Secret Pleasure

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.”