Living in Secret: Living In..., Book 3 (15 page)

She didn’t need to know anything more.

But that didn’t stop the dull ache that settled in her gut, the heavy familiar feeling of guilt. A guilt she’d spent years and years pretending she didn’t feel.

That was the problem with emotions. You let one in and a whole lot more started piling in on top of them. God, she should never have started this with Connor. Never. Admitting to lust, to desire, had been a mistake. Yet now she couldn’t get enough. It was all she’d thought about since she’d come downstairs wearing his shirt.

God, if she got him thinking about sex then maybe he’d shut the hell up about Jessica.

But he just looked at her, stared right into her. “I changed my mind. Maybe we’re not here just to fuck after all, Victoria. Maybe talking would be a good idea for a change.”

“So for five years you were happy to say nothing at all, and
now
you want to talk?” She shoved her chair back and stood up. “Well, I’m sorry it doesn’t work that way. This time I do not want to talk. I want to fuck.” She said the word with relish as she moved around the table to where he sat, halting beside his chair. “So are you good with that or not?”

He tipped his head back, looking up at her. He’d gotten rid of his ripped shirt and he was just sitting there in his suit pants, all that beautiful bare chest and flexing abs on display.

At least desire was simple. It didn’t hurt and it didn’t expect things from her. And it sure as hell didn’t make her feel guilty.

“You’re angry,” he said quietly. “Why?”

“Because you completely ignored me when I told you I didn’t want to talk about it. Because you keep on pushing.” His chair had been moved back a little way, giving her enough room to lift a leg and slide into his lap, straddling him. He didn’t say a word as she did so, only watching her, his gaze enigmatic.

“Anyway,” she went on, settling herself, the hard edge of the table at her back. “I’m not the only one who’s angry. You didn’t want to talk about your tattoo either.” She shifted her hips, feeling the ridge of his steadily growing erection press against her. “So how about we not talk about any of it, okay?”

He remained still, his attention firmly on her face. “Why don’t you want to talk to me, Victoria?” he asked, his voice soft. “Are you afraid of me?”

Something caught painfully inside her. “No, of course I’m not afraid. And why should I talk to you? You’re Mr. Perfect, Connor Blake. With your amazing career and your perfect life. What would you know about making mistakes?” She found she was breathing hard, bitterness rising at the back of her throat. Why had she said that to him? Why had she given herself away like that?

The expression on his face changed, shadows moving in his eyes. He sat forward suddenly, their faces inches apart. “Perfect? Is that what you think? Jesus fucking Christ, you don’t want to know about the mistakes I’ve made.”

“Oh, sure you have,” she said, anger making her voice sharp. “Don’t tell me, you didn’t return a library book on time? Forgot to pay your power bill once?”

His fingers closed around her upper arms, his grip tight. Something dangerous glittered in his eyes. “Like I said, you don’t want to know.”

And she felt it, the desire for him. The hunger rising. Responding to that intensity, that fierce, dangerous look. She was naked under the shirt, the wool of his suit pants rough against her skin, pressing against the tender flesh between her thighs. It felt so good. He felt so good. It made her want to be so bad.

She shifted her hips against him, a slow undulation, watching his pupils dilate in response. “Why not? What could you have done that was so very wrong, Connor?”

“I can’t tell you. I can’t ever tell anyone.”

“I had a baby when I was sixteen after I lost my virginity at a school dance. I gave her up because I wanted to make my parents proud of me and they had sacrificed too much already.” She undulated again, staring into his face. “What’s worse than giving up your own child for your parent’s approval?”

He stared at her a long moment. Then abruptly his mouth twisted and his fingers released her. “No, Victoria. Not tonight.”

No more.

She leaned forward before she was even aware of doing so, shoving her fingers into the dark silk of his hair, dragging his head back by force. He stiffened, staring up at her as she leaned over him. But he didn’t move.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, fiercely. “Tell me what your mistake was.”

“Your mistake was bringing a life into this world.” His lips drew back, his teeth bared, the look in his eyes abruptly savage. “My mistake was taking one out of it.”

“What?” she said blankly.

He didn’t reply straight away, shaking his head loose of her hands then shoving his chair back farther. Putting his hands on her hips, he gently pushed her off him and stood.

