The Reckless Secret, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) (3 page)

Aunt Constance’s eyebrows shot up like Maggie had cursed at her. “Not interested? Of course, you’re interested. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid, I just—”

“Come on, Aunt Connie,” said Grant, hitching that charming smile onto his face. The effect was somewhat lost among the graying of his skin and the dark circles beneath his eyes. “We’re here to celebrate your daughter’s wedding, aren’t we? Maggie’s love life should be the least of your priorities today.”

“He’s here at the wedding,” Aunt Constance said firmly. “What other chance is she going to get? Now I’ve told him all about you, Maggie, dear, and he’s willing to look past the whole…nurse thing”—she scrunched up her nose, perennially disgusted by Maggie’s choices in life—“and he’s eager to get to know you. I’ve told him you’re free on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” said Maggie, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.

“Yes. I assumed you wouldn’t be busy. Lord knows your mother’s made no effort to get you matched up. Now, come with me,” she said, grabbing Maggie’s wrist and tugging on it, “I’ll introduce you—”

“She’s busy on Saturday,” Grant cut in.

Aunt Constance blinked at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” said Grant, and it was painfully obvious how he was casting about for a believable explanation, his mind working a mile a minute. Apparently he immediately gave up, because he nudged Maggie and said, “Yeah, tell her, Mags. About the thing. On Saturday.”

“The thing. Right.” Her stomach tightened with panic, her mind going entirely blank. She widened her eyes at Grant in an attempt to scream
Help me!
but he wasn’t looking at her. He was gazing across the room, and whatever had caught his eye, it made his expression light up.

“She’s got a date,” he said, nodding sort of vaguely, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. He turned back to Constance and hitched that charming smile back on his face—and this time, it looked far more authentic. “Sorry, Aunt Connie. She’s already spoken for.”

“She is?” Aunt Constance couldn’t have sounded more shocked if she tried. She dropped Maggie’s wrist.

“I am?” echoed Maggie, and at a sharp look from Grant, she added hurriedly, “I am! Yes. Sorry.”

It took Aunt Constance a moment to find her voice again. “Well, who is he? What does he do?”

She was addressing Maggie, who swallowed thickly and said through her tight smile, “Grant, why don’t you tell her. You’re the one who set us up after all.”

“He’s a lawyer,” Grant said without missing a beat. “But he’s old money. Filthy rich. You’d love him.”

Aunt Constance’s tone when she responded was much more pleasant. “Oh, I see. From an old family, you say? I must know him then. Come on.”

There seemed to be a long stretch of anticipation between Constance’s prompt and Grant’s answer, like time had stopped for a heartbeat or two. Then Grant said, “The Archibalds,” and the floor dropped away beneath Maggie’s feet. She grabbed Grant’s arm, her insides twisting up with horror even as she tried to keep that passive smile on her face.

“The Archibalds?” said Aunt Constance, her face illuminating. “Lovely family. Just lovely. But—do you mean
Declan
Archibald?”

Of course, he meant Declan Archibald. There was no other male Archibald in her age range who hadn’t already been married off.

Maggie clenched her teeth.

“But he’s here, you know?” Aunt Constance continued. “I was speaking to him a few minutes ago—he didn’t mention you, Maggie, dear.” There was suspicion in her tone now, but Maggie could hardly focus on it.

Declan Archibald was here.

Declan
.

And apparently, Maggie was dating him.

Never before had she so badly wished for a black hole to appear and suck her away.

“Well, it’s early days,” she said in a wobbly voice, trying to inject some coyness into it.

“But it looks promising,” Grant interjected. Maggie wanted to slaughter him. “We better go say hello. Lovely to see you, Aunt Connie. Good luck with today.” Then he leaned in to give her a swift kiss on the cheek and pulled Maggie away, leaving Aunt Constance affronted and wordless with the abrupt dismissal.

Maggie couldn’t look up, focusing on her shoes as Grant pulled her towards the throng of people chatting along the aisle, waiting for the big event.

She couldn’t look up, because she might see Declan, and she didn’t trust her own reaction. What if her knees went weak and gave out beneath her, and she collapsed into a heap at Declan’s feet? A distinct possibility, considering how much she’d lusted after him since…well, forever.

