Watch for the second book in the “Secrets and Sins” series…
Secrets and Sins: Malachim
coming from Naima Simone, November 2013
Danielle Warren followed Malachim Jerrod up the front steps of the Beacon Hill brownstone
that housed the Boston legal offices of Jerrod & Associates. Her heart pounded like
a jackhammer on speed.
Oh, my God, An interview. He’s giving me an interview.
As Malachim opened the front door, she shivered. The first thing she noticed upon
entering the imposing building was the quiet. In her experience, silence was ominous;
it meant the dangerous calm before a storm of accusations, screaming, and slaps.
But there was something different about this place. It was…peaceful.
The quiet display of wealth and success reminded her of all she’d dreamed of as a
girl…all she’d fled as a woman.
“This way, please.” He led her down a hall, and she fought to keep her gaze firmly
focused on the back of his white-blond head. But like a disobedient child, her attention
slid south, tracing the width of his shoulders and the tapered length of his back.
Even outside, his long, wool coat had emphasized his tall, muscular build, rather
than detracting from it. The civilized, designer attire should have made him seem
harmless; it had the exact opposite effect. The trim cut emphasized the raw sensuality
of a body that moved with a lethal grace. Watching him walk was like observing a very
dangerous ballet.
“Can I take your jacket, Ms. Warren?” he asked, stepping back and allowing her entrance
into his spacious office. She slipped past him, careful to keep distance between them.
Not that it prohibited his fresh, clean scent from reaching out to her.
“No, thank you,” she murmured.
He shrugged out of his coat, hung it up, then turned toward her. His closely clipped
hair accentuated the sharp angles and shadowed hollows of his lean, patrician face.
For a disquieting moment, her gaze lingered on the full curve of his disarmingly sensual
mouth. Next to his urbane but still very masculine elegance, she’d felt like a ragamuffin.
Danielle had noticed Malachim’s skepticism when she’d informed him of the purpose
behind her standing on his doorstep well after quitting time—she’d only intended to
drop off her résumé, not participate in an on-the-spot job interview. She’d tried
to nonchalantly shift her messenger bag forward and hide the stain on her jeans leg.
But his all-too perceptive gaze caught the movement. She had a feeling those sharp
eyes rarely missed anything.
Those eyes…
But he’d asked her inside anyway.
Another shiver skated over her skin. But not from desire. Her mind stutter-stepped
away from that idea as if it were poisonous, scaly, and rattling. It’d been years
since a man had incited an emotion in her other than mistrust, trepidation, and fear.
No, the trembling portended a warning, a blaring red caution light to be vigilant,
careful.
From the research she’d conducted on him, Malachim was a man well acquainted with
protecting secrets. And as he rounded his desk, her bogus résumé in his hand, Danielle
would’ve bet a month’s salary he was just as adept at sniffing them out. For a woman
whose entire existence was a lie, this terrified her.
Not enough to make her turn around and walk out of this office, though.
“Just give me a few minutes to read over your résumé,” he said, lowering into his
chair.
The paper detailed her high school education and two years of community college in
the Chicago area, a long eight-year break, and a certification from an online paralegal
program. All fake and, in exchange for the last three thousand dollars in her bank
account, all 100 percent verifiable.
“I notice you’ve recently moved to the Boston area.”
If by “moving,” you meant sneaking out in the dead of night to flee one state for
another with one’s life packed into a single suitcase, then sure.
“Yes. From Chicago.
“You have family here?” he asked.
“No. I just wanted a change.” That sharp gaze studied her as if he could peer beneath
her skin to the truth beneath. “I grew up in Massachusetts before my family left years
ago.”
Truth.
“When I needed a fresh start, it seemed the place to go. At one time it was home.”
He bent his head, scanning her résumé once more. His hair gleamed under the ceiling
lights, the strands like a cap of white gold.
Would his hair feel soft to the touch like silk? Or would the short length be coarser?
The inane thought popped unbidden into her head before she could shut it down.
I’m not his damn barber, so I don’t care.
And she shifted her attention away from his head to the painting behind him.
The art depicted a lone, shadowed figure of a man standing on an outcropping of rocks.
A lighthouse, proud and solid, soared to the sky as waves crashed onto the boulders
below. It wasn’t a cheery picture; the mass of clouds in the gray sky was too dark,
too menacing. And to Danielle, the man appeared to lean forward, gazing into the turbulent
waters as if searching for something—or someone—among the swells.
It snagged at her soul, and in that moment her inspection of the painting was no longer
a carefully affected façade but true fascination.
That’s me
. In such a dark, seemingly hopeless and storm-battered place. Yet, like the man who
peered into the angry night, she stared into her future with hope, desperate to spot
the lifeline capable of keeping her from drowning.
“It’s called
Still Waiting.”
She glanced down. Malachim watched her, not the painting.
Silence hijacked the room. Why would Malachim Jerrod have this piece of art in his
inner sanctum? Why would it call to
him
, of all people? Yes, he was presently embroiled in a legal mess, but he was still
wealthy, still successful.
I don’t care,
she reminded herself.
Not my business.
She had to keep it together. She’d bet a week’s wages at Suffolk Downs that he would
hire her out of pure desperation. Jerrod & Associates had been a successful, respected
law firm—until the Richard Pierce murder scandal had broken. Now, a talented, ambitious
attorney or paralegal wouldn’t make a lateral move to a business where the proprietor
had salacious phrases like “cold case,” and “murder” attached to him like a stubborn
barnacle.
She
, however, would.
“It’s lovely,” she said and cleared her throat. She gestured toward the résumé in
his hand. “I know my work history doesn’t contain much experience, but—”
“That’s an understatement.” He laid the paper on the desktop, and his steady contemplation
never wavered. “There is a gap for almost eight years.”
She’d practiced the story in the mirror until she could repeat it without the smallest
pause or hesitation. “I was in a long-term relationship, and it didn’t work. After
it ended, I decided to pursue something for myself, which was the move to Boston and
a career as a paralegal.”
His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows lowered a fraction. In an instant she had a visual
of a patient, quietly stalking jaguar, his tail slowly flicking back and forth as
he waited for its prey to reveal itself. To make a mistake…
“When can you start?” he finally asked, his voice was heavy with the weight of resignation.
To be continued
…
SECRETS AND SINS: MALACHIM
by Naima Simone
November 2013
And coming in 2014 from Naima Simone:
SECRETS AND SINS: RAPHAEL
SECRETS AND SINS: CHAYOT