She stared at him as the truth began to penetrate, followed by a wave of slow moving shock.

“I’ll leave you to work that one out for yourself,” he said, the paused. “You can stay if you like. There are blankets in the hall cupboard. Or you may prefer to leave. I think that’s what I’d prefer.”

He didn’t wait for her to say anything. He only turned and left the room.

She heard him go out into the hallway, his footstep on the stairs. Then the hard click of the bedroom door above. Shutting her out.

Your mistake was bringing a life into this world.

My mistake was taking one out of it.

Holy God.

Chapter Ten

Connor stalked over to the window of his bedroom then stalked over to the bed and back to the window again. He couldn’t sit down, couldn’t stay still.

He’d told her. Why the fuck had he told her? The thing he’d been hiding all this time. The thing that made him the biggest hypocrite in the history of the world.

Connor Blake, top police prosecutor, respected lawyer.

Murderer.

He’d never told anyone. He’d promised his mother as she was recovering in the hospital that he wouldn’t and he hadn’t. But it was a secret that had swallowed him whole. Eaten him up from the inside, leaving him just a shell. A perfect, gleaming façade while inside…

Darkness. Taint.

And he’d told because…well, because she’d sat in his lap, wild and beautiful. In his shirt, naked, with her fingers in his hair. Demanding an answer from him in a way she’d never done before. A way no one had ever done.

He’d kept hold of that secret for so long and she’d obviously expected it to be no big deal, whatever it was he was going to tell her. So he’d thrown it at her like a grenade. Wanting it to explode and shatter the thing growing between them. The warmth and the heat and the emptiness inside him that wanted something to fill it.

He couldn’t have it. Which meant he couldn’t afford to feel it.

Behind him, he heard the door slam open, banging off the wall, and he turned ’round sharply.

Victoria stood there, her black hair curling around her face, her dark eyes full of anger. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You can’t just tell me something like that then leave. I want a fucking explanation!”

The word sounded deliciously filthy in her prim mouth and he cursed himself for noticing. It made him even more aware of what an extremely bad job he was doing of pretending to be a good man. “An explanation? You mean you want to know who I killed? And why? Better that you leave, Victoria. The less you know, the better.”

“No.” She lifted her chin and came around the big white bed they’d hardly ever shared, preferring to stay in their own separate rooms like an eighteenth century aristocratic couple. “You gave that to me. You told me. And it’s up to you to explain.”

He watched her come, remaining where he was, standing by the window with his arms folded. “And you were the one who asked for it. I gave you the truth.”

“And I gave you mine.”

“So you had a baby at sixteen. That must have been hard.”

She stopped directly into front of him, staring right at him. “Are we going to play this game? The
I’ve got a worse secret than you
game? Because if we are, I surrender. Yours is worse than mine. Now tell me what happened.”

The truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth…

He’d already told her the worst. Might as well give her the rest. “My father was a dealer, part of a meth ring. He was violent, as most of those kinds of men are, and arrogant and thought he owned the world. He certainly thought he owned me and my mother. He used to tell me I needed to harden up if I wanted to take over the business after him. I needed to be strong and all the punches and kicks were part of him making me stronger. Making me a man.” Telling her this should have been difficult, should have felt like it was being dragged from him, but it wasn’t. It was easy. As if he’d been waiting for the chance to tell her all along. “Christ, like I wanted to be a man like him. Anyway, Dad never used to try his product, but I guess he thought he was above anything as petty as mere addiction because one night he took some. And didn’t handle it well. My mother got the brunt of it. He ended up throwing her through a window.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. But she didn’t say anything.

“I remember him standing over her,” Connor went on, the words spilling out from him with so much ease it was a wonder he’d managed to keep it secret for so long. “And there was blood everywhere, and he was laughing. Cursing her. I tried to get him to call an ambulance because Mum had so many cuts, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let me near her either, kept shoving me onto the ground.

