Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1) Read online

  Pausing at the threshold, he turned back. “Until tomorrow, Olivia. Sweet dreams.” He said low and soft.

  “Good night, Damien.” I slowly closed the door, my eyes connected to his as he remained standing on my welcome mat.

  “Oh, and Olivia?”

  I swung the door back open. “Yes?”

  “No masturbating.” His eyes were stern and leveled. “Promise me.”

  My cheeks reddened and the unmistakable low throb pulsed at my core. Jeez, even this turned me on. What had he done to me?

  “Okay,” I whispered. And with a knowing smile he turned and walked to the SUV, not looking back. He got in the car and pulled out of my driveway, and I closed the door before the car’s lights captured me standing there like an idiot.

  Only then did I realize he hadn’t taken the bike.

  Oh, girl. You have stepped in it now.

  CHAPTER 7

  Coffee. It was what waited for breakfast. Lots and lots of coffee.

  Wrapping my hands around my venti caramel macchiato, I stared into space, my mind racing with the new turn of events. I craved‌—‌I needed‌—‌a certain order for me to function at my best. I liked knowing what my daily responsibilities were up front, while a day of surprises and chaos usually ended with me heading into meltdown mode. It was why my work days revolved around an orbit of regularity. Weldon had hired me knowing my quirks, and it had worked out to both our benefits. He got a trainer who thrived at teaching pre-scheduled classes on a daily basis, something many trainers found tedious and boring, and I got the structure of sameness with a smattering of regular clients who rarely cancel. It was a win-win.

  But now I found myself in the murky territory of unknowing.

  Unknowing how to resolve my feelings for Damien.

  Unknowing what the future held for us.

  Unknowing if I was the kind of woman who could handle a man like him.

  After a night of tossing and turning, I’d finally cut my losses on getting a good night’s sleep and came into the gym early, needing to sort my emotions and expel some energy. Eight miles on the treadmill‌—‌I specifically selected one Damien hadn’t used‌—‌and a quick shower and equally quick trip to Starbucks later, I was seated in Weldon’s office, alone with my thoughts.

  Thoughts which centered on my evening with Damien. And the unavoidable fact that I allowed it to happen.

  And how did I feel about that? Well, I had let him do things to me, right? Sexy, seductive, intimate, wonderful things. And it wasn’t one-sided, far from it. My face heated when I remembered the wanton state I was in. If he hadn’t stopped, what would have happened?

  I was pretty sure I knew that answer.

  I stared at the office ceiling, trying to reconcile my feelings. I was seeing him again tonight. Tonight. Hmm, he didn’t say when, or where we were going. Should I call him? After all, I would need to know how to dress.

  A date! I closed my eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. It had been a long time since I plucked up the courage to spend an evening in the company of anyone except friends and family. Since Travis, I had been on exactly two dates, both ending prematurely, and with good reason.

  The first had been less than six months after Travis, and although I had put up a good fight, Justine’s matchmaking attempts eventually prevailed, and I found myself roped into a blind date. After meeting for dinner, Todd, a guy from her apartment complex, had spent the next hour outlining his career as an investment banker in unending detail. Unable to take another minute of his constant yammering, I escaped to the ladies’ room where I fired off an SOS text to Justine. After five minutes‌—‌according to our prearranged plan (the only way I had agreed to the date in the first place)‌—‌Justine called me with my out: the computers were down at the gym, the boss was gone, and I was sorry but I had to go. Spouting apologies I hoped seemed sincere, I laid down a handful of bills, smiled weakly without looking him in the eye, and left. For once, Todd was speechless. Thankfully, I never heard from him again.

  The second date was a fiasco from the start. Martin was a friend of James’s whom I had met one night at Paramour. Smart, successful and funny, I had found him entertaining and when he asked for my number, I only hesitated a moment before giving it to him. A week and a long, chatty phone call later, we agreed to meet at the zoo. Martin was twenty minutes late and didn’t bother calling to assure me he was on his way. As we walked through the turnstiles, I felt his hand on my butt. Flinching away, I explained in no uncertain terms that my posterior, and the rest of me, was off limits. He did abide by my wishes afterward, I must admit. But he blatantly ogled every other woman’s ass that came within looking distance. When I called him on it, he had said, “Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re married or anything.” I left him at the polar bear exhibit. He probably didn’t even notice I’d left.

