Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(8)

“Do you have wine?” Wine is an absolute must.

“Plenty,” he replies, pulling me closer. “You can take your pick; anything you want.”

“You’re not going to tell me that you have a wine cellar, are you?” I say, teasing.

“Not here in the city.” He gives me a wry grin. “But I do have one.”

I roll my eyes at him good-naturedly. I don’t have much experience dealing with the mega-rich, or even the rich, for that matter, but I get the feeling that the best way to deal with anything that shows off their enormous wealth is to just laugh it off. I’m sure Caleb has people fawning all over him for his wealth every day, and I don’t want to be that person. I don’t care about it, anyway. He could live in a box as long as he keeps kissing me like he just did.

“Are you bringing that with you?” he asks, gesturing toward my huge bag that I’ve got slung over my shoulder. I know he’s curious about why I’m carrying it around.

What can I tell him? That inside the bag is everything I managed to grab from my apartment before I went on the run, because some criminal for hire is after me for bilking an underhanded, awful, scummy man? I don’t think a confession like that would make the kissing all that more frequent, and I like the distraction that being around Caleb gives me. I can’t seem to come up with a way out of this mess, so I might as well take whatever pleasure I can wherever I can.

I only have enough money to stay in New York for another month or so, and then I’m going to have to…I don’t know. Go home and face the consequences for what I’ve done? Ask for mercy? I don’t want to think about that right now.

So, I settle for the truth. “Yeah, I’m switching hotels. I haven’t had a chance to check into the new one yet, so I thought I’d just bring this with me. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” I know how it looks; like I’m poised and ready to move in with him. I haven’t checked into my new hotel yet; I didn’t want to waste the money on a place if I don’t wind up staying there tonight.

“No, no,” he says quickly. “It just looks heavy, and a little too big for you to carry. Let me?”

Caleb holds out his hand to take it, and I debate about whether or not to let him carry the bag. I’m not sure where the hesitance is coming from. I know in my bones he’s not working for Privya, and it’s not like he’s going to run off with it. I’m getting ready to leave this bar to go with him to his apartment, where no one will be around. If I can’t trust him to carry my bag, how in the hell am I going home with him?

I let the bag’s strap slide down my shoulder, and then hand it to Caleb. He grips it tightly, and slings it behind his back in a move that I find ridiculously sexy. My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s just a bag, but it’s my everything right now, and for the first time this trip, it’s out of my possession.

I take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.

“C’mon,” Caleb says, twining his fingers through mine. Immediately, I relax into his touch. He leads me through the crowd, and out onto the street. I feel anxious and exposed, and it seems like Caleb notices, because he gently squeezes my hand, before he looks back and smiles. “My car is right over here.”





CHAPTER SIX





Caleb paints an almost GQ-level picture from where he stands, his hands planted on the sparkling clean gray granite countertop that covers the island in the middle of his kitchen. The place is pristine, and beautiful. It has dark cherry cupboards, and spotless stainless steel appliances. Without asking, I know this is one of the rooms he recently had remodeled.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

I give him a puzzled look, which makes him smile.

“The wine, Mia,” he replies, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Do you like the wine?”

Oh. The wine. I had gotten so distracted appreciating the view that I completely forgot there is a glass of superb wine sitting in front of me.

“It’s delicious,” I tell him, before taking another sip of my red, which came from a bottle that is older than I am. “You said you had the best, and you most definitely have the best.”

Glass in hand, I walk around the kitchen, marveling at the thought that was put into the design. Back home in Chicago, my tiny apartment has a galley style kitchen, and it’s so cramped that when I open the oven door, it buts into a cabinet. This place doesn’t have that issue. I could do cartwheels in here if I wanted to.

“Is this place always this neat?” I ask. “Or is it super pristine because you just had it renovated?”


“Are you asking if I’m a slob?” He doesn’t seem offended, even though he probably should be.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Okay, yes. Maybe a little.”

“I have a cleaning lady, if that’s what you were wondering,” he replies with a smile.

“I’m not judging, by the way. I was just trying to figure out how impressed with you I should be.”

“You should be impressed, but not by my cleaning skills.” He winks at me, and I think I feel my knees starting to give out.

“What skills should I be impressed by, then?” I ask, coyly looking at him over the rim of my wine glass.

“You’ll find out later.”