Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1) Page 5

I took a deep breath. “Well, technically in my wallet which was in my purse. I know, I know, it sort of shocked me too,” I said at her alarmed expression. “But at least I have his contact info and can return this to him.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, she pursed her lips. “That’s too bad, really. Seeing as you have no bike now. And from the sounds of it, he can probably afford it.”

  Astounded, I gaped at her. “Who are you and what have you done with my uber-careful sister?”

  Lucy held her hands up. “Just making a casual observation. And here’s another one. You’re going to be late for work if you don’t bust a move.”

  I moaned. And in a performance deserving Oscar consideration, I moved up the stairs as swiftly and fluidly as Scarlett O’Hara ever did, stiff muscles‌—‌and the enigmatic Damien Stone and his expensive gifts‌—‌be damned.

  * * *

  At five thirty I lifted myself gently into my Jeep. As I expected, it had been a long, trying day. Regular doses of ibuprofen were a lifesaver, and somehow I managed to get through my kickboxing class, but in a haze of pain and feeling like a gangling newborn giraffe. I filled Weldon, Justine and Boone in on my bike catastrophe and got about as much sympathy as I could take. Weldon pleaded with me to go home early and rest, to which I adamantly refused but then compromised and took an indescribably blissful lunchtime soak in the hot tub.

  “For fuck’s sake, Liv,” Boone had muttered, looking me up and down. “You are one tough b-word.”

  “Boobalicious brainiac? Bodacious babe?” I asked, fluttering my lashes at him.

  “Yeah, those too,” he grinned. “Seriously, you’re all right?”

  “Sore, but yeah. Lucky, too.”

  “And the bike’s toast?” As with Weldon, I had skirted the details with Boone, simply out of a need not to discuss Damien Stone any further. So the topic with the bikes‌—‌both missing and to-be-returned‌—‌had to be handled with the utmost tact so as not to arouse suspicion.

  “Well, it’s missing. Couldn’t find it afterward. So, I think it’s toast.”

  “Call the cops. Maybe they confiscated it as evidence.”

  “Good idea. I’ll do that,” I said brightly, though my logical side already knew that my lost bike was now in the possession of one inscrutable control freak.

  Justine stood looking at me and shaking her head. “Jesus, Liv. I should have come back for you.” A look of guilt swept over her face.

  “Don’t be silly, you had a hot date which, by the way, I want to hear all about.”

  Justine gave a wistful smile and sighed deeply. “Same old. Zero chemistry. This one was a gun collector. He said he has over three hundred guns. Can you believe that?”

  “Hey, sometimes opposites attract. Look at Mary Matalin and James Carville. Diana and Charles. Dennis Rodman and Kim Jong Un.”

  “You’re hysterical.” She shot me a sarcastic smile. “Not in this case they don’t. Plus he rolled his eyes when I told him I’m a vegetarian. Fuck him. Now, tell me the deets. Ambulance, cops, but you’re okay?” With our respective classes looming, we both glanced at the clock, the universal symbol for time being short.

  “Yes, yes, and yes. Believe me, I’m fine. Let’s talk about it Friday. Girls’ night with Lucy and me?”

  “Ooh, yes please. When and where?”

  “I’ll let you know where. Time, probably nine-ish?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She grinned and hugged me. “So glad you’re okay, Liv.”

  * * *

  The bike stood against the dining room table where I had left it, and I gazed at it from the kitchen, contemplating how I should handle its return.

  The week had passed in a blur of pain and tongue-biting. Three sessions with our new high society client tested my ability to keep my mouth shut, but so far I exhibited exemplary behavior, if I did say so myself. It had been exhausting, though. And definitely no fun.

  The good news was I had healed fairly quickly, and four days after the accident, my soreness and bandages had all but disappeared. The bad news was after the hectic week, I’d just as soon stay home in pajamas and order in pizza, but I didn’t want to let Lucy and Justine down. And it was a Friday night after all. I could handle a few hours out on the town with my besties. In fact, it was probably just what I needed.

