Czytaj książkę: «One Little Indiscretion»
Just one night?
All she can say is yes...
“I need to talk to you.”
And this time she mustresist temptation...
Sadie Slade isn’t interested in romantic entanglements. She’s been there, done that. But handsome CEO Carrick Murphy tangles things up for her—fast. Their steamy one-night stand has made them parents-to-be. And she still can’t stop fantasizing about a repeat with the stubborn bachelor—despite the secrets they’re both keeping. Is it time for them to take a chance on happiness?
JOSS WOOD loves books and travelling—especially to the wild places of southern Africa and, well, anywhere. She’s a wife, a mum to two teenagers and slave to two cats. After a career in local economic development, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.
Also by Joss Wood
Friendship on Fire
Hot Christmas Kisses
The Rival’s Heir
Second Chance Temptation Redeemed
by Passion
Rich, Rugged Rancher
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
One Little Indiscretion
Joss Wood
ISBN: 978-0-008-90416-6
ONE LITTLE INDISCRETION
© 2020 Joss Wood
Published in Great Britain 2020
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Epilogue
About the Publisher
Prologue
1. Mountain Climbing. (Thanks, altitude sickness.)
2. Marriage. (Nope. Once was more than enough.)
3. Riding a mechanical bull, like she had during Spring Break. (Four tequilas and being bucked like a rag doll resulted in the nickname “Pukey” for months.)
4. Oh, and lusting after Carrick Murphy. (That was the biggest no-no of all.)
Sadie Slade added having an emergency tracheotomy to her mental Things-I-Never-Intend-To-Do-Again list and touched the small gauze dressing on her neck. She’d never been more scared in her life.
Back in her apartment after an overnight stay in the hospital, Sadie took a couple of deep breaths—beautiful air!—and took stock. The doctors had assured her that the temporary lack of oxygen when she’d choked at the Murphy cocktail party the evening before hadn’t compromised her mental faculties. But she recited the facts anyway.
She was twenty-nine years old, had a PhD in art history, owned her own business providing art valuation and provenance tracking. Her best friend was an Arabian prince she’d met in college. Another good friend, Beth, was also her virtual assistant and business manager. Sadie was in Boston to track down the provenance of what might be a lost Winslow Homer painting for Murphy International.
And ever since she’d taken the job, she’d been trying to deal with her annoying desire for the sexy CEO of Murphy International, Carrick Murphy—he of the ripped body and gorgeous face but terrible reputation.
Why couldn’t she be attracted to a guy who was both successful and honorable, someone she could respect? For once in her life she wanted to fall in lust with someone who wasn’t a player, cheater or weasel.
Apart from the inconvenience of imagining Murphy naked, she was fine.
Sadie flopped back in her chair and covered her eyes with her forearm. Last night, before the ambulance arrived, she’d kept her gaze firmly focused on Carrick’s face. His eyes were an unusual shade of grape-green, shot with gold and silver and surrounded by a ring of forest green.
Those amazing eyes rested in a face that was deliciously masculine—strong brows and jaw, a once straight nose that had, obviously, at one point been broken and was ever so slightly crooked, a stern but sexy mouth and a body able to make angels weep.
He was tall and ripped. And smart.
All excellent qualities...
Except for the fact that he was a carbon copy of her ex-husband. Or so she’d been informed by Beth, who was Carrick’s ex-sister-in-law.
Sadie tried to avoid the type, after having separated from and then divorced her own philandering, work-obsessed penis of a partner. So when Murphy International approached her to investigate the authenticity of what could be a lost Winslow Homer painting, she’d seriously considered turning down their request.
Purely because she was violently allergic to rich, entitled, sexy men who believed they could do what they wanted, when they wanted, with no thought to who they hurt.
But emotions didn’t pay the bills, and her business brain insisted that it was an offer she couldn’t turn down. Murphy International was one of the top three auction houses in the world, with mega-rich and established clients. The company commanded power and respect in the art world, and consulting for them would be a solid gold star on her résumé.
So she’d temporarily relocated from Paris to her hometown of Boston and, as she’d expected, going to work at Murphy International, seeing Carrick Murphy every day, was pure torture.
Because, when she was in Carrick’s company she forgot about his past—forgot that he was the type of man she avoided, that he’d been a miserable husband to a woman she called a friend. Instead, she enjoyed his sharp mind, his acerbic wit and his gorgeous looks.
When she was alone, she either fantasized about him being naked or castigated him for being a philandering, made-his-ex-miserable jerk.
