Page 8 of Dark Secret

That brought up a bunch of stuff that wasn’t what I was looking for, and then I saw it, on the second page. Reports about a fire, two deaths, and the suspect was the son. My blood ran cold as I opened the link to see a much younger Dylan on the screen. His name had been Dylan Matthews back then, but the news sources had tagged it with his adopted name. There were several pictures of a very young Dylan, and my heart lurched over each one. His demeanor was defiant as he was led away in handcuffs, but another picture showed what was really going on. A broken little boy whose parents had just died, with a grief-stricken face as the police car drove away.

I scrolled back and found more reports, how his mother had been the one to set the fire, and on one rather gory site, I found the details of how Dylan had lived his life. Apparently, the information came from a friend of Dylan’s parents, but it didn’t say who that person was. All I could think as I read this horrific account was why hadn’t someone done something, anything, to prevent what had happened?

His mother had been the problem, not Dylan, and it made me even angrier at Trent that he’d told me Dylan had killed his parents. He must have seen both reports, as I had. How could he accuse Dylan of that, when it wasn’t true? When the truth was even worse; his own mother had tried to kill him!

He’d never told me much about his private life, not really; although I thought he’d started to a few times. Something always held him back. The openness in his eyes would hide behind an invisible shutter, and the moment would pass. He’d change the subject, or kiss me instead of telling me whatever secrets he’d kept locked away, and what secrets he’d hidden indeed.

I’d read the personal accounts over and over again, the way his mom would just descend into a screaming fit of bitter tears as she accused his father of sleeping with their neighbor, or a woman at work, were heart-wrenching. I felt pity for them all, but especially for the child who had come of that initial union.

Dylan had lived his whole life knowing his mom had conceived him on purpose, just to get a husband. His father had been a hard-working man, and he’d been devoted to his wife. The personal accounts told how everyone who knew the family knew that Dylan’s dad was faithful. He only ever went to work, and then he’d go straight home to cook dinner and clean the house up. He’d tried to give Dylan some semblance of stability, but most of the time, the home was dysfunctional.

I’d tried to imagine Dylan after he’d been released from the jail and taken into foster care. The poor child wasn’t even allowed to attend the dual funeral. Tears slid from my eyes as I’d pictured him, alone, afraid, and in a new home with strange people. The James couple had taken him, had given him a home, and had obviously helped him get his life back on track.

This the reason he’d wanted the contract so bad? His mother had tricked his father and then made all of their lives hell. It made sense to me now. If that was the reason for his insistence, however. I’d stared at the screen, re-reading words I’d already read a dozen times. Who was this family friend? Were they honest, could they be trusted? The site wasn’t exactly high-end; it could have been the writer’s fantasy about what had happened.

Another question I had was why Dylan had gone to foster care. Hadn’t there been grandparents or aunts and uncles who could have taken him in? He must have felt completely abandoned, I’d decided as I stared at the pictures that were sprinkled all over the page. The final picture was one of him being taken away by his new adoptive parents. The website wished Dylan luck, but it hadn’t been updated in at least ten years. There were other pages I could have looked at, even more gruesome tales of twisted love and burning hate, but I’d only clicked on it to learn about Dylan.

Murder sites weren’t my thing, and I’d closed the browser and my laptop after a few minutes of staring off into space. Dylan had lived an incredibly tumultuous life until he was taken in by the James family. It was hardly any wonder at all that he’d wanted a contract now. That didn’t mean I’d decided to give him one, though.

It just meant I had to help him work his way past the need for black and white promises. He had to learn to take me at face-value and to trust my word. Just as I’d trusted him. I went into my bedroom and pulled out some leisure-wear: a soft pair of velour pants in a bright peach color, with a matching jacket that would come off easily, but keep me warm on the drive over.

There was no doubt I’d go to him now. A man who had lived through that kind of trauma would have too much pride, or maybe not enough, to let his guard down, or to admit that he’d needed someone. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, he might turn me away at the door, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried, would I?

I drove over carefully, determined to get there in one piece. I didn’t want to rush over and end up in a tree or worse. I took my time, and when I’d pulled into the parking garage, I’d rushed to the elevators. I knew the passcode to get to his floor, I’d memorized it weeks ago, and punched it in and turned to watch the numbers above the door.

I’d deliberately kept my mind blank on the way over and did my best to concentrate on the road in front of me. That kept the doubts at bay, but that ride up the building almost broke me. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and refused to see me? The code still worked, so he’d either hoped I’d come to him and left it alone, or he’d forgotten to change it. Or maybe he’d thought I wouldn’t have the gall to show up there?