  I had not had time to box up the bike and return it to its rightful‌—‌and arrogantly presumptuous‌—‌owner, but my plan was to take care of that task tomorrow after my morning session with The Hyphen. He had not contacted me again since. Why did he send it? The entire incident was strange and confusing.

  “Mojitos?” Lucy interrupted my reverie. She was dressed to kill in a slate blue ruched sheath dress and black ankle strap heels, long dark blonde hair flowing over her shoulders.

  “You look hot, Sis. James is missing out.”

  “Thanks.” She looked apologetic. “Yeah, about that. He might hook up with us later. You don’t mind, do you?”

  I grabbed the limes from the fridge and rum from the freezer. “I figured he would.” For all her good intentions, Lucy’s version of girls’ night invariably ended up with James joining. I didn’t mind, especially tonight as I fully intended to make a short night of it. “I’ll probably only last a couple of hours anyway.”

  Pinching off a few leaves from the potted mint plant in the kitchen window, she paused and studied me. “You sure you’re up for this? We could just stay home, you know.”

  “I know. But I sort of need to get out.” And away from that damn bike.

  Lucy nodded as she retrieved the glasses, sugar bowl and muddler for making the mojitos. My phone rang from its perch on the charging dock. I grabbed it and looked at the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize, probably a telemarketer, but possibly a client, so I answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Olivia.” A deep, male voice resonated through me causing the breath to leave my lungs. With legs weakened, I gripped the side of the kitchen island.

  “Who is this?” I asked. Steadying my shaky legs, I was instantly annoyed for choosing to wear stilettos. I needed to move away as I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Lucy.

  As if sensing my thoughts, she looked up. Be right back, I mouthed. With as much grace as I could muster, I walked through the house and out the front door.

  He chuckled softly, the sound so erotic. Unbidden, my sex clinched and my breath faltered.

  “Come now, are we going to play this game? I thought we were past that.”

  My head filled with jumbled words but no complete sentences. I could see him in my mind’s eye‌—‌tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped and sexy as hell‌—‌and the vision unfurled little flutterings of desire in my belly.

  “So, how are you feeling? No lingering complaints, I hope.”

  He was speaking again. My pulse jumped, the erratic shift bringing lightheadedness. Jeez, I was like a teenager, all jittery nerves and rampant hormones.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He paused and from the way he said it, I knew he was smiling that gorgeous smile of his.

  Say something! I swallowed and leaned back against the porch post. “You know, it’s very intrusive, going through a woman’s purse.”

  “It is, I agree. But would you have given me your name had I asked?”

  “No. And with good reason. I don’t like men with stalker predispositions. I can smell them from a mile away.”

  “And what did I smell like, Olivia?” His voice oozed with carnal sexuality, and my sex clinched again. How could he affect me so strongly with just his voice? My eyes closed, and I leaned my head back against the post. Clean, musky, hot, male. I suppressed a groan.

  “You know what I mean.” My voice was all breathy and low, much to my chagrin. I needed to get off the phone and now.

  “I know exactly what you mean. What I want to know is, what do you think we should do about it?”

  “I have no idea what you’re t
alking about, Mr. Stone.”

  “Oh, I think you do. But if you prefer, I can spell it out for you. You’ve spent a great part of the week thinking about me, haven’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” I sputtered, trying for righteous indignation, but failing miserably. I tipped my head back into the post sharply to smack some sense into myself.

  “Just as I’ve spent a great part of my week thinking about you, Olivia.” He lowered his voice. “And every night.”

  Who said things like that to someone they had only just met? After what seemed an eternity, I found a reply. “I‌—‌I’m sorry you have wasted time out of your busy days on…‌errant thoughts…”

  “Oh, they weren’t errant, far from it,” he said purposefully, sinfully.

  I became speechless, again. A man who didn’t even know me as much as admitted to sexually fantasizing about me. It was crude and way out of line, and my logical, rational side begged me to hang up immediately. Unfortunately, it was another side of me that stayed on the line.

