ruined John’s life was the least he could do. Too little too late, maybe, but an apology to his father all the same.
Aidan finished his drink in two long swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was time to get to the bottom of what had happened to his father.
He set down the glass and picked up the phone, tucking it away in his pocket as he got to his feet.

CHAPTER FIVE (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
KAYLEE TAPPED THE toe of her Louboutin on the tiled floor. Her usual coffee shop was under renovation this week—a fact she’d forgotten until she’d seen the sign on the door directing her to this location and thanking her for her understanding.
Judging by the length of this line, she wasn’t the only displaced coffee patron looking for a fix. She pulled her phone from her purse to check the time. She had about twelve more minutes to spare before she needed to be in her car and on the road. Otherwise she’d be late for work. Max might be an ocean away, but knowing him, he’d tasked his executive assistant, Sherri, with sending him daily reports about the office. Kaylee considered it a matter of pride not to give her exacting older brother anything to call her out for when he got back. The world didn’t stop turning because he was gone, and Whitfield Industries wouldn’t stop, either. She might have quit before he left, but it was her name on the building, too.
The memory stung. She’d let her emotions get the better of her that day. Last week, out of the blue, Max had announced a security breach, scrapped Whitfield’s project, turned their father in to the Feds, and then told her he was flying to Dubrovnik, leaving Kaylee to pick up all the pieces as PR director, daughter, and interim CEO. Something inside her had snapped, shocked that he would just dump all of that on her with no warning, and she’d given him her two weeks’ notice in a fit of pride. Truthfully, she was hurt that Max didn’t respect her enough to keep her apprised of the life-altering decisions he’d made.
But now that things were somewhat under control again, she was regretting her resignation. The six days since Max had taken off had reminded her exactly what she loved about PR—the challenge and the rush of making people think and do what she wanted them to. It was something she’d never really pulled off in her personal life, but she excelled at it in her professional life. Despite everything, she was damn good at her job, and that was because deep down, family drama aside, she loved it.
As if she’d conjured him, the phone in her hand buzzed, flashing Max’s photo and number across her screen. With a frown, she declined his call. Again. She was too busy and too pissed off to talk to him yet.
But underneath the skin-deep layer of mad, there was concern she just couldn’t quite purge. 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 believed in her.
“So what have you been up to?” he asked.
“University, grown-up job, the usual stuff,” she averred. She didn’t want to bring up anything that might ruin their easy camaraderie. Besides, she wasn’t exactly sure how Aidan and her brother had turned into mortal enemies. It was safer to steer the conversation away from her PR position at the company named after her family and run by her brother.
Aidan shot her a look that said he had other ideas. “Nope. Not buying it, Ms. Public Relations. This is a no-spin zone, so stop being modest and tell me about how you’re putting that fancy Oxford education to use nowadays.”
The realization that he remembered her major and her alma mater combined with the interest on his handsome face edged the lust in her belly with a sweetness she hadn’t expected. Maybe that was why she still didn’t mention Whitfield Industries by name, just left it hanging like a guillotine blade, hoping it wouldn’t sever this thread of...something that was pulsing between them.
“Mostly I write media releases and deal with questions from the press. And every now and then a scandal breaks out and things get interesting.” The words fell out of her mouth without her meaning them to, and the sharp pain of the current situation knifed through her gut. That Max had worn a wire, turned their father in for blackmailing Emma Mathison, the head of R and D for SecurePay. That Charles was currently wearing an ankle bracelet, under house arrest after ponying up the five-million-dollars bail. That she’d been completely in the dark about her own father until it had all gone down...
“How about you? What have you been doing with yourself for the last decade?”
He grinned, and her heart stuttered at the flash of straight, white teeth. “Before or after I got gored running with the bulls in Spain?”
She couldn’t help but smile back. She’d always loved Aidan’s stories. He was the reason she’d begged her mother to let her study abroad. Actually, getting as far away from Sylvia Whitfield’s nitpicking as possible was the reason she’d done that, but Aidan’s stories had given her the courage to persevere, to board the plane when her mother had unexpectedly relented and let her go. “Liar.”
Her mouth went dry as he reached down and lifted the hem of his T-shirt up his side, revealing that jagged scar across his rib cage. The one her fingers had traced during their time in the storage closet. The one her fingers wanted to touch now. Oh God. It must have hurt and everything, but damn. Like the man needed to be any sexier.
The two ladies chattering at a nearby table stopped to take in the deliciously masculine sight of Aidan showing off his wound.
Oblivious, he dropped the white cotton. “Twenty stitches.”
“I have a vanilla latte for Karly and a coffee for Hot Guy,” called the barista, and Aidan quirked a conspiratorial eyebrow, startling a smile from her. It might not be the heat that had sparked between him and Lola, but it was nice to see him as herself, too.
