Beautiful Secret (Beautiful Bastard #4) (6 page)

He hadn’t moved yet. Which was bad because of the bathroom situation, but awesome because when would I ever have this opportunity again? Aside from that one hour at work a week, I never really got the chance to look at him like this. In meetings we were always surrounded by people, or passing quickly in the hall. Once, I stood behind him in the buffet line at a company gala, but all that really afforded me was a good look at his ass in tuxedo pants. Not a complaint, by the way. Niall Stella played soccer and rowed with a men’s club on the Thames every Saturday. His backside was in my Top Ten Favorite Niall Stella Body Parts (I was leaving spot one open for
the time being).

But here, I was so close I could count his eyelashes if I wanted. And I sort of did.

Niall Stella wasn’t
that
much older than me—only seven years—but he looked so young like this. His hair was the tiniest bit mussed near the back, the front falling down over his forehead, shiny and soft. His pale green shirt was rumpled ever so slightly, and there, on the shoulder, was a dark patch of fabric.

Where I’d drooled.

Oh, God
.

I wiped at my face, cursing that he’d been so warm and snugglable that I’d fallen into a sleep heavy enough to drool on his fancy, four-thirty-in-the-morning suit. Help. I searched the area around us, finding nothing more than a crumpled napkin on my tray. Picking it up, I dabbed carefully, hoping maybe I could fix it all and he wouldn’t even notice. No such luck. Not only didn’t it work, but it jostled him enough that his eyes flashed open to find my face only inches from his.

I smiled. “Hi.”

He blinked a few times before his eyes widened, his gaze moving to the piece of tissue in my hand, and over to his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered, following it up with a shaky, nervous laugh. “I’m a delicate napper.”

He smiled and there was a tiny, devious flash of
dimples. “These things happen.”

I wanted to slap myself for the thought that came next, the urge to climb over and straddle his narrow, fit hips. Fucking hell, Ruby. Did you not read agenda note #1?
Don’t be an idiot around Niall Stella
.

He stretched, oblivious to my meltdown. “I seem to have dozed off myself there, so . . . I apologize for that.”

“Oh, God, no. Don’t be sorry. You looked adora—” I started, then snapped my mouth shut. “We’ll be landing soon, I’m just going to get changed.”

Without waiting for him to move, I climbed out of my seat, straddling his lap in the process. He made to stand before realizing I was a woman on a mission of escape and if he stood his crotch would come into direct, awkward contact with mine, so he simply grabbed his armrests as if holding on for dear life. It meant my ass was directly in his face, but I suppose that was preferable to an unintentional dry hump.

Life Alert? We have a situation here
.

I didn’t look at him as I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead bin and moved as quickly as my legs would go to the nearest available bathroom.

Safely locked in the tiny room, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. Why was it so impossible for me to act like a normal human being around him?

“Get it together,” I told my reflection, and roughly opened my bag. I had everything I needed in there; unfortunately, the idea of changing in an airplane restroom was far better than the mechanics of actually doing it.

I banged my head on the counter as I bent to push my pants down my hips. We hit a pocket of turbulence as I lifted my foot to slip on my skirt, and it nearly ended up in the toilet before I was knocked back into the door with a loud bang. It took me ten minutes to dress and fix my hair, and there was zero question that every single person in first class—and probably beyond—had looked toward the bathroom in concern at least once, wondering what the hell was going on in there. But with my head held high, I stepped out and took my seat.

The fact that Niall Stella was noticeably still did not ease my nerves.

He didn’t look my way, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead, and murmured an “All right?” when I’d rebuckled my seat belt.

“Perfect,” I lied. “Being trapped in a tiny space, I decided it was a good time to dance.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he bent down and laughed outright. “I did some of that myself while you were in there.”

Something inside me melted, and it was all I could do to not turn, take his face in my hands, and make out with him like there was no tomorrow.

The plane landed ten minutes ahead of schedule. Passengers began to stand and pull their things from the overhead compartments, and I stood in front of Niall as
we waited to make our way down the aisle toward the exit.

I looked over my shoulder at him, wanting to make sure he was all set. But he didn’t look down to meet my eyes. He was staring with determination at the ceiling of the plane.

Something was off.

For six months I’d worked in the same building as Niall Stella and he’d never really noticed me. This was different. This wasn’t the oblivious avoidance I’d seen in the past, this was deliberate. He was fidgety and flustered and if it would have been acceptable to shove me out of the way and run to the taxi stand to flee the scene, I thought he might do it.

First class and coach were filing out the same door and I turned again, smiling at him as we waited for the people in front of us to move. “We’re a little early, so our driver might not be here yet,” I said.

His eyes darted down to mine and then quickly away.

“Right,” he said.

Okaaaaay
.

I turned on my heel and continued on down the row, when a woman near me reached out, tugging on my skirt.

“Girl code, girl code,” she whispered, and I looked down at her, confused. “Your skirt is tucked into your underwear.”

MY WHAT?

She leaned in and I felt the blood drain from
my face. “Though between you and me, I don’t think the gentleman behind you minds one little bit.”

I reached behind me and felt nothing but skin, frantically pulling my skirt free from where it had been completely tucked up into itself,

exposing

my

entire

ass.

Life Alert? It’s me, Ruby, again
.

I thanked her and stepped out onto the jetway, rolling my carry-on behind me and praying that the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Once we were just inside the terminal, I made a show of looking for something in my purse so Niall Stella would walk in front of me and I wouldn’t have to fight the urge to constantly smooth my skirt down over my backside.

He’s seen your ass.

Why did you choose to wear a G-string?

He’s seen your
naked ass
, Ruby
.

We stood side by side as we waited for our luggage, and honestly I wasn’t sure which of us was more mortified. There was absolutely no way that he didn’t see. I knew he saw. And he knew I knew he saw.

I stared at the turnstile, waiting for my bag to appear, when I felt him lean closer.

He smelled like fresh soap and shaving cream, and when he whispered, his breath was
minty. “Ruby? Sorry about the . . . I’m not very good at . . .” He paused and I turned to meet his eyes. We were so close. His brown eyes had flecks of green and yellow in them and I felt my heart claw its way up my throat when he glanced quickly down at my mouth. “I’m not very good at . . . women.”

My humiliation was replaced with something warmer, and calmer, and infinitely sweeter.

I’d been in large cities before—San Diego, San Francisco, Los Angeles, London—but I was pretty sure they were absolutely nothing like New York.

Everything was massive, taking up as little ground as necessary while towering overhead. The buildings crowded the sky, leaving only a strip of gray-blue directly above us. And it was
loud
. I’d never been somewhere with so much honking—not that anyone on the street seemed to notice. The air was a chorus of horns and shouts, and as we made our way from terminal four of JFK to our car, and from our car to the revolving doors of the Parker Meridien, I didn’t see a single person who seemed bothered by the cacophony.

Niall followed an appropriate distance behind me as we made our way through the lobby—close enough that it was clear we were together, but not
together
—and we checked into our respective rooms. I was there as Niall’s colleague, not his employee or assistant or . . . even his friend, really, and so I wasn’t given any information about
where his room was or, say, what size bed he had in there. I didn’t even get a formal goodbye; when his phone rang, he did little more than offer me a small, polite wave and disappear down a quiet hallway.

No doubt I looked like someone had just walked off with my puppy, and so I jumped slightly when the bellman coughed next to me, clearly waiting to show me upstairs.

Once inside the elevator, the weight of the day hit me like a truck, and it occurred to me that I’d been up since three and caught only a small nap on Niall’s shoulder. A screen embedded into the elevator wall played an old cartoon: Tom nailed Jerry over the head with a hammer, and as they chased each other around a wooden barrel, the elevator climbed to the tenth floor, and I felt my eyes grow heavier and heavier.

I followed the bellman down the hall and watched as he opened my door. In the center of the room was a platform bed big enough for at least four people, opposite a huge flat-screen television. There was a set of art deco chairs in one corner and a window that spanned the entire far wall with a long desk tucked just beneath it.

The bed really did look like something out of a dream—crisp sheets and fluffy pillows—and my body sagged with how much I wanted to collapse, face-first right into it. Unfortunately, I’d learned the hard way how much jet lag sucks, and no matter how much I wanted to, taking a nap was exactly what
I
shouldn’t
do.

Dammit.

It was the second time in the same day I’d bolted upright from a dead sleep. Drooling.

The room around me was almost completely dark, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was. Then it hit me: New York. The hotel.

Niall Stella.

I remembered showering and changing into a robe, deciding to rest my eyes just long enough for room service to get here and, well. Here we were.

I stood, groaning at my stiff muscles while I wiped my face on the sleeve of my robe. Man, when I slept, I slept
hard
.

As my eyes adjusted, I pushed open the drapes and forced myself to find my phone. There were two texts from my mom wondering if I’d landed yet, and one from Lola checking in. Having been unplugged all day, I held my breath before checking my email.

Meeting tomorrow:
that needs a read
.

Thoughts from Tony:
that can wait until morning
.

Sale at Victoria’s Secret:
oooh, I’ll flag that one for later
.

Note from Niall’s assistant—
wait, what?

She’d attached our updated schedule for the following day, along with the time we’d meet in the lobby, and a few points he wanted her to pass along. There was also the number to his cell,
“
should anything problematic arise
.”