I chewed at the inside of my lip and tried not to groan in misery. Surely, he’d be happy to see me? The thought occurred to me that he might still be at the club, already entangled with another woman, contract signed and delivered. That made me want to punch somebody’s lights out, and I’d never been a violent person.

Even in school, I’d always stayed out of fights and arguments. I’d just hated the turmoil and drama, so I’d avoided it. I doubted most people would even remember I’d been a student there. I’d just kind of blended into the walls.

I guessed that was part of the reason I was so pleased when Dylan noticed me. Out of all of the women he could have chosen, he’d chosen me. The one who was too shy to show her face, that wouldn’t have said a word to him if he hadn’t spoken to me. But he had seen me, he’d spoken to me, and he’d chosen me to be his, even if it was only intended to be for a little while.

I had sometimes felt like an actor in my own life, portraying what others had always wanted, or expected, me to be. With Dylan, all of that had changed. I could be me. I could talk about the things that bored other people, like a tidbit about history that I’d learned, or about the principles of business management with Dylan, and he’d always discuss the matter with me. He wouldn’t tune out and let me talk just to appease me; he’d actually hold a conversation with me.

Now, I’d find out if that was all finished and done with, or if we could go back to what we were last week. I realized I’d been standing in front of his door for quite a while when I heard the elevator ding behind me.

I hadn’t even heard it go down, but I heard that noise. There was only one person it could be, and when I turned around, I saw him there. There was surprise in his eyes, shock even, but there was also a deep hunger that was oh so familiar. I felt my insides respond instantly, and my skin went tight all over.

I was going to say something, I didn’t know what, but Dylan didn’t give me the chance. In an instant, I was in his arms, and I felt how cool his skin was against my face when he kissed me. His hands pushed my hips back against the wall, then he tilted me into him as my arms went around his neck.

Dylan kissed me, his tongue entwined with mine, and neither of us cared that we were in a hallway. It wasn’t like anyone would come by and see us, so it didn’t matter. I clung to him and kissed him with every ounce of passion I had to give. He tasted of scotch and Dylan, a taste that was so familiar, but always made me hungry for more. I inhaled his scent and felt the coolness of his leather on my fingers.

With ecstatic glee my fingers then plunged into his hair to hold his face to mine, because I never wanted this kiss to end. Burning heat flooded my veins, and my movements became slow. His kiss slowed in turn, but it didn’t stop. Not at all. He pressed himself into me and hitched me up just a little, until I was on my tiptoes and barely hanging on to him. It didn’t matter because Dylan was there, he was in my arms, and he was kissing me. Nothing else mattered.

He broke away for a moment and stared at me, his lips pursed, and I thought he’d say something. Instead, he closed his eyes on the look of anguish I’d caught a glimpse of and pushed me into the wall with another earth-shattering kiss.

I felt lightheaded, giddy with joy, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to break the spell because I knew I would if I tried to speak, I’d ask him something stupid like how his day had gone, or if he’d got his laundry done today, almost anything but something that could be seen as sultry or seductive. I had that knack for ruining things if I wasn’t careful.

I wanted to speak to him, but right now, this seemed far more important, and he wasn’t asking for a contract, so I decided to let it go. I’d see how far we got, and then I’d give him an offer. Two weeks without a contract, just to see how it went, and if he didn’t like it or couldn’t cope, we’d go with a contract.

Or if he wanted a contract, I’d sign it; I didn’t care right now. I just wanted him to keep touching me. His hands ran up my jacket, and he hummed happily when he found my skin bare. I pressed into the cold touch of his fingers against my hot skin. Something about the contrast made me want more, and I let him know it.

I was sure it was only the fact that he was touching me that really mattered, but why examine the logic of it at this point? That would just be stupid. I was not a stupid woman. I wrapped myself tighter around him and tried to get closer. I just wanted to be closer to him. I knew about his past now, I knew what had driven him to the life he had, and it made me hurt for him. I wanted to take his hurt away, all of it, and take it into myself where he didn’t have to feel it anymore.

I’d never quite felt like that about anyone before. Not that deeply. It scared me, but it was new, and new things always scared me. I’d decided at the outset that I’d face my fears and work past them. I’d do my best to live for this moment of my life. I knew now I’d fight for every moment I could have with Dylan, but I knew he was fragile in one regard. His history might not allow him to take this any further than friendship and sex. If that was all he could give me, for now, I’d take it.

I’d worry about the rest later. Right now, I’d wanted to make sure I never saw that anguish in his eyes ever again. I didn’t want to be the reason it was there either. I’d wash it away somehow. I’d replace it with my care. I’d tell him all of that as soon as he let us both come up for air. Until then, he could have me right here in the hallway if that was what he’d wanted. I didn’t care anymore. I’d just wanted him, and that was all that mattered, in the end.