  Dates, I had come to realize, just weren’t my thing. So with a growing sense of trepidation, I considered the evening ahead. I knew Lucy was right. Guys weren’t all bad. But when cursed with an obviously broken picker, a date was a risky endeavor.

  In the back of my mind, the niggling memory of my claustrophobic attack attempted to surface. It had been so long since I felt that fear, that lack of oxygen, like walls closing in. I rebelled against my natural instinct to compare and contrast. Damien was nothing like him. Nothing. Damien just didn’t understand my triggers that was all.

  Maybe you should tell him.

  Musing, I reached up and touched my lips, remembering his manhandling of them. My face was raw where his stubble had rubbed against me. Heat flared in my belly as I recalled the way his lips travelled over my skin in that unconventional way of kissing. Unconventional, and unbelievably hot, if I was going to be honest. No one had ever kissed me like that, and I sure as hell had never kissed back like I did.

  I shivered as I remembered his lips on mine, his tongue licking me, tasting me, and how desperate I had been for his touch. And what was with the no masturbating? Who said things like that, let alone to a woman he barely knew? I swallowed, remembering his words and his implacable face. It was no wonder it took me forever to fall asleep, my head spinning with thoughts of a green-eyed, dark-haired sex god and what he could do with his lips and hands.

  I downed the last of my macchiato, tossing the cup in the trash on my way to the locker room. A toothbrush and quick check of my appearance was in order before The Hyphen arrived for her training session. If I was lucky, she would be on time. If she was lucky, I wouldn’t work her skinny ass off.

  Yeah, right.

  * * *

  At nine thirty I was preparing to shuffle Her Highness out the door. She had breezed in for her appointment fifteen minutes late, as per usual. Being my only client for the day, it really wasn’t an inconvenience to run long on Saturdays, but still.

  In the two weeks I had been training her, today’s appointment had been the best so far. Although she still looked down the end of her pointed nose at me, she wasn’t as prickly and as a consequence, her hour flew by quickly. She was almost amenable, in an I’m-better-than-you-but-I-need-you-to-help-me-get-fit kind of way, so I kindly extended her hour by fifteen minutes, careful to explain that as I had no clients following her, I was able to grant this courtesy. She smiled as if she understood, but a niggling fear told me she had already came to expect us to regularly cater to her.

  Walking two steps in front of me, we moved in silence toward the front desk.

  “You did great again, Mrs. Pritchard-Price,” I said smoothly, even though it wasn’t really true. She might have been in better spirits today, but she was reluctant and downright unwilling in the workout department, at one point refusing my instruction to cross her legs at the ankles for a particular exercise. “I was wondering if it would be possible to come in a little bit earlier on your weekday appointments, as I have clients immediately following you, and I’d like to be able to devote more time to you.”

  Pretty smooth,
if I did say so myself. I had made it sound like she would get extra attention, and being the princess she was, surely she would agree.

  She stopped and narrowed her eyes, a frown line marring her otherwise immaculate countenance. “No. That won’t be possible.”

  I smiled evenly, trying to ignore the obvious disdain at my request. “I understand if you can’t. But if you could it would mean being able to devote more time on your overall fitness. Of course, it would be off the clock.”

  Her eyes turned frosty before she snorted softly. “Off the clock?” She snorted again, more forcefully, shaking her head and regarding me with contempt. “Do you think that’s something I would worry about?”

  “Mrs. Pritchard-Price, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply‌—‌”

  “If you can’t honor my requested sessions, I can simply go to another, better, gym.” She stared at me questioningly, waiting for my response.

  I froze. Weldon needed her, he’d made that perfectly clear. Without hesitating, I backtracked.