“And when I got up the last time, I realized for the first time I was taller than he was. I was behind him, and he wasn’t looking. So I hit him and he went down. And it was so
fucking
good to see him on the ground like that. I kept hitting him. I couldn’t stop myself. I was just so angry at him. For all the pain he’d doled out over the years, pain he’d caused my mum and myself. Eventually I stopped when I saw he wasn’t moving. Then I went and got my mother and took her to hospital.” He took a breath. “We got a call the next morning to say Dad had been found on the sidewalk outside our house and he was dead. Fractured skull.”

Victoria didn’t look away from him and he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.

But he held her gaze, giving her the truth because that’s what she’d wanted. “And you know what I felt? I was relieved. I was just so fucking grateful the prick was dead. I killed my own father with my bare hands and all I felt was glad.” And if he concentrated, he could feel it still, the remembrance of that relief. No guilt. Just relief. “But of course, you can’t kill someone and expect to get away with it. And I didn’t expect that. I wanted to go to the police and hand myself in, but my mother wouldn’t let me. She was afraid of reprisals from the people Dad was involved with, and I was the only thing she had. She didn’t want to lose me. So she made me promise to keep quiet about it and not say a word.” He could feel his mouth curve in a mirthless smile. “Turned out I needn’t have worried. The police had already pinned it on a disgruntled client and they were less than interested in me.”

And still she didn’t say anything, that dark gaze of hers looking at him, past the pristine shell of a man, to the raging, violent eighteen-year-old he’d once been.

Christ, she’d have made an excellent judge.

“Turn around,” she said and it was an order, pure and simple.

So he did, because why not? He’d given her everything. He had nothing left to hide behind.

“Live by the sword,” she murmured.

He felt the lightest touch, her fingers tracing the tattoo on his back. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He stared at the black window and the evening beyond it. “I got it that night.”

“Your penance.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t surprised by her observation. She’d always been sharp. “I had to pay for what I did or at least that’s what I thought at the time. I wanted to make sure I never forgot. Or maybe it was only punishment for not caring the bastard was dead and I killed him.”

Her hand was suddenly pressed flat against his back, between his shoulder blades, the heat of her palm burning on his skin. “Let’s get this straight,” she said quietly and with such certainty he felt a part of him go quiet and still. “A beaten, abused young man, trying to save his mother’s life is not a murderer. From a purely legal perspective, Connor, you had no intent to kill. It was manslaughter.”

He gave a harsh laugh, trying to ignore the feel of her hand because it was a pleasure he sure as hell didn’t deserve. “How do you know I didn’t have intent? I was glad he died. And I was even glad I was the one who’d taken him out.” The night outside pressed in on him, like the darkness inside him pressing against the clean, smooth shell of the man he’d been pretending to be for so long he’d forgotten it wasn’t actually him.

Her fault. She makes you remember.

With her hands and her mouth, and the tight, wet heat of her pussy around him. She made him into the man he thought he’d left behind. The passionate, angry teenager, who’d lost his head, given in to rage. Desperate for something he didn’t have a name for from the man who was supposed to have given him more than just pain.

Connor smiled and the reflection in the window in front of him showed him it wasn’t a pleasant one. No, he’d left that furious, needy boy behind. And if he kept believing hard enough, that perfect shell would become part of him and there would be no division whatsoever.

“Of
course
you were glad he was dead,” Victoria said fiercely. “He hurt you and he hurt your mother. That doesn’t make you a murderer, you should know that.”

“And yet a man is still dead. And I’m still glad.”

“You want to punish yourself? Is that what this is all about?”

“You can’t escape justice, Victoria. Or at least, you shouldn’t be able to.”

“Connor—”

“What?” He turned around and tried to tell himself he didn’t regret the loss of warmth as her hand slipped from between his shoulder blades. “You have your explanation. What more do you want?”

There was a crease between her brows and the look in her eyes was something he didn’t want to name because he thought if he did, the shell would crack. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Why do you think? Did you really want to know your perfect husband killed someone once?” She opened her mouth to reply, but he kept going. “Besides, you’re a fine one to talk. Why should I tell you about my father when you never breathed a word to me about the daughter you put up for adoption?”

Her jaw went tight, her arms now folded across her breasts. The hem of his shirt only barely covered the soft curls of her sex and if she moved, he’d be able to see, he was sure of it. Sick fuck that he was, to be thinking of that now.