Veering from lust to disdain and back again was freakin’ exhausting. But as much as she wished she could blame all her exhaustion on her troublesome attraction to Murphy, it was nearly dying that had pushed this volcanic tide of mixed emotions to the surface.
Gratitude, fear, loneliness, vulnerability...
Sadie slid down farther on her sofa and closed her eyes. One way to avoid facing herself, and those pesky emotions she usually ignored, was to slip into sleep...
After Carrick had been banging on her door for a couple of minutes—he’d seriously considered applying his size thirteen foot to the lock—Sadie opened the door to her apartment, looking a little dazed and a lot sexy.
She’d been sleeping. There was a crease from a cushion on her cheek and her eyes were foggy. He should feel bad for waking her up, she’d had twenty-four hours from hell, but he was so damn grateful to see her standing, to hear her breathing, to look into her Persian-blue eyes.
Seeing the terror in all that blue the night before had scared the crap out of him.
Carrick stepped back to look at her, his hand gripping the jamb. He had no connection to her except through work, but for the first time in eighteen hours, his heart stopped careening around his chest cavity and settled down.
He didn’t have the slightest clue why she affected him this way, this woman he barely knew. It had to be because she was sort of a Murphy employee and he felt tangentially responsible for her. That was the only reason he could come up with because they didn’t have an emotional connection.
He didn’t do connections, emotional or otherwise.
Not for a long time and not ever again.
“Hi,” Sadie murmured. “Carrick? Um, why are you here?”
“Just checking up on you.” He’d been aiming for casual but missed it by a mile.
“You look...” Carrick stumbled again, searching for the correct word. She was dressed in a red, off-the-shoulder, slouchy sweater over black leggings, and fluffy black socks. Her face was makeup free and her hair was tied up in a messy tail. A tiny dressing covered the cut on her throat.
He’d never seen anyone more beautiful. And, God, alive...
Sadie stepped back to allow him into the apartment. “Sorry, I’m a hot mess. I wasn’t expecting company. Come in.”
Why did women think being a hot mess was a bad thing?
Sadie shut the door behind him and looked down to the huge bouquet of flowers he carried. He wasn’t sure what she liked so he’d told the florist to give her everything. The result was a riot of color and fragrance.
“Are those for me?”
Well, yes. Of course.
Carrick nodded and when he handed it over, Sadie disappeared behind the blooms and the greenery. No, he needed to see her face, to keep looking at her...
Why?
This wasn’t like him and he didn’t understand it. Long and happily divorced, he marched to the beat of his own drum, had no time for complicated emotions and didn’t do clarifications, explanations or elaborations, to himself or to others.
He loved and protected his siblings and was loyal to the few close friends he had...
But Sadie Slade was neither family nor friend. So why was he reacting like this?
Sadie looked at him across the heads of the multicolored blooms. “Are you planning on talking to me?”
Talking was overrated; he could get his point across in other ways. Pulling the expensive bouquet from her arms, he dropped it to the floor. He hesitated for a moment, waiting for her to protest. When none came, he covered her mouth with his, drinking in her heat, her spice...her goddamn alive-ness.
Carrick moved her back so that she rested against the wall and then rested his palm against the cool plaster above her head. He wouldn’t touch her with anything but his mouth. Because if he did, he wouldn’t stop until he had her naked, panting and screaming his name.
Sadie had no problem using her hands, and he felt her tugging his shirt from his pants, and then her hands were on the bare skin above his belt, skimming across his spine. Every muscle in his body contracted and he wondered where all the oxygen in the room had gone.
But it didn’t matter because Sadie was kissing him. And kissing him with a lot of enthusiasm.
Sadie’s tongue pushed into his mouth and she wrapped her arms around his waist, silently telling him that she wanted him—this—as much as he did. Unable to keep his hands to himself, not for one more second, he floated his palm across the bare skin revealed by her oversize sweater and marveled at the softness. Would she be this soft everywhere?
“Touch me, Carrick,” Sadie murmured. Her breathy words, punctuated by kisses, was all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her sweater up so he could access her fragrant skin. No bra, thank God. Dropping his head to kiss her throat, he told her exactly what he wanted to do to, and with, her.
Her excited, low pitched murmurs encouraged him to do all that. And more.
When she pulled his hand up to cover her breast, he groaned at the feel of her taut nipple pushing into his hard palm. Needing to taste her, Carrick pulled her sweater up and over her head, looking down at sheer perfection when she was exposed to his hot gaze.