And she hated him for it. For how he’d led her on all those months ago and then discarded her like yesterday’s trash. And how, despite it, thoughts of him still sent an electric tingle across her skin, settled warm and pulsing in her groin.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Grant murmured to her, and right now she hated him almost as much as she did his old childhood friend.

“For what?” she snapped back at him. “Coming up with the most ludicrous—”

“Declan? Man, it’s been too long, buddy,” Grant said, coming to a stop and dropping Maggie’s arm.

Oh God, she could smell him. That heady mix of far-too-expensive cologne and the pure masculinity of him. She swallowed thickly and looked up.

He wasn’t looking at her.

“Hey, man,” he said to Grant, smiling warmly as they shook hands. “How’s it going?” His smile dimmed a little when he got a good look at Grant’s face, but he said nothing.

Meanwhile, Maggie was praying for a hole to open and swallow her down. Again.

Maybe she could slip away, quietly and without notice, while these two old pals caught up…

“Not bad, yeah,” Grant said. “Last time I saw you, we were at that Playmate party in the summer—”

“Yeah, well.” Declan looked over his shoulder, and Maggie took the opportunity to creep away, one tiptoed step at a time. “The less said about that, the better. At least in this crowd.” The two men laughed, and then Declan said, “And you, Maggie?” bringing her to a stop and making her wince.

She forced a polite smile onto her face and looked up at him. “Hello.”

He stared at her a moment too long. “Always a pleasure.” His voice was a smooth drawl, a rich tone he’d developed in his late teens and carried with him since, deepening as he aged and growing more confident with it. There was a grit to it these days, like caramel poured over gravel. The heat of it washed through her.

“Declan,” she said tightly, her mouth running dry.

“Am I not getting a smile?”

“Do you deserve one?”

“Oh, by the way,” said Grant, butting in like he couldn’t sense the tension in the air, “if Constance asks, you and Maggie are dating. Just play along.”

Declan tore his gaze away from Maggie and raised a brow at his friend. “We are?” There was a glimmer of something dangerous in his eye, something that made Maggie swallow thickly.

“Yeah, you know what she’s like. Obsessing over Maggie’s depressing love life—”

“
Grant
.” Jesus Christ.

But something about what he’d said had caught Declan’s attention, because he looked at Maggie with distinct interest. “What happened to that preppy doctor you were seeing a few months ago?”

She blinked, and all thoughts of creeping away disappeared beneath a wave of curiosity. And suspicion. “How do you know about that?”

He paused. “Word gets around,” he said, swiping the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip.

Maggie’s heart tripped over itself. “It didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry,” Declan said immediately, but there was that dangerous glint in his eye again, and her stomach lurched at the insincerity of his tone.

“No you’re not.”

“Not really,” he said swiftly, and then turned to Grant, who’d been watching the exchange with a crease between his brows. “Did you know Maggie and I dated for a while?”

Grant’s whole face spoke of shock.

“It was two dates,” Maggie said quickly, and Declan smirked.

“She swapped me out for the doctor.”

His words were joking, his expression relaxed, but his throat rolled with a dry swallow like the words didn’t taste too nice. She’d never before considered the possibility that he might’ve thought she’d chosen Ronald over him. She hardly let herself imagine that he even thought of her at all. “I—no, I didn’t.”

“I last saw you on the Saturday,” Declan said, talking entirely to her now, like the rest of the room had melted away, “and by the Wednesday you were with the doc.”

“Were you having me followed or something?”

“I saw you,” he said after a moment of hesitation, his voice quieting, growing intimate and honest.

She didn’t know what to say. What she should even think.

“Hold on,” Grant said, crashing into the moment with all the grace of a bodybuilder at a ballet recital. “You two were seeing each other?”

His interruption brought her back to earth, and all of a sudden it hit her again—why she’d spent all these months being so angry with Declan Archibald. “We went on two dates,” she said. “And the second one we only made it halfway through before he bailed on me.”

Declan didn’t falter. “I had an emergency.”

“Oh, yeah, it was one of those true emergencies. Of the leggy blonde variety.” The words settled like ash on her tongue.

“Now who’s following who?”

“Kinda hard to miss, with it splashed across the society pages.”

