Page 31 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Then I guess it is.”
The flight attendant approaches. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Scotch,” Drazen says.
“I’ll have water,” I add quickly.
“You’re welcome to wine,” he offers, voice smooth.
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
He nods once.
The silence that follows is strange. Not cold. Not exactly warm either. Just… still.
“What are you a fan of?” he asks, surprising me.
I let the snark come. “Bosses who respect their employees’ personal time.”
His lips twitch, almost a smirk. Almost. “I promise to make it worth your while professionally.”
“How?”
The drinks arrive. The ice clinks in his glass as he takes a slow sip.
“You’ll get a new wardrobe. Comp day for the inconvenience. All expenses paid.”
It sounds like an apology. Not in words, but close enough.
I nod once. I can accept that. But the gesture reminds me of Brent. Brent always bought me things after hurting me. He was the son of a king—or a devil. President of the Vanta Crew motorcycle club. A motorcycle gang that didn’t ride Harleys, but black sport bikes fast enough to outrun the law and funnel drugs.
Brent is my age and ruled high school. No one dared cross him. And when my mother offered me up to work at the club in exchange for college money, he noticed me. Twisted me. Broke me until I didn’t recognize myself. He’d smile and gift me jewelry after punishing me. For a while, I learned to confuse control for affection. It is why I can’t go back.
I won’t.
So, I accept Drazen’s bribe because it’s cleaner. Safer. Because he doesn’t know my past, and I intend to keep it that way. And because I need something from him he won’t give me if I asked.
“I’m sorry for being difficult,” I say quietly. “I was trying to unwind.”
“That’s understandable, Ms. Summers. I’ll overlook it.”
I hate the way he says my name like he’s a principal, and I’m a student caught skipping class. But part of me wonders, beneath all the power and command, if there’s something else, he hides beneath all that muscle and ink. If he has a softer side.
And if there is… would I even know what to do with it? Or would he just be another man to break me.
17
XAIDEN
After my third Scotch, I’m ready to throw myself out of this goddamn plane just to cool off from everything I want to do to the woman sleeping across from me.
Nori Summers.
That red spandex dress clings to her like sin spun into fabric. It hides nothing. Every curve, every way the Spandex molds to her small frame like she pretends not to know what she’s doing to me. Her hair spills over her shoulders, wild and untamed. Her breasts push against the neckline, threatening to spill out with every breath. She looks like a dominatrix who lost her whip, and somehow, she’s more dangerous without it.
My eyes drag lower, down to the delicate strap of her heels wrapped around her ankles. All I can think about is how easily I could use it to bind her, push her thighs apart and take her until she forgets every name but mine. Until she stops trying to fight the pull between us and just begs.
When she first slid into my Bentley, I nearly lost it. That dress was a declaration of war, and I’ve never been one to retreat. I handed her my jacket not out of chivalry but survival. IfI hadn’t, I would’ve ripped the damn dress off her right then and there. I wouldn’t stop fucking her.