Firm, high breasts, pretty pink nipples...
“I can’t wait to taste you.” Carrick bent his head and laved her with his tongue before sucking her into his mouth. Perfection. Carrick moved on to her other breast and after paying it the same attention, stood up and tunneled his fingers into her hair. “I want to take you to bed.”
Sadie reached up to hold his wrist with her hand. “I know.”
Carrick bent down to lean his forehead against hers. “That’s not a yes, Sadie.”
Sadie took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. Inside that china-blue and white space, she pushed her pants down her hips, taking her underwear with them. Stepping out of her socks, she stood before him, naked.
“Make love to me, Carrick. You make me feel so damn...”
Hot? Horny? Turned on?
“Alive,” Sadie whispered. “I so very badly need, right now, to feel alive.”
He could give that to her. And so he did.
One
Carrick Murphy heard the snick of the lock on the bathroom door and turned his head to bury his face in Sadie’s sweet-smelling pillow.
Hell.
When he left his historic Beacon Hill house last night, his intention had been to check up on Murphy’s new art investigator. Because, as he told himself repeatedly on the drive to her apartment, he only needed her in a professional capacity. He needed her skills to authenticate a painting so that the possible lost Homer could be included in their much-anticipated, once-in-a-generation auction happening in the spring. He’d brought her flowers—they were still on the floor in the hallway, probably dying—as a gesture from a client to a consultant, desperately trying to convince himself that his visit had nothing to do with Sadie being sexier than sin.
Great snow job, Murphy. Not your usual style, dude.
Releasing a frustrated huff, Carrick looked around for his clothes. The least he could do to make this morning less awkward was to be dressed when Sadie eventually decided to leave the bathroom.
He found his underwear by the door and pulled on his boxer briefs. They’d started shedding clothes in the hallway, a minute after their lips collided.
Not seeing any more of his clothes in the immediate vicinity, Carrick followed the garment trail through her apartment and plucked one of her socks off the frame of a black-and-white print and picked up her yoga pants and thong off the hallway floor. He found his shirt by the gray couch and his pants behind it.
Carrick pulled on his pants and then his button-down shirt, leaving the shirt open as he pulled on his socks, then his shoes. He eyed the door, wishing he could just slip out. But Sadie wasn’t some woman he’d never see again and he wouldn’t do that to her.
Since he was no longer a kid, he didn’t leave without at the very least a “thank you,” and even if it wasn’t world-rocking sex, an “it was fun.”
But it had been world-rocking sex and he would see Sadie later since he was paying her an exorbitant figure for her expertise to authenticate a painting. He needed her...
But only on a professional basis.
He’d trained himself not to need anyone anymore.
Since divorcing Tamlyn, he always thought long and hard about whom he slept with and the potential fallout—would the woman take her story to the press? Would she spread a rumor or four about the way he treated her? But his need for Sadie had drowned out all his fears and considerations.
He’d wanted her. She’d wanted him back. His brain had shut down after that...
But man, he hoped she didn’t think this was the start of something special, that they were going anywhere. The worst outcome would be her catching feelings, wanting or expecting more from him than he could give.
Because he didn’t have it in him.
He’d lost too many women he loved and cared about—his real mom, stepmom and sister-in-law to death, another sister-in-law to divorce—and his own divorce had drained him of any hopes and dreams and trust he had in a happy-ever-after, in having a family, a partnership, a wife he’d grow old with.
The closer someone became, the more they could hurt him. His ex was proof of that.
Carrick rubbed his hands over his face.
Yep, Tamlyn had soured him so he didn’t bother dating, preferring an occasional, discreet, low-key one-nighter here and there. Sure, the sex was never as good as it could be in a committed relationship with a solid emotional connection...
Yet, it had been. With Sadie.
With Sadie, he’d forgotten that he hardly knew her, that this was their first time. Making love to her was as natural as breathing; his body—dammit!—recognized hers. There had been no awkward fumbling, no indecision, no do-you-like-this?
She’d murmured her approval whenever she could speak, either by her breathy moans, low do-that-again groans or one-word sentences. The words yes! and more! had fallen from her lips with regularity.
The hell of it was, Sadie was the best he’d ever had, better even than those first heady days with Tamlyn.
Sadie, and their night together, exceeded all his expectations and set the bar space-high for his next one-night stand.
If he ever had another one of those again...
Carrick stood up and headed for the small galley kitchen on the other side of this open-plan, generic, boring-as-hell apartment. The least he could do was get the coffee started.