“And the press never report anything but the absolute truth.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Maggie’s Uncle Lawrence from the front of the room, “if we could all take our seats…”

Maggie was breathless. She didn’t know why, as nothing about this whole exchange should’ve affected her. It wasn’t as if she still harbored a Texas-sized crush on the man.

And other lies she told herself at night…

She risked another glance at him, found his eyes pinned firmly on her, dark and intense, like he was trying to see past the words and to the meaning beneath. Like he was desperate for something.

“Maggie—” he started, his voice low and urgent, but Grant spoke simultaneously, much louder, and the moment shattered.

“We better head to our seats—”

Declan visibly shook himself free of whatever thought had him so captured. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you, man. Maybe we’ll catch up at the reception,” he added, glancing again at Maggie.

“Sure thing.” Grant slapped Declan on the shoulder, added, “Enjoy the show,” and then led Maggie away. She didn’t look back. “You and I are gonna have a very long talk about this later.”

“God, it was two dates,” she hissed for what felt like the tenth time, pasting on an over-bright smile for all the guests nodding and greeting her as she passed them. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I just want to know how you—the girl who turned her back on this world—ended up with the richest one of all.”

“I didn’t
end up
with him. Jesus Christ.” They found their seats—third row back, her view obstructed by the largest hat in the universe. “We had one dinner and one almost-dinner. I haven’t seen him since.”

“I didn’t even know you were into him.”

“I’m not.”

“You must’ve been, at some point.”

“Clearly I’d taken temporary leave of my senses.”

“Clearly. The wedding’s that way, by the way,” he said, and she blushed all the way down to her chest as she realized she’d been staring across at Declan.

In her defense, it wasn’t as if Declan didn’t keep glancing in her direction, too.

The situation seemed to amuse Grant, judging by the twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, sinking low in her seat. Grant snorted.

From across the room, Declan looked over his shoulder again and caught her eye.

T
he wedding went
off without a hitch, naturally. No event this expensive would ever suffer from lax service, not if the staff ever wanted to hear the end of it from Connie’s acid tongue.

Jenna made a beautiful bride, and she looked genuinely happy as she exchanged vows with her husband-to-be, a stock broker she’d met only eight months previous.

Maggie couldn’t help but give a watery smile as the newly married couple kissed for the first time.

Over at the reception now, with the party in full swing, Maggie was taking advantage of the free wine and canapes and enjoying the relatively isolated corner she and Grant had found themselves.

But the lull in action gave Maggie time to think again, and what she was thinking about now was the state of Grant’s pallid face.

“But have you been to a doctor?” she yelled over the band, watching white light pass over his sharp cheekbone.

“
Yes
, Maggie,” he said, visibly sighing.

“And? What did he say?”

“It’s the flu.”

“Did he give you anything?”

“I—no.” He shifted his weight, shoulders hunching forward as he leaned back against the wall. “Told me to sleep it off.”

“Sleep it off? Which doctor was this? Not Dr. O’Malley.”

“Uh, no. A new one. Closer to my condo.”

“You shouldn’t change doctors unless you really have to, you know. Dr. O’Malley knows your whole history—”

“Declan!” Grant said suddenly, his face lighting up as he lurched forward and grabbed hold of a passing Declan Archibald. “Buddy. Just the man. Maggie here was just saying how much she wanted to dance.”

Oh my God.
“What—
Grant
.”

Declan raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Nope,” Maggie said, shaking her head and stepping back, as if she could disappear into the wall and make this go away. “Not me.”

Declan observed her for a long moment, his eyes glittering. Then he held out his hand. “May I?”

Maggie’s stomach swooped. “I should just—” she said, staring at his proffered hand, panic welling up in her chest. Panic, and a hint of excitement. “The bride—” And she tried to leave, but her feet were quite clearly nailed to the floor.

“The bride is busy getting changed right now,” Declan informed her, his voice maddeningly calm, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Are you gonna leave me hanging?”

Grant huffed out his exasperation. “Just dance with the man, will you?” he snapped, yanking Maggie’s wine glass from her hand and shoving her forward, directly into Declan’s space.

It happened too quickly. One moment she was muttering vague protestations, caught up in the whirlwind of it all; the next moment she was dancing, her hand softly held in his, the warmth of his other hand settled low on her back.