  “Are you always this crass to women you’ve just met?”

  “Oh, Olivia. This is hardly crass. Believe me, I am holding back on certain things I want to confide to you.”

  I reached around to steady myself against the porch post. No one had ever spoken to me like he was. I knew I should be offended, but instead I was beyond aroused.

  My brain was in slow motion, unable to engage to even muster a reply. My heart beat a staccato rhythm, and my breathing was too loud and fast. I needed to say something, anything, but words simply failed me.

  “But you never answered my question,” he continued huskily.

  I snapped out of my delirium. “And just which of your inappropriate questions are you referring to?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I relaxed and blew out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I told myself I must end this conversation.

  “I am fine, thank you.” Straightening my spine, I finally found some moxie. “Now, about this bike. It’s very generous of you, but I cannot accept it and will be returning it.” There. That should give him something to think about besides the current uncomfortable topic.

  His voice was prickly, and I could imagine his stern stare. “You really need to learn some common courtesy. If you were mine, I’d teach it to you, and trust me, you would love learning it.”

  My core turned molten, the heat spreading down, down, incendiary in its advance until it culminated in a low throb. I wrapped my arm around my middle.

  “On the contrary, I’ve learned all I want to learn from you. Please don’t call me again.” I pressed end just as Lucy appeared at the doorway.

  “Who was that?”

  “Mr. Damien Stone, control freak extraordinaire.” For the last time, I thought to myself, trying to ignore the twinge of uncertainty and refusing to recognize it as regret.

  “Persistent, isn’t he?” She held out a glass filled with a leafy concoction.

  I took a large fortifying gulp of the refreshing cocktail. Maybe alcohol would help distract my wayward thoughts of a certain pair of clear, pale green eyes, that deep authoritative voice, and those strong broad shoulders. “Like a dog with a bone. Er…”

  Lucy snorted and we giggled like schoolgirls.

  “Drink up, Liv. The night is young and so are we.”

  * * *

  Justine met us at our regular neighborhood bar, Paramour. It was just a few blocks away from our house but we cabbed it, neither Lucy nor I wanting to chance falling off our high heels in the dark. We snagged a small pub table tucked into a corner. My bandages may have been off, but my knee and elbows were not yet ready for prime time, so I was dressed in black and gray faux leather panel leggings with a long red V-neck tunic and a short black three-quarter sleeve jacket. My red stiletto peep-toe pumps may have been uncomfortable, but they were my favorites so I had traded physical comfort for emotional well-being.

  After a few cocktails, my initial decision on partial disclosure to Lucy and Justine had been thrown to the wayside. I needed fresh perspective. Justine set her cocktail on a napkin and looked at me.

  “He said what?”

  “That he’d spent his days and nights sexually fantasizing about me.” I took a sip of my pomegranate cosmo.

  “That’s pretty forward,” Justine’s blue eyes widened in contemplation. “What did you say?”

  “I asked him if he’s this crass to all the women he meets.”

  “And?”

  I sighed. “He basically said there’s more where that came from.” I wiped up a drip with my napkin, then set my glass down on the charcoal marble-top pub table, forgoing the napkin altogether.

  “Tell her about the bike,” Lucy blurted over the rim of her drink.

  “Oh, and he bought me a bike and had it delivered. A replacement, I guess, except this one is probably worth more than my car.”

  Justine’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline.

  “I’m returning it, of course,” I said.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Justine began counting off on her fingers. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, has a Porsche and a chauffeur, rescued your unconscious ass off the middle of the street, drove you home like some kind of knight in shining armor, sent an expensive gift, called to see how you were. And to top it off, he talks dirty on the phone?”

  “I know where you’re going with this, but he’s way out of my league. He makes me feel…‌uncomfortable.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Uncomfortable, how?”

  I squirmed in my seat. “Not like that.” Both Justine and Lucy have focused all their attention on me and I’m in the hot seat. “Not like Travis,” I whispered.

  They both visibly relaxed and Lucy leaned in. “Hon, you’ve got to let go of all that baggage he left you with,” she said softly. “They’re not all bad.”