  “Please accept my apology. Your regular time is fine. I only had your best interests in mind,” I groveled, feeling like an insect beneath her Jimmy Choo sneakers.

  She just smiled, close-lipped, icicle daggers flying from her eyes. “I’m sure you did,” she purred acidly before turning to stroll out the door.

  So, that went well. Thank God Weldon wasn’t here to witness that exchange. The tinted glass doors closed behind her, effectively obscuring her perfectly-coifed and designer-coutured self from view. Curious, I strode to the doors, pausing a beat, and then opened them and stepped out in time to watch her gold Cadillac Escalade glide from the parking lot into traffic.

  “Liv? Your purse is ringing.” Weldon’s sing-song voice snapped me from my reverie. Oh no! How long has he been at the front desk? I double-stepped it back, avoiding his eyes as he held my bag up. Rummaging as quickly as I could, I located my phone, registering a text from Justine and feeling a twinge of disappointment that it wasn’t a certain drop-dead delicious someone who had called. Maybe I should call him?

  “How’s our esteemed client working out?” Weldon asked guardedly.

  I risked a quick look and found he was preoccupied with a pile of paperwork and instantly relaxed, stepping off my self-imposed hot seat. “Better. I think…‌umm…‌yeah.” I read through Justine’s text: Going to the store. Red or white for Easter dinner tomorrow?

  He glanced up sharply, his deep chocolate eyes creased by worry.

  “I mean, much better, Weldon. Sorry, I’m a little distracted today,” I explained, hoping my patented failure of the art of lying didn’t trip me up.

  He nodded, and then winked. “Great.” Grabbing his stack of paperwork, he walked from behind the desk toward his office. “You leaving now?”

  My phone pinged, indicating a new text message. “Yeah. Have a good weekend. See you Monday, Weldon,” I said distractedly, stealing a glimpse at my phone screen as he turned away and waved over his shoulder. This time it was a text from Lucy: James wants to know if he can eat your chicken curry for breakfast.

  Should I tell them? I rolled my eyes and sighed. There would be no living it down if they found out without my telling them. And I could use Justine’s help in the wardrobe department. I fired off quick replies to answer their questions, then deciding to pull the proverbial bandage off in one fell swoop, I sent a group message to both of them: So Damien showed up last night with takeout. Seeing him later. Want to meet for coffee?

  I couldn’t help but grin like the Joker. That should fan the flames of their inquiring minds. Sure enough, within half a minute a text arrived from Justine: Shit yes, woman! Where?

  Two seconds later, Lucy’s came in: Yes please!!!

  Maybe if I confided in them the less personal details, they could guide me toward the right decisions, especially since I was not acting like myself lately. That was what best friends did, right? I shot back a text. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize I could kill two birds when it came to one dark, delicious and dreamy Damien Stone.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I was seated at Caffe Café, sipping an iced mocha out on the terraced sidewalk. My body was buzzing, but whether from nervous anticipation of the next several hours or the massive amount of caffeine I had consumed today was anyone’s guess. It was another beautiful day, sunny without a cloud in the sky. I spotted Justine and Lucy across the street and waved. They linked arms and trotted across, dodging the odd car. They both sported wide grins and I knew I was in for immediate grilling. Bring it on, girls.

  “He must have it bad,” Lucy said, slightly out of breath as she flopped down in the chair next to me. “As I was leaving the house a ginormous bouquet of flowers arrived for you.”

  My eyes widened and I couldn’t help the small smile forming on my lips.

  Justine took the chair across from me, her shrewd eyes missing nothing. “From the looks of it, I’d say she has it bad, too.”

  I ignored this comment. “My first flowers ever, and I’m not even home to accept them.” I pursed my lips. “You sure they’re for me? Maybe James…”

  “Yeah right,” Lucy retorted. “Although after last night, James damn well should be sending me flowers. Expensive ones. With long, thick stems.” Silence ensued for a beat, and then we all broke into sputtering giggles. “No, they’re for you. Here. Hope you don’t mind.” She held out a small sealed card bearing the name of a local florist and addressed to me.