Abruptly she looked away from him and only now did he see how the color had leeched from her skin. “Well,” she said. “I guess neither of us is perfect after all. What a terrible shock.”

He could feel something on the other side of the barrier he’d erected between himself and the kid he’d been. Something hungry and desperate pressing against it, clawing to get through. Wanting something from her like he’d wanted something from his father. Something he’d never gotten.

It made cold crawl through his veins.

Perhaps it was time he stopped indulging himself, at least for tonight. He had defenses to shore up, a wall to rebuild.

“Good thing I’ll be signing the divorce papers at the end of this week then.” His voice was icy. “Perhaps it’s time you left, Victoria. I really think it would be for the best.”

Her head turned, her gaze coming to his. “I thought neither of us would be running away tonight?”

“Oh and you’re happy to spend it with someone like me?”

“What do you mean someone like you?”

The hungry thing battered against the wall, pushing, wanting out. “A killer.”

“Why do you keep saying that? What do you expect me to do? Run screaming from the room?”

“Don’t you think that’s the wisest course of action?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Connor. I never have been.”

“Why not?” he demanded, suddenly needing to know. “Because you should be. You should be fucking terrified.”

And something in her face changed, an intensity of focus. “In case you lose your head and kill me too?”

“Jesus Christ, this is not a joke, Victoria.”

“Do you see me laughing?” The look in her eyes pierced him. “From the moment I asked you to sign those papers, you’ve been angry. In fact you’ve been furious this whole week. And not once, not for one single second, have I ever been afraid of you or your anger.” The certainty in her voice made that hungry desperate thing tremble. Made it yearn. It wanted her certainty. It wanted to believe it.

But no. What kind of man had no regrets about killing his father?

“What about you?” he said in a graceless change of subject. “I still don’t know what happened with you.”

She blinked then waved a hand. “I slept with a boy at a school dance. I lost my virginity and then had the bad luck to fall pregnant. He didn’t want anything to do with me and my parents thought it would be best if I gave up the baby. They were right. So I did. What more do you want to know?”

It felt much safer not to have the focus on him, allowed him to beat back that hungry emotion, not let it get the upper hand.

“So it was as easy as that, was it?” He knew it hadn’t been—she wouldn’t have kept it from him all these years if it had. But the way she’d said it…as if it had happened to someone else.

She flushed. “No, of course it wasn’t. But I had no choice.”

“We always have choice, Victoria.”

Something sparked in her eyes and he knew what it was because he was better at reading her now. Pain. “In that case I made the best choice for Jessica. The father didn’t want either her or me, and I was only sixteen. My parents worked two jobs each to pay for my schooling and they’d sacrificed so much. I couldn’t support her by myself and I couldn’t ask my parents to help either, not after what they’d already done for me. Giving her to a family who could afford to bring her up was the best choice.”

She never spoke about her family in the same way he’d never spoken about his. He’d only met her parents once, when they’d gotten married, but not since. They didn’t have much to say, a quiet reserved couple who’d nevertheless seemed very pleasant. His ideal kind of parents in many ways, which had only cemented his opinion he’d made the right choice in marrying Victoria.

But for all that, she didn’t speak of them and she didn’t ask them to visit. From time to time she’d go down south to Wellington where they lived to visit them, but that was all.

He’d never bothered to ask why they never came here. Perhaps there was a reason. And that pain in her eyes had something to do with it.

“It might have been the best choice,” he said quietly. “But was it
your
choice?”

Another flicker in her eyes. “Yes, of course it was my choice. I wanted what was best for her.”

“Then why do you look like you’re in pain?”

Her chin lifted. “I’m not.”

“And yet you won’t contact her.”

“No. I told you, she didn’t leave any details. If she’d wanted contact she would have said. Now can we leave the subject?”

“That’s an excuse, Victoria. And you know it.”

The pain in her eyes flared, changed. Became hot. Turning into anger. She took a couple of steps forward suddenly, closing the distance between them a little. “So, what? You have no excuses for your behavior? Your whole career is a crusade, Connor. And I used to think it was merely because you were passionate about the law. But it’s not, is it? You’re trying to atone. You’re looking for people to punish because you never were.”