She caught her breath, and just for a moment, for one heart-stopping moment, she allowed herself to feel the heat and pleasure of his broad, strong, muscular body against her own—allowed herself to imagine, briefly but with startling clarity, how it would feel minus the clothes between them.

Then she shut down those thoughts and cleared her throat.

“So we’re clear, this is just a dance.”

“Of course, it is,” he said immediately, his voice rumbling through his chest and into hers. This close, she could smell the richness of his cologne. Feel the sweetness of his breath on her face. She daren’t look up at him.

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He was leading, of course—gliding them across the dance floor to a slow, sultry tune that had all the couples up and embracing. The confidence in his steps tripped her heart. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, swallowing dryly. “You look…” She risked a glance up at his face, found him gazing down at her as if she was all he saw. She looked away quickly, blushing, and focused on the glint of his watch—a watch that was obviously worth more than her entire apartment. “Rich,” she finished, and he chuckled, pulled her closer just a little. She didn’t object.

“Something you find a complete turnoff, if I remember correctly.”

“I don’t hate society,” she said. “I just want more from life.”

“I always admired that about you.”

She choked out a laugh. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” he said, “but it’s on the agenda.” And when she glanced up at him this time, he was wearing his bright, charming grin, the one he’d dazzled her with all her life.

They fell into a silence, and Maggie found herself lulled into a sense of calm by the rhythmic swaying of the dance, the moody tones of the music, the strength and warmth of Declan pressed into her, the steadiness of his heartbeat against her breast. Her stomach twisted dangerously, the same way it had back when she first developed her crush on him as a teenager. When every time she saw him, she’d felt like she was looking at perfection.

And when he’d flirted with her outrageously at the beach party all those months ago, then sent flowers to her apartment with a note asking her to meet him, and her heart had swelled with giddy anticipation…

And then he’d given her a date and a half and nothing else, no other contact, nothing but the cruelty of parading Ms. Leggy Blonde around in the newspapers and magazines.

As if following her train of thought, Declan suddenly drew in a breath and asked, “So…what did the doc have that I didn’t?” There was an oddness to his voice, the words coming out rushed and stilted. She’d never heard that hitch of uncertainty in his tone before.

“What?”

“You traded me in pretty quickly.”

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked, pulling back an inch or two, enough to look up at his face, “sit and wait for you to be done with your blonde?”

His jaw twitched. “She’s not my blonde. She’s my friend.”

“Right,” she said, injecting disbelief into the word.

His hand tightened on her back. “Were you jealous?”

“Were
you
?” she shot back at him.

“Extremely,” he said without hesitation, the tightened hand on her lower back now forming a fist, catching the material of her dress and pushing her forward. Her breath stuttered in his throat.

“You didn’t do anything about it, did you?”

“Didn’t I?” he said quietly, and his gaze slipped down to her mouth. Maggie’s head was spinning, and for just an instant, for one blindingly stupid instant, she felt the overwhelming urge to lean forward.

“Song’s finished,” Declan said, and the world rushed in on Maggie, lights and sound exploding back into her awareness. She blushed.

“Right,” she said, pulling away from his hold. There was a hint of reluctance in the way he let her go, a lingering drag of his fingers across her back and hip. She straightened her dress and looked everywhere except his face. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Pleasure.”

Then she got away from him as quickly as this dress allowed her to move.

H
e caught
up with her again as she left the bathroom—she’d only gone in there to splash some water on her face, cool down, gather herself after the betrayal of her body. The way it reacted to Declan’s proximity. The way she
ached
for him.

But he didn’t let her; didn’t allow her a reprieve.

He marched towards her down the empty corridor, fire in his eyes and deliberation in his step, staring directly at her as he drew closer and closer, as she lost her breath and slowed her pace and lit up with the anticipation of it—

Then he met her in the middle, and he took her waist, and he yanked her aside.

“What—”

“Shh,” he said, tucking her firmly into an alcove, shadowed and separated from the world, the intimacy of it all as he swept in close, as he pressed his body to hers, as he settled one hand on the wall beside her head and the other on her hip… Then he dipped his face to hers, his breath teasing her lips, and murmured, “Can I?”

And in that moment, there was not one part of her that wanted to say anything other than the breathless, whispered word that tumbled from her mouth.

“Yes.”