A Dangerously Sexy Secret. Stefanie London
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are you supposed to do, spend your days playing spy?”
“I’m working at a gallery and I’m painting. It’s not exactly a hard life.” She didn’t bother to mention the recon activities she was planning, like trying to break into her new boss’s email account.
Details. You’re doing the right thing by your friend—that’s all that matters.
Debbie made a scoffing sound on the other end of the line. “You’re so full of shit.”
“And you swear way too much for a girl who’s going to be an upstanding pillar of society.” Wren began to unpack her groceries. Flour for her pizza base, some fresh kale, tomatoes, basil and a delicious-looking knob of buffalo mozzarella.
“Upstanding pillar of society?” Debbie snorted. “Spare me. And I’ve noticed that your little list of activities doesn’t involve screwing your hot neighbor.”
Heat crawled up Wren’s cheeks. Thank God she’d decided not to video chat with her sister, because she was sure her face would be flaming tomato red right about now. “I never mentioned he was hot.”
“That heavy breathing did all the talking for you.” Her sister cackled. “Not to mention the fact that you seemed to forget how to string a sentence together as soon as he came near you.”
Usually, she didn’t engage in her sister’s teasing, but right now she was grateful that the conversation had turned away from her secret mission. “Okay, he’s good-looking. So what? That’s not reason enough for me to sleep with him.”
“Isn’t it? When was the last time you got laid? And if you tell me that you haven’t had sex since you broke up with Christian, so help me...”
For someone who was supposedly a “sexual deviant,” she’d actually been quite conservative when it came to sex. There’d been no one in the six months since she’d broken up with her ex—because now all the men in town either thought she was easy or bad news. Neither of which was true.
Sucking on her lower lip, she concentrated on continuing to unpack the groceries. Milk, eggs, butter, vanilla extract.
“Wren?”
A spring-form pan, parchment paper, confectioners’ sugar. “Yeah?”
“Really?”
“You said not to tell you if I hadn’t...”
“Are you serious?”
“The only guys interested in me now are the ones I don’t want.” She slammed the box of granola down on the counter harder than necessary. “And I’m not ready to try opening up to anyone else, not after the way Christian humiliated me.”
“You’re never going to be ready until you take a risk. You have to put yourself out there. Listen to me, I’m a doctor.”
Wren gritted her teeth. “First, you don’t get to say you’re a doctor until you finish med school. Second, why do you care so much about my sex life?”
“Because you’re my sister and you deserve to have a sex life. You’re twenty-six, for crying out loud, not a hundred and six. But if you don’t get some action your vagina will dry up like an old prune.”
Despite herself, Wren let out a burst of laughter.
“It’s a fact. A medical fact. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” This time Debbie said the words through her own giggles. “Do you want a pruney va—”
“Shut up.” Wren shook her head and bundled up the empty plastic bags. “I’m not having sex with the first guy I see just for the sake of it.”
“Seriously, you need to stop hiding away because a few people said bad, untrue things. You deserve to live a full life. Orgasms included.”
“How do you know my neighbor will be good enough to give me orgasms?” Flashes of her dream from last night came back to her—Mr. 401’s large hands roaming her body, his full, wide mouth covering her breasts.
Dammit. It wasn’t right to fantasize about a guy without knowing his name.
“Judging by the crazy way you were giggling, I think he will.” Debbie sounded smug as hell, the evil little thing. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. Sex is a very natural and healthy part of life. It’s good for your brain and your heart. You’re really doing your health a disservice by not having sex.”
“Is that another medical fact?” She grinned in spite of herself and shook her head. Her sister knew exactly how to push her buttons and get under her skin, but they always looked out for each other. No matter what.
“Yep, I’m sure it’s in one of my textbooks. I have to go. I’ve got a study session planned and the last person there has to buy coffee.” She paused. “I miss you, Birdie.”
At the sound of her childhood nickname, Wren smiled. “I miss you, too. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“You’d better.”
She hung up the phone and steadied herself against the countertop. Debbie had a point. Her life had been filled with nothing but stress the last few months; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live a little.
So long as living doesn’t involve any promises or commitment. You’re done with that crap!
Totally done. She’d trusted her ex, had even flirted with the idea of getting hitched in the late darkness of night when she’d curled up against him. But it turned out that she hadn’t really known him at all...and he clearly hadn’t known her.
She wouldn’t put herself in a position to be ripped apart like that again. But she could still have some fun...right?
Wren drew a knife from the wooden block next to her stove and placed it on her cutting board. She didn’t have to make any decisions right now. She would be in New York for at least a month, so she could take her time. Maybe talk to Mr. 401 a little more before she made a move.
But first she had a pizza to make; she wasn’t in the habit of doing any serious thinking on an empty stomach.
* * *
RHYS GLOVER ROUNDED the last corner of his run, dodging a couple with linked arms as he pounded his feet into the pavement. He loved nothing more than getting fresh air on the weekend, be it running, biking or otherwise. He put long hours into his job—which he wouldn’t trade for anything—but it didn’t exactly make for an active or healthy lifestyle during the week.
So Saturdays and Sundays were all about getting out of the house. Getting his blood pumping and his heart racing. Getting his sweat on.
You might be able to do a few of those things indoors if you had the stones to ask Blondie on a date.
He shook his head as he slowed to a stop in front of his walk-up, detouring to collect his mail. Blondie—aka the smoking-hot fox who’d recently moved into the apartment across from him—occupied far too much of his headspace lately. But, try as he might to evict her image from his mind, the waist-length hair that shimmered like spun gold and those long limbs tempted him beyond belief. Rhys prided himself on being a man of solid self-control, but one glance at her and he was as horny as a teenager.
Chiding himself, he shoved the key into his box. A small stack of letters sat inside, mostly bills. A bright blue envelope caught his attention. It bore his stepbrother’s neat, utilitarian print and the childish scrawl of his niece. A happy face decorated one corner. They insisted on sending him a real birthday card, even when he told them he was happy with an email or phone call. A wave of jealousy ghosted through him.
It wasn’t fair to resent his stepbrother, Marc, for the perfect, happy life he’d been gifted. But it was hard not to compare. Or compete. They were the same age and had grown up together as best friends before their parents had gotten hitched. He’d always envied how easily everything came to Marc—grades, girls, sports. Everything.
And now,