Carrick changed the filter on the machine, dumped in some coffee and topped up the water. After flipping the switch, he walked back into the living room and picked up her shirt from the pile he’d made on her coffee table. He lifted the soft fabric to his nose, inhaling her scent. She smelled like sunshine and warm wind and, underneath it all, a scent he couldn’t identify. What he knew for sure was that it was a scent designed to make his head swim.
“Are you actually sniffing my shirt?”
Crap. Busted. The only option was to go on the offensive.
“What is this scent?” he demanded—casually, he hoped—dropping the shirt to the pile. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Jasmine and orange blossom,” Sadie replied. She’d showered; her wet hair was raked back from her face. In faded jeans and a loose cranberry-colored sweater, she looked younger than her years.
“Remind me to buy you ten years’ supply.”
Sadie smiled, reluctantly charmed. “I wish you could. But the perfumer refuses to make big batches and only opens his shop in Montparnasse when he’s in the mood. And he’s frequently not in the mood.”
Her eyes flickered over his bare chest, bracketed by his open shirt. He started to button up, but suddenly dropped his hands, and Sadie suspected he was enjoying her appreciation. He was a smart, experienced guy, and he’d obviously noticed the desire in her eyes, the heated flush on her cheeks.
There would be no round two—why complicate this further?—and he probably assumed that a little mutual appreciation couldn’t hurt anyone.
He was wrong; this type of thing could lead to lots of pain down the line.
Play it cool, Sadie, and for goodness’ sake, resist the urge to touch that wide chest. Find something else to do with your hands!
Breakfast. She could make breakfast...
Smart thinking, Slade.
“I understand you have an apartment in Paris,” Carrick said, following her to the kitchen, watching as she pulled croissants, butter and jam from the fridge.
“I have a rabbit’s hutch in Montparnasse, a tiny one-room apartment just big enough for me and my clothes and my reference books.” Sadie gave him an up-and-down look. “You would look like Gulliver in Lilliput in it.”
“Gulliver? Lilliput?” Then his face cleared and the penny dropped. “Right, Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels.”
“Sorry, I’m a book nerd. And an art nerd. And a useless facts nerd.”
“I like nerds. They are some of my favorite people,” Carrick said, looking at her like she was the hottest nerd he’d ever seen. But that had to be her imagination...
“My brother Finn is the king of obscure references and trivia. I’m used to hearing odd bits of useless information,” Carrick told her.
Noticing that the coffee was nearly ready, Carrick looked around the kitchen and asked where she kept her cups. After opening the cupboard she directed him to, he pulled out two mugs and filled them while Sadie placed warmed croissants on plates and pulled flatware out of a drawer.
She gestured to a stool on the other side of the island and Carrick sat down, immediately reaching for a warm buttery pastry.
Look at her, being all adult about this. And yeah, it wasn’t as awkward as she’d expected it to be.
But as sophisticated as she was acting—presumably Carrick, having the morning-after-the-night-before routine down to a fine art, was being his normal self—she needed to say something, anything, to make it clear that they were on the same page, that this was a onetime deal.
But Sadie was so out of her comfort zone. She didn’t routinely jump into bed with strange men. And she never slept with people she worked with. And she never, ever slept with men—like her ex and, supposedly, Carrick Murphy—who treated women, and sex, like playthings...
That thought was obliterated by Carrick’s next sentence. “So that shouldn’t have happened.”
That was her line!
Carrick popped a piece of strawberry jam-smeared croissant into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He took another big bite, obviously enjoying the flaky pastry and tart jam.
“I came around to check up on you, but obviously we got a bit carried away,” Carrick said in that genial tone that set her teeth on edge. “I hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”
What exactly did he mean by that? Did he think that, in her mind, sex equaled a relationship? She was a modern woman, fully capable of separating sex and emotion, carnality and commitment. She was in no danger of falling for him after one night of fantastic, mind-blowing sex. She’d heard that he’d left a trail of broken hearts and disappointed damsels throughout Boston, but she wasn’t that weak.
Not anymore.
“I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” Sadie stated, her tone firm. “As long as you realize that nothing but the evidence will affect my findings on the Homer.”
Carrick placed the corner of his croissant on his plate, reached for his coffee cup and she saw the flash of temper in his eyes. “Why the hell would you think that I’d expect you to fudge results on the painting, to tell me what you think I’d want to hear? The art speaks for itself. It always has and it always will.”