  “I know, they’re not. But this one…‌he‌—‌”

  “You think he’s too good to be true, don’t you,” Justine interrupted, and as usual she was right on target. “Because maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t. But you’ll never know unless you give him a chance.”

  I smiled wryly. “I’ve probably screwed it all up anyway. I told him not to call me again.”

  “Perfect. Now we’ll see how serious he is,” Justine rubbed her hands together as if hatching a plan. “But Liv,” she purred, “if he doesn’t call back, can I have his number?” She smiled broadly. The devious bitch!

  I returned her smile with a cool one of my own. Why not? She was actively seeking a man, while I was as far away from being on the prowl as possible. But the brief thought of Justine and Damien Stone together was oddly repellant.

  “Sure, if I still have it. I think I already deleted it.” Justine didn’t know about the business card, but Lucy did. And she sent me a knowing look.

  “Uh-huh.” Justine took a sip of her wine spritzer and batted her eyelashes. “Sure you did.”

  “Justine, sometimes you are the biggest bitch,” I replied.

  We all burst into laughter. “Oh girlfriend, I am going to get you laid if I have to hold your hand while you’re doing it.”

  “Hmm, that sounds kinky. Bet it’s right up a certain Greek god’s alley,” my winking sister mused.

  “Can we just drop it?” I asked, while Lucy and Justine laughed at my expense. “And besides, I don’t see you getting laid recently, Justine. Maybe you need your hand held too.”

  “That’s because I never stumble upon any knights in shining armor.” She frowned. “Only frogs.” She took another sip. “Oh look, here’s James.”

  “Hey babe.” James bent down and kissed her on the cheek. He was dressed in his usual James-chic‌—‌chinos with a flannel shirt and lace up boots. “You girls mind if I crash your party?”

  “Grab a chair, James. We were just talking about Olivia’s love life,” Justine said.

  “No, we are most definitely not!” I clumsily st
epped off my bar stool, my still-healing body in complete revolt and my emotions at their limit. “I’m going to the ladies. And when I get back, we are changing the subject. Got it?”

  “Okay, okay. Jeez.” She raised her hands in surrender. Lucy and James gaped at me, wide-eyed.

  I tromped toward the bathroom, huffy and agitated and more than a little ashamed of my outburst. My attempt at nonchalance had collapsed like a house of cards. If they didn’t know already that this man got under my skin, they most certainly did after that hissy. What had come over me lately? I was only twenty-six, far too young to be suffering from the mood swings and hormonal imbalances.

  I took care of my business and washed my hands. The face in the mirror revealed milk chocolate brown hair that fell in a lush wavy curtain around a somewhat flushed angular face. Lacking their usual composure, my wide brown eyes, a shade darker than my hair, unexpectedly blinked back unexpected wetness. Grabbing a tissue, I delicately dabbed at their corners, careful not to smear my eyeliner.

  My normally ordered life had entered a state of upheaval. What I needed was to hit rewind and go back to the time before Damien Stone arrogantly pushed his way through my defenses. In order to do that, I needed to remove all traces of him, and the first order of business was to return his extravagant gift. I made a silent pledge to take care of that tomorrow.

  Feeling marginally better, I exited the bathroom. The long week had left me tired, and my current emotional turmoil didn’t help. As I moved toward the table, I decided I would say my good-byes and head home. It was probably best to get a good night’s sleep before getting up in the morning to face Angelique Pritchard-Price.

  “Ready for another, Liv? This round’s on me,” Justine grinned and winked at me as if all were forgiven.

  “I’m done, guys. I’m going to call a cab and head home.”

  “It’s still early though,” Lucy pouted.

  “I know. I’m just not good company tonight.” I smiled sheepishly at Justine, who patted my hand. “And anyway,” I said, turning toward Lucy, “I’ve got to get up early for Weldon’s new rich snob client I told you about.” I leaned into James, giving him a one-armed hug. “Thanks again for fixing Josephine.”