Page 41 of Dirty Secret Love

I wave him off. “You’re missing the point. I’m not shelling out for some high-tech lock.”

River’s grin widens, mischievously confident, like he’s holding a winning hand in poker. “You seem to forget, Sutton, that I’m not exactly strapped for cash.”

I narrow my eyes at him, teasing yet firm. “You can’t just throw money around and break all the rules. If my memory serves correctly, that could get you booted from WITSEC.”

Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m willing to bet that it is. If not, I’ll figure out another way to control him spending money on my house. If I let him, he’ll never become humble. Not that he seems to be one of those snobs who thinks people are beneath him. So far, I’ve learned that he’s kind and watches after others.

River holds up his hands defensively, though the smirk never leaves his face. “Trust me, I’m still well within the lines. Well, maybe tiptoeing on the edges, but I’d skirt the rules just for you, darling.”

I let out a mock exasperated sigh, my fingers tapping on my hips. “River, we don’t need a fancy lock, no matter how deep your pockets are.”

His eyes twinkle with mischief, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Darling let’s not fight about the lock. I think we should discuss your literature instead. Or should I call it cliterature?”

I burst into laughter. “Excuse me?”

He cocks an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “There’s a lot of hot stuff in there. What I’m wondering is why you have so many books from the same two authors—who don’t have anything to do between them. Mystery thriller vs. romance is pretty different.”

I shrug, trying to maintain a façade of nonchalance. “I’m a librarian,” I reply, my voice dripping with feigned innocence.

He leans in closer, his face inches from mine, his expression deadly serious. “Hmm, I think you’re hiding something,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine.

I tilt my head. “Like what? My love for romance?” I wave a hand. “It’s public knowledge. I adore happily ever afters. Beauty and the Beast? Big fan of those two.”

His smirk deepens, but there’s a sharp edge to his gaze. “Your friend mentioned something about fictional characters,” he notes.

“That’s because I like to read,” I counter, my tone light and casual. Why would he pay attention to that comment? I swear, I’m going to kill my best friend if this man figures this out my secret. “Gina doesn’t want me to confuse fiction with reality.”

His smirk persists, but his eyes are serious. “What did we say about lying?”

Acting nonchalant, I quip, “I can’t recall, since this whole thing is a lie.” Trying to lighten the mood, I add with a playful wink, “Since we don’t have much else to do for now, why don’t we head to the bedroom?”

“Sutton, I hate when people lie to me after we’ve agreed on being honest with each other.” And apparently he’s not letting it go. He takes a step closer, the intensity in his eyes unwavering.

I cock a brow. “What does that mean?”

“Though I’d love to check out the new bed—and test it— I want us to finish this conversation. The one where you explain to me about those books,” he insists, crossing his arms and leveling me with a determined look.

For a moment, I feel cornered, vulnerable. My throat tightens and my heart races as I grapple with the fear of having to tell another soul my secret. It’s one thing to enjoy romance novels, and another to . . . I really don’t want to explain this to him. Will he understand?

My paternal grandmother had bookcases filled with them. She relished her happily ever after stories. Though, my parents always had strong opinions about the genre, labeling it as ‘inappropriate’ and ‘dubious’. But for me, those stories are important. They give hope and are a way to escape from the crappy world. I started reading them when I visited my grandmother, and I was fascinated by them.

With each page I turned, I lost myself in the whirlwind romances, the heady desire, and the guaranteed happy endings. It gave me hope, comfort, and most importantly, now those stories have given me a voice.

A voice that I obviously hide under a fake name. Because yes, some of those books aren’t just from my favorite authors—they are mine.

The weight of my secret presses down on me, and my eyes flit to the floor. “It’s not just about reading them,” I admit softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about the world they take me to. A world where love conquers all. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about the worlds I’ve created too.”

I swallow hard and look up. “Those two authors are me.”

ChapterTwenty-Two

Sutton

I don’t knowwhat to expect from River, but when he smirks, a wash of relief surges through me.

“So, not only do you like your literature a bit risqué, but you craft some stories with it, huh?” he teases, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap a bit sharper than intended.

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