“Did some bastard touch you?” Brooks asked, gritting his teeth.
She thinned her lips, her heart tattooing against her rib cage so hard she heard the echo of the beats pounding in her ears. The image of her bald stepfather wearing a stained wifebeater and trousers—his home apparel after he returned from his work at the post office—populated in her mind. Come here, Allison. Come sit on my lap or you don’t eat dinner.
She shivered. Not only that, but if she didn’t follow his commands, he would hurt her. He’d hurt her mother, too. For so long, she hadn’t known if her mother had been an accomplice or a victim. She curled her fingers into a fist. Maybe a little bit of both.
Brooks touched her shoulder, squeezing it. “It’s okay, Alexa.”
No, it hadn’t been okay for a long time. But a man like him wouldn’t understand that her childhood had left her so severely wounded when it came to relationships, she probably would never catch up to the rest of humanity. “He started taking advantage of me when my mom wasn’t home. I was ten when it began, and I just remembered feeling wrong afterward.”
“Who was he?” he hissed.
“My stepfather,” she said, mentioning the man her mother had married when Alexa had been ten. Her birth father had never been part of the equation, and when she finally had one constant male figure in her life, she’d hoped it was for the best.
He shifted in bed, restless, until he sat up, shaking his head. His face set in a vicious expression. “Tell me he’s dead.”
Tension crackled in the air, and she rubbed her temple.
“Last I heard, he’s doing time in Florida.” Time for the fire that caused her mother’s death, but not for the abuse he’d caused her. She hadn’t wanted to be in her old life one more second than she had to, choosing to flee Florida and stay off the grid for months. Years. She’d lied, she’d stolen, and worked. She’d done what she needed to survive. A sensation of pride filled her chest, relaxing her muscles.
“What about your mother? Siblings? Didn’t anyone help?”
“No siblings. My mother didn’t know at first, then she pretended she didn’t know to keep her marriage. The night I left, he killed my mother, then caused a fire to try to conceal his actions. I heard it on the news.” A lump of regret formed in her throat, but she swallowed, willing herself to stay calm. She’d learned what happened days after she’d left. What could a fifteen-year-old do back then? No matter what the voice inside her taunted from time to time, she hadn’t caused her mother to die. If she had stayed, maybe she’d be dead, too. Right?
The muscle in his neck jumped. “What happened afterward?”
“I left Florida and never returned. Did what I could to survive. I knew if I came back, I’d be placed in some foster home, and then what? What if another man abused me? Or what if my stepfather had lied and people believed him? I couldn’t take that risk,” she said, remembering that until then, her stepfather had been an esteemed member of the community. He’d helped neighbors move, had donated money monthly to a charity benefiting fallen soldiers. He had worked in his job for decades—who would have believed her? “It took a while until I learned he’d been arrested and charged.”
When his eyes met hers, shock flew through her. Her confession visibly upset him. “Too many people failed you, Alexa. I’m so sorry.”
She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. The tears burned behind her eyelids, threatening to return, for a much different reason. “I—”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, inviting her to the warmth of his tight embrace, the cocoon of safety he promised. Her pulse raced, and the post-sex haze mixed with a strange energy growing inside her, filling her heart. Joy.
She’d finally let her guard down and shared her truth, and she hadn’t gotten hurt. No matter what happened from now on, she’d treasure this moment. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He tightened his hold of her. “There’s no need to thank me.”
“I should go back to my room,” she said. She’d mixed business with pleasure for a night, but she’d be a fool if she believed their liaison could lead to something more. Despite her big breakthrough—having sex and enjoying it—she wasn’t girlfriend or wife material. Maybe one day, maybe never.
But Brooks had the cute dog, the welcoming ranch, the housekeeper who had already dropped hints she wanted him to settle down. In the relationship department, he was miles ahead of Alexa, and she wouldn’t hold him back. Even if he had any interest in her, he’d be a fool to go public with a relationship with someone like her. He was a powerful man, and his equally powerful peers and family would never accept her. Hell. For all she cared, some of his business partners had attended her auctions in the past—with wives who probably hated her guts.
He kissed the top of her head, so gently that sadness welled inside and she had to blink to keep tears from streaming down again. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
“But we said—”
He caressed her cheek, with the power of dissolving her worries. “One night. The night isn’t over.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, sending little thrills of awareness up her arm and through her body. Crap. If he kept at it, memories from tonight wouldn’t be over for a very long time.
Chapter Five
Brooks glanced at his computer screen. When he’d woken up in the morning, Alexa was no longer in his bed. He went to his home office after breakfast. Memories of their night together, of her sexy body entangled with his, swarmed in his head. Also, her revelation about her past.
He typed into the search engine, desperate to know if the story she told him was true. Within seconds, a link to a Floridian newspaper took him to an article dated thirteen years prior. Man kills wife, sets house on fire. Stepdaughter missing. A rush of agony moved through him, heating his blood. A picture of a young girl caught his attention, a slim teenager who resembled Alexa with her dark hair and blue eyes.
He read the caption below the picture.
Missing: Allison Weeks.
Allison. That’s her real name. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes riveted on the screen.
A knock made him almost jump from his seat. “Who is it?” he asked to buy time.
The door opened, and Alexa meandered inside. He flicked off his monitor, a pang of guilt nagging at him. She’d told him the truth, and what was he doing? Challenging it. He curled his fingers into a ball. Having a rough childhood didn’t excuse her for her poor behavior. For being involved in Pamela’s death. For bringing all those women to—
“Hey,” she said softly. Then, she squared her shoulders, walking up to him with perfect posture like she’d locked her spine into place. “I’m here for work. You said we could talk to the other candidate today.”