They grabbed their coffees from the counter. The grande cup looked small in his hand.
“Got time to sit with me for a bit?”
She wanted to. Wanted to indulge the desire simmering in her belly. But she had a meeting that she couldn’t blow off, and the prudent part of her—the part that knew the longer she tempted fate, the more likely it was that Aidan might connect her with her alter ego—warned her to get out immediately, before her secret came back to bite her.
With an apologetic smile at the handsomest man to ever flash her at a Starbucks, Kaylee put herself out of her misery. “I’m sorry, Aidan. I really need to get to work, but it was great seeing you.”
She reached into her purse to grab her keys. Despite her very smart decision to leave, her whole body shivered when he reached out and touched her hand to stop her. She swallowed against the resurgence of lust as she looked at him. “Then see me again.”
“What?”
“Lounge 360. Nine o’clock. I’ll buy you a drink.”
She really shouldn’t. Max would hate that. Her mother would hate that.
“I’ll be there.”
Shit.
He shouldn’t have talked to her. Liam’s tech was good enough to install without making contact. That had been the goddamn plan.
She’d been completely oblivious to him when he’d taken his place in line behind her, but he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut.
In his head, she was this gangly, shy teenage girl with braces who stared at him like he’d hung the moon when she thought he wasn’t watching. At four years his junior, she’d been mostly off his radar when Max would invite him over.
When she was on his radar, it was just because she’d always seemed so...lonely. He’d felt sorry for her. Sylvia Whitfield had been on her constantly and about everything—Kaylee, stand up straight; Kaylee, your hair is a mess; Kaylee, stop being so noisy.
And Max had been weird about his little sister, keeping a very conscious distance, though he’d never explained his reasons.
But she wasn’t an awkward girl anymore. And some perverse part of Aidan had been too curious to content himself with the brief glimpse of her profile he’d gotten in the parking lot while he’d waited to see if she’d show up like his intel guy had predicted.
He’d wanted to see the woman she’d become, and so he’d broken his own damn rule and talked to her.
Stunning. That had been his first thought when she’d turned to face him. Then her hazel eyes had flared with surprise and recognition as they scanned his face, and her skin had flushed in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Her full lips, slicked shiny with gloss, had popped open in an unconsciously provocative O that had hooked him in the gut right before she stepped back in surprise. He hadn’t expected the jolt of familiarity, hell, of attraction, that had arced up his arm as he’d steadied her.
He spared a brief moment to wonder if she’d felt it, too, or if it was just the surprise of seeing him again after so many years that had sent her phone tumbling to the ground, smashing both the screen and his plan to install the spyware and get the hell out.
That’s what he got for thinking with his dick, which obviously didn’t care that she was part of the enemy camp. Though to be fair, neither did his brain, judging by his offer to take her out for drinks tonight. Fucking drinks with Kaylee Whitfield.
Now all he could do was hope that she’d replace her phone before they met up again, or this whole day would be a complete waste.

CHAPTER SIX (#udce100c3-b252-58fe-b0fd-5aebcd84969f)
KAYLEE ARRIVED AT the office eleven hours and forty-six minutes before she was going to meet Aidan for drinks. Which was fourteen minutes late for the daily briefing with Soteria Security, where she was playing the role of Max’s factotum.
“I’m sorry to keep you both waiting. Slight issue with my phone.” Not exactly a lie, she decided, setting it shattered-screen up on the boardroom table. She placed her coffee beside it and took a seat.
“Damn.” Jesse Hastings winced. “I hate to see good tech suffer.”
Kaylee had no doubt that, as a certified tech geek and one half of the crack cybersecurity team Whitfield Industries kept on retainer, Jesse felt her pain.
“Me, too, but not as much as I hate having to sacrifice my lunch hour to replace good tech.”
“Here. Take this one.”
Kaylee did a double take as Wes Brennan, the quieter, more serious half of Soteria Security, pulled a top-of-the-line phone out of his suit pocket and held it up.
“Seriously, Wes?”
“Yeah, seriously, Wes?” Jesse shook his head and turned to Kaylee. “I just gave him that phone this morning. After spending hours configuring the safety features to his exacting standards.”
“My old phone is fine. I did some upgrades to it last week that I wanted to test anyway, so I haven’t even activated this one.” Wes gave his patented low-key shrug and pointed at her broken phone. “Hand it over. I’ll change out your SIM card.”
Kaylee passed it across the table.
“You ever feel massively underappreciated by your boss?” Jesse asked with a sigh.
Her brother’s stern face flashed through her mind. “You have no idea,” Kaylee assured him, and they shared a knowing eye roll.
“I saw that,” Wes said drily, making quick work of the phone. The second he turned it on, the calls, texts, and emails rolled in with a cacophony of buzzes and dings. With a raised eyebrow, Wes switched the phone to Silent and handed it back across the table.