That hadn’t been true for her ex. Dennis’s moral line was exceptionally fluid and he hadn’t hesitated to use any means to influence the outcome of a deal, or a relationship, to benefit himself. Sure, it was only one brief sentence, but in this regard, she believed Carrick Murphy wasn’t like her ex.
It shouldn’t be a relief but...yes, it was.
From a business standpoint—the only standpoint that mattered—his integrity made her job easier.
But getting back to why he was in her kitchen in the early hours of a Monday morning...
“Well, going forward, I suggest we forget that last night happened. It was fun—” so much fun! “—but I have a job to do and a repeat performance isn’t in the cards.”
“It would just be too complicated,” Sadie blithely added, hoping she looked as casual as she sounded.
Carrick took another sip of coffee and tightened his fingers around the handle of the mug. “Okay, if that’s how you feel.”
No, it wasn’t! Yes, it was... Arrgh! She didn’t know what to feel! All she knew was that the last time she’d hopped into bed with a charming man, she’d had her life torn apart. She could never, ever let that happen again.
Sadie pulled apart her croissant and nibbled the inside of her cheek. God, she wished he’d just leave, give her some space, some time to make sense of nearly losing her life and having great sex and a hot guy in her kitchen at still-dark o’clock.
Reaching across the island, Carrick gripped her wrist, his fingers tan against her paler skin.
“Sadie, look at me.”
Sadie tossed her damp hair and sucked in a deep breath before obeying his soft order. Her eyes slammed into his and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Carrick’s smile was gentle, as sweet as a tough, masculine man could make it. “Thank you for an amazing night. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”
She had. Best night spent naked...ever.
“I should be off. Murphy International won’t, unfortunately, run itself.”
Sadie knew she should feel relieved, or even happy, at hearing that he was on his way, but she only felt disappointment. Which was stupid because not a couple of minutes ago she’d wanted to be alone.
Carrick released her wrist and started to do up the buttons on his shirt. Standing, he tucked his shirttails into his pants and popped the last piece of croissant into his mouth. “Damn, these are amazing.”
Walking around the island, he looked down into her face and Sadie held her breath as he lowered his head, aiming his lips at her mouth. Catching himself, he jerked back.
“I’m really glad you are fine after your choking incident.”
Thank God for his sister Tanna’s quick thinking or she wouldn’t be here, home from the hospital and exhausted after a night of being well loved.
Very well loved indeed.
Carrick used his knuckle to tip up her chin and look at the sterile gauze low down on her neck. “Is it painful?”
Sadie shook her head. “The cut is tiny and it’ll heal fast.” Sadie pulled a face. “Though I am considering becoming a vegetarian.”
Carrick smiled at her dejected tone. “It could’ve happened as easily with a piece of carrot as it did a piece of steak.”
“Point taken, but it might still be a while before I feel brave enough to swallow down another piece of rare Kobe beef. Or any meat at all.”
“Completely understandable.” Carrick looked at his watch and winced at the time. “I need to get going. I have a nine o’clock meeting and I still have to get home and shower.”
“You could take a shower here,” Sadie quietly offered. “If that saves you some time.”
She waited while he thought about it, knowing that if he made the slightest suggestion that she join him, she’d find it incredibly hard to hold herself to her have-touched-him-for-the-last-time decision. And if he stayed longer, she might just pull him into the shower herself and do several things to him she hadn’t thought of last night.
Hot, carnal, X-rated things...
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’m going to head straight for the office and hit the showers in the company gym. I keep a change of clothing and toiletries in the executive bathroom I share with my brothers, so fresh clothes won’t be a problem.”
Sadie followed him as he walked toward the hallway, taking a moment to admire the tight butt that now knew the shape and feel of her fingertips.
“I take it you’re not coming in today. You probably need time to recover.”
“I spent the night making love to you, Carrick, so I can hardly pull the ‘I’m sick’ card,” Sadie replied with a touch of tart. “But I am going to work from home today, trawling the net for anything I can find on Homer’s time in Virginia. And then I’m heading to an art gallery on Charles Street since Isabel Mounton-Matthews did a lot of business with the previous owner. I’m hoping to find something about the painting in the sale catalogs or records.”
Carrick asked her the name of the gallery and she told him, comfortable now that they were talking art.
“I’m aware of the gallery. The grapevine has it that both the past and the present owners haven’t always been on the up and up. Apparently, they have the reputation for fudging provenances or filling in the missing information with a little creative wording.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I wouldn’t call them shady, but they aren’t honest, either. I don’t think you have a hope in hell of seeing their records, if they keep decent records at all.”