  As I slowly opened the envelope, the server stopped and took Justine and Lucy’s orders. Nerves took hold, my heart beating fast, and fear set in regarding what I might find written on the card and fully cognizant there was no way I could avoid sharing whatever he’d written with the girls. What if he asked if I’d masturbated? Oh Lord. I opened the card.

  A single color just doesn’t suffice. I hope you slept well.

  Be ready at seven. I am counting the minutes until I see you.

  ~ Damien

  “Well, what does it say? Is he madly in love?” Justine eyeballed the card, craning her neck to get a better view. “It’s okay if you want to keep it to yourself. What am I saying? No, it’s not!”

  I paused, savoring this little correspondence meant for me and me alone. It was written in a masculine, block print, like that from his business card, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he actually visited the florist and wrote the card out himself. Staring at the card, I found myself tracing the writing with my fingertips. His lips were so smooth and soft when I ran my fingers over them.

  “Oh, I took a pic,” Lucy piped up. Fiddling with her phone, she finally located the aforementioned photo and aimed her phone at us. It showed a huge bouquet of multi-colored roses, literally every color of the rainbow.

  Justine raised her eyebrows. “Those set him back a few bucks.” She jerked her eyes toward me. “You didn’t? Did you?”

  My cheeks flamed. “Of course not!” As I stared in indignation, my skin warmed further at certain elicit thoughts of what I did do, what I allowed him to do to me.

  Their coffees come and Justine sits back in her seat, gazing thoughtfully at me. “So?”

  “So what?” I nonchalantly lifted my glass and took a sip.

  “So? I want details and I want them now.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s see. He showed up on my doorstep under the pretense of coming to collect the bike. He had Indian food. I was hungry. We ate on the couch and watched a movie. He went home. And tonight, he’s taking me to dinner. Enough details for you?”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.” I pursed my lips.

  Justine nodded her head knowingly. “The couch, you say?”

  I inwardly grinned, setting my glass down and glancing at an older couple at an adjacent table. “I don’t kiss and tell.” I tried to contain my glee at her obvious desperation for my details, but after a second my lips twitched and, glancing back at the two o
f them, their eyes wide and dancing, we broke into hysterical giggles.

  Biting my lip, I handed Justine the card and she leaned in toward Lucy so they could read it in silence together. Justine slid the card back to me, blowing out a long breath. “Okay, out with it.”

  “You want me to tell you everything?” I purred.

  “All of it. Don’t skimp on the juicy bits either” Justine ordered.

  “Um,” Lucy began with an edge of agitation.

  “Oh, come on, Luce. You know you’re dying to know,” Justine rounded on her, exasperated.

  “There are just some things older sisters don’t need to know about their little sister’s love life, that’s all,” Lucy explained, shaking her head.

  “Plug your ears then,” Justine responded without missing a beat, then turned her eyes back to me, waiting. Lucy rolled her eyes but didn’t follow her advice.

  I traced the top of my glass with my index finger, choosing my words carefully. “Okay. He told me Paul, his driver, was coming to collect the bike, but then he showed up instead. With an obscene amount of chicken curry.” I shrugged. “So I let him in. And afterward he cleaned up and did the dishes. Oh, and then we kissed.”

  “I knew it!” Justine gloats.

  “But the bike’s still there?” Lucy chimed in.

  Justine leaned in. “Let’s focus on the kiss. How was it?”

  “So technically, he lied about coming for the bike?” It was Lucy’s turn to lean in.

  My eyes shifted in turns, first to Justine: “It was good,” and then to Lucy: “I think it’s safe to say that yeah, he lied about coming for the bike.”

  Justine leaned in closer. “On a scale of one to ten?”

  Lucy sat back stiffly. “Shit.”

  An overwhelming urge to explain Damien’s actions to Lucy in order to set her straight gripped me. Ignoring Justine, I turned to Lucy, taking in her sour expression.