Kaylee glanced at it warily and set it facedown. “Okay, what do you have for me, gentlemen?”
After the security briefing—Wes and Jesse were still no closer to figuring out who had installed the malware on Emma Mathison’s computer that had led to the postponement of SecurePay and the domino of scandals that had followed—she’d spent the rest of the day plowing through the quotidian concerns of running a multimillion-dollar business.
She’d known Max worked hard, but she hadn’t quite realized that every day for him was as busy as being in the middle of a PR crisis was for her. It was eye-opening to see firsthand the difference between how her father had run the business—an unapproachable figurehead who doled out more blame than praise—and the more interactive style her older brother had adopted. He was available without micromanaging, and as a result, there was a level of respect for him among his employees that was quite a revelation to Kaylee. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let their frigid relationship as siblings color her view of Max as a boss.
His long work hours made infinitely more sense to her now. She’d had to force herself to leave the office at eight o’clock, giving up food just so she could steal half an hour to change and freshen up before meeting Aidan.
The bar he’d suggested was classier and more upscale than she’d been expecting, with chandeliers, gleaming wood, and dim lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave the circular room a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city.
It was a sexy, grown-up place to have a drink.
She pressed her hand to her abdomen to quiet the sudden zigzag of nerves.
When she’d been getting ready, some annoying flare of feminine pride had reared its jealous head at the memory of the polite nothingness she’d seen in his eyes at the coffee shop. It bugged her that while she’d been drowning in lust, he’d been completely oblivious to her status as a female of the species. Little Kaylee Jayne. Completely beneath his notice.
As a result, she’d applied her makeup with a little more flair—slightly winged liner, faux lashes, and she’d painted her lips with the same red lipstick she wore onstage. Then she’d donned the sexiest dress she owned. Well, not including her Lola costumes, but she never included those. They belonged to her blonde, blue-eyed alter ego. It was the sexiest Kaylee dress she owned. A black shift that skimmed her curves without clinging anywhere, but she hoped it was reminiscent enough of the black skirt she’d been wearing that night to give him a little déjà vu—déjà screw?
It was madness. Her goal at the coffee shop had been to escape recognition, and tonight she was doing everything in her power to jog his memory.
What if he noticed? What if he didn’t?
Honestly, Kaylee. Stop fidgeting.
Her mother’s voice was loud in her head. Not even a decade of living on her own, it seemed, could banish Sylvia Whitfield’s scolding. And it was always loudest when Kaylee was nervous.
“Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”
Partly for some liquid courage, partly to remind her mom’s ghostly nagging that it had no dominion here.
Drinks with Aidan Beckett.
Well, sort of.
It wasn’t like this was a date or anything. Still, it was as close as she’d ever get.
The bartender obliged her, and she let the liquid courage burn a path down her throat. The warmth in her stomach centered her back in her body, got her out of her head.
I can do this, she told herself. We’re just two people catching up. And sure, he doesn’t know we manhandled each other against a shelf full of cleaning products, but that’s no reason to think things will be weird between us. He didn’t recognize me this morning. Not even a little bit. Not even a glimmer. I was the only one drowning in a bunch of sexy endorphins. He was cool and above it all. Like always. The golden boy. Supremely unaffected while women swooned around him.
Kaylee set the shot glass on the bar with more force than necessary.
“Actually, I’ll take another one.”
With a smile, the bartender grabbed the Cuervo and gave her a refill.
“Make it two.”
The deep voice startled her from her inner monologue, and she blinked at the man in front of her.
He was handsome, in the smooth, generic way of a manufactured pop star. Brown hair, toothpaste-commercial grin, killer suit. Kaylee made herself return his smile.
Warm-up flirting. Something, along with the tequila, to calm her nerves.
“I’m Rick.”
“Kaylee.”
He raised his shot glass. “To sharing a drink with a beautiful woman.”
It was a sweet toast, she reminded herself when the compliment elicited absolutely nothing from her. She clinked her glass to his before downing the contents.
“Starting without me?”
Electricity prickled through her, straightening her spine.
Even his voice was sexy as sin. And in that moment, Kaylee understood why none of her previous relationships had worked out. She needed this, the illicit zing that came from flouting the rules. She got off on hidden pleasures, on keeping secrets. And her schoolgirl crush on Aidan had been her first secret thrill. It was disconcerting, she realized as she turned to face him, that it was still going strong a decade later.
Aidan was dressed in a cream-colored Henley and another black leather jacket—this one was slim fit with quilted sleeves and a mandarin collar—which he’d paired with black jeans and boots.
He didn’t look blandly handsome; he looked dangerously sexy. She salivated a little at the sight of him. “Hey.”

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