Wild Dirty Secret(17)

“I told you I don’t like men.”

“You don’t like rich men. Did one of them catch you lifting his Rolex?”

She took a swig of soda. “I’m too good for that.”

“So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”

Our idle bragging lapsed into silence, and I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto the buttery leather. Was there any chance in hell Philip would accept my apology? Where would we go if he didn’t?

Best not to think too much, especially now that my mind was pleasantly fuzzy from the liquor flooding my veins. I peeked at Ella. For once she didn’t appear to be getting into trouble. Instead she lounged in an oversize armchair, her head listing to the side.

Hot pink glitter shone from her drooping eyelids, and my insides twisted at the thought of her painting on makeup in preparation for this evening. I wondered what had brought her to this, but I was too afraid to ask. Last thing I needed was another reason to feel beholden to her.

It had been a long night—a long week, a long year. All I had wanted was peace, and here it was. A clock chimed softly from somewhere far away—one, two, three. Then quiet.





Chapter Nine





I woke in terror, remaining still and silent through force of will. The smell of leather, the cool brush of air. It took me a few moments to realize that this wasn’t my old house, I wasn’t a child anymore, and that shadow standing over me wasn’t my father.

“Good, you’re up.”

Philip sounded angry, but the fact that he spoke to me at all, as opposed to one of the many other things he could have done—with his hands or other, nastier implements—was a good sign. Or hell, he could have just called Henri up and had me carted away. My groggy brain registered relief even as the sharp pain of exhaustion lanced through it.

Disoriented, I forced myself to sit. “I’m sorry.”

As my vision cleared, his stony expression came into focus. His face was always a study in angles—chiseled, not sculpted—but when he was angry, the hollows became more defined.

He raised an eyebrow. “For arriving uninvited in the middle of the night, or for ratting me out?”

“Um…both?” Very smooth, Shelly. My charm had completely deserted me.

That seemed to surprise him too. He looked away, down along my body. I held myself still, figuring my sleepy splayed position was the only thing I had to my advantage right now.

He frowned. “What are you wearing?”

“Twenty bucks on the clearance rack. Sorry, babe. Not everyone keeps me in Dior.” And damned if I was going to let those guys get their grubby fingers on the dresses Philip had bought me. They hung in the closet of my condo right now, well guarded and unreachable.

He grunted, not impressed. “I take it you’re desperate, since you’re here.”

“Fishing for a compliment, Philip?” At his wry look, I allowed a soft laugh. “Yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t have come back otherwise. I figured you’d have me strung up by now.”

“I would have, if I’d thought you wanted it too. Adrian’s made up rooms for the two of you. You’ll be safe for the night, at least.”

I couldn’t resist asking softly, “And after?”

“Don’t press your luck, Shelly. One of these days, it’s going to run out.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room before I’d managed a weak protest. Well, it could have gone worse. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and turned to Ella. She slept with her head leaning against the wing of the chair, her lips parted. A blanket lay over her, tucked under her chin, that hadn’t been there before.

I woke her with a gentle shake to her shoulder, dislodging the blanket and revealing the low-slung neckline of her cheap dress.

“Where are we?” she asked, blinking sleepily.

How quickly she recognized me, despite forgetting where we were. How completely she trusted. My eyes pricked, and I hid my face as I pulled her up. “Somewhere safe. Come on, let’s put you to bed.”

She was pliant, more like a seven-year-old than a seventeen-year-old. I towed her upstairs to one of the guest rooms with a light on and tucked her in between the satin sheets.

Adrian waited for me outside, like a stubby guard dog. “Your room’s next door.”

“I’m going to talk to him.” I studied his stony expression, then said, “I’m not going to hurt him.”

“You weren’t supposed to hurt him last time.”

“I’m sorry about that. I want to make it up to him. Please?”

He wavered. “No.”

“Keeping me away won’t make him gay,” I said softly.

His laugh was a caustic sound, grating the air.