Stefanie London - A Dangerously Sexy Secret

A spring-form pan, parchment paper, confectioners’ sugar. “Yeah?”

“Really?”

“You said not to tell you if I hadn’t...”

“Are you serious?”

“The only guys interested in me now are the ones I don’t want.” She slammed the box of granola down on the counter harder than necessary. “And I’m not ready to try opening up to anyone else, not after the way Christian humiliated me.”

“You’re never going to be ready until you take a risk. You have to put yourself out there. Listen to me, I’m a doctor.”

Wren gritted her teeth. “First, you don’t get to say you’re a doctor until you finish med school. Second, why do you care so much about my sex life?”

“Because you’re my sister and you deserve to have a sex life. You’re twenty-six, for crying out loud, not a hundred and six. But if you don’t get some action your vagina will dry up like an old prune.”

Despite herself, Wren let out a burst of laughter.

“It’s a fact. A medical fact. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” This time Debbie said the words through her own giggles. “Do you want a pruney va—”

“Shut up.” Wren shook her head and bundled up the empty plastic bags. “I’m not having sex with the first guy I see just for the sake of it.”

“Seriously, you need to stop hiding away because a few people said bad, untrue things. You deserve to live a full life. Orgasms included.”

“How do you know my neighbor will be good enough to give me orgasms?” Flashes of her dream from last night came back to her—Mr. 401’s large hands roaming her body, his full, wide mouth covering her breasts.

Dammit. It wasn’t right to fantasize about a guy without knowing his name.

“Judging by the crazy way you were giggling, I think he will.” Debbie sounded smug as hell, the evil little thing. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. Sex is a very natural and healthy part of life. It’s good for your brain and your heart. You’re really doing your health a disservice by not having sex.”

“Is that another medical fact?” She grinned in spite of herself and shook her head. Her sister knew exactly how to push her buttons and get under her skin, but they always looked out for each other. No matter what.

“Yep, I’m sure it’s in one of my textbooks. I have to go. I’ve got a study session planned and the last person there has to buy coffee.” She paused. “I miss you, Birdie.”

At the sound of her childhood nickname, Wren smiled. “I miss you, too. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

“You’d better.”

She hung up the phone and steadied herself against the countertop. Debbie had a point. Her life had been filled with nothing but stress the last few months; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live a little.

So long as living doesn’t involve any promises or commitment. You’re done with that crap!

Totally done. She’d trusted her ex, had even flirted with the idea of getting hitched in the late darkness of night when she’d curled up against him. But it turned out that she hadn’t really known him at all...and he clearly hadn’t known her.

She wouldn’t put herself in a position to be ripped apart like that again. But she could still have some fun...right?

Wren drew a knife from the wooden block next to her stove and placed it on her cutting board. She didn’t have to make any decisions right now. She would be in New York for at least a month, so she could take her time. Maybe talk to Mr. 401 a little more before she made a move.

But first she had a pizza to make; she wasn’t in the habit of doing any serious thinking on an empty stomach.

* * *

RHYS GLOVER ROUNDED the last corner of his run, dodging a couple with linked arms as he pounded his feet into the pavement. He loved nothing more than getting fresh air on the weekend, be it running, biking or otherwise. He put long hours into his job—which he wouldn’t trade for anything—but it didn’t exactly make for an active or healthy lifestyle during the week.

So Saturdays and Sundays were all about getting out of the house. Getting his blood pumping and his heart racing. Getting his sweat on.

You might be able to do a few of those things indoors if you had the stones to ask Blondie on a date.

He shook his head as he slowed to a stop in front of his walk-up, detouring to collect his mail. Blondie—aka the smoking-hot fox who’d recently moved into the apartment across from him—occupied far too much of his headspace lately. But, try as he might to evict her image from his mind, the waist-length hair that shimmered like spun gold and those long limbs tempted him beyond belief. Rhys prided himself on being a man of solid self-control, but one glance at her and he was as horny as a teenager.

Chiding himself, he shoved the key into his box. A small stack of letters sat inside, mostly bills. A bright blue envelope caught his attention. It bore his stepbrother’s neat, utilitarian print and the childish scrawl of his niece. A happy face decorated one corner. They insisted on sending him a real birthday card, even when he told them he was happy with an email or phone call. A wave of jealousy ghosted through him.

It wasn’t fair to resent his stepbrother, Marc, for the perfect, happy life he’d been gifted. But it was hard not to compare. Or compete. They were the same age and had grown up together as best friends before their parents had gotten hitched. He’d always envied how easily everything came to Marc—grades, girls, sports. Everything.

And now, as adults, Marc still had the edge. He’d given their parents two grandchildren and he had a beautiful wife whom he adored. Marc often joked that he envied Rhys his bachelor lifestyle, but Rhys didn’t believe it for a second.

Rhys knew part of the reason he felt compelled to settle down was because it was the one thing Marc had over him. In their parents’ eyes, he’d achieved the dream. Happy wife, two healthy kids...and Rhys was still lagging behind, as always.

But it was hard to have a relationship when he didn’t even put himself out there. He was just too busy with work to meet people.

“You don’t even know if Blondie’s single,” he muttered to himself as he started up the stairs.

But she hadn’t looked at him the way a woman in a committed relationship would when they’d almost bumped into one another earlier.

The pink blush that had crept into her cheeks had done crazy things to him. The kind of crazy things that were not so easily concealed in a pair of running shorts.

The fourth floor was deserted, and Rhys couldn’t stop himself from glancing at number 402 as he walked up to the door of his own apartment. Maybe he should formally introduce himself? It would be the neighborly thing to do.

He glanced down at his sweat-soaked tank and shorts. It might be the neighborly thing to do, but he wasn’t exactly going to make a great impression if he knocked on her door smelling like a locker room.

Tomorrow.

Satisfied that he’d committed himself to an action, he pushed open the door to his apartment with his free hand. Toeing off his sneakers, he hung his keys on their designated hook and placed the letters into the inbox he kept on the bureau near his desk. All except the blue envelope, which he tore open as he walked into the living area.

Inside the brightly decorated, homemade card—which looked like an insane craft teacher had thrown up all over it—