Secret Pleasure. Taryn Taylor Leigh

unapproachable figurehead who doled out more blame than praise—and the more interactive style her older brother had adopted. He was available without micromanaging, and as a result, there was a level of respect for him among his employees that was quite a revelation to Kaylee. She hadn’t realized how much she’d let their frigid relationship as siblings color her view of Max as a boss.

      His long work hours made infinitely more sense to her now. She’d had to force herself to leave the office at eight o’clock, giving up food just so she could steal half an hour to change and freshen up before meeting Aidan.

      The bar he’d suggested was classier and more upscale than she’d been expecting, with chandeliers, gleaming wood, and dim lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave the circular room a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city.

      It was a sexy, grown-up place to have a drink.

      She pressed her hand to her abdomen to quiet the sudden zigzag of nerves.

      When she’d been getting ready, some annoying flare of feminine pride had reared its jealous head at the memory of the polite nothingness she’d seen in his eyes at the coffee shop. It bugged her that while she’d been drowning in lust, he’d been completely oblivious to her status as a female of the species. Little Kaylee Jayne. Completely beneath his notice.

      As a result, she’d applied her makeup with a little more flair—slightly winged liner, faux lashes, and she’d painted her lips with the same red lipstick she wore onstage. Then she’d donned the sexiest dress she owned. Well, not including her Lola costumes, but she never included those. They belonged to her blonde, blue-eyed alter ego. It was the sexiest Kaylee dress she owned. A black shift that skimmed her curves without clinging anywhere, but she hoped it was reminiscent enough of the black skirt she’d been wearing that night to give him a little déjà vu—déjà screw?

      It was madness. Her goal at the coffee shop had been to escape recognition, and tonight she was doing everything in her power to jog his memory.

      What if he noticed? What if he didn’t?

       Honestly, Kaylee. Stop fidgeting.

      Her mother’s voice was loud in her head. Not even a decade of living on her own, it seemed, could banish Sylvia Whitfield’s scolding. And it was always loudest when Kaylee was nervous.

      “Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”

      Partly for some liquid courage, partly to remind her mom’s ghostly nagging that it had no dominion here.

      Drinks with Aidan Beckett.

      Well, sort of.

      It wasn’t like this was a date or anything. Still, it was as close as she’d ever get.

      The bartender obliged her, and she let the liquid courage burn a path down her throat. The warmth in her stomach centered her back in her body, got her out of her head.

      I can do this, she told herself. We’re just two people catching up. And sure, he doesn’t know we manhandled each other against a shelf full of cleaning products, but that’s no reason to think things will be weird between us. He didn’t recognize me this morning. Not even a little bit. Not even a glimmer. I was the only one drowning in a bunch of sexy endorphins. He was cool and above it all. Like always. The golden boy. Supremely unaffected while women swooned around him.

      Kaylee set the shot glass on the bar with more force than necessary.

      “Actually, I’ll take another one.”

      With a smile, the bartender grabbed the Cuervo and gave her a refill.

      “Make it two.”

      The deep voice startled her from her inner monologue, and she blinked at the man in front of her.

      He was handsome, in the smooth, generic way of a manufactured pop star. Brown hair, toothpaste-commercial grin, killer suit. Kaylee made herself return his smile.

      Warm-up flirting. Something, along with the tequila, to calm her nerves.

      “I’m Rick.”

      “Kaylee.”

      He raised his shot glass. “To sharing a drink with a beautiful woman.”

      It was a sweet toast, she reminded herself when the compliment elicited absolutely nothing from her. She clinked her glass to his before downing the contents.

      “Starting without me?”

      Electricity prickled through her, straightening her spine.

      Even his voice was sexy as sin. And in that moment, Kaylee understood why none of her previous relationships had worked out. She needed this, the illicit zing that came from flouting the rules. She got off on hidden pleasures, on keeping secrets. And her schoolgirl crush on Aidan had been her first secret thrill. It was disconcerting, she realized as she turned to face him, that it was still going strong a decade later.

      Aidan was dressed in a cream-colored Henley and another black leather jacket—this one was slim fit with quilted sleeves and a mandarin collar—which he’d paired with black jeans and boots.

      He didn’t look blandly handsome; he looked dangerously sexy. She salivated a little at the sight of him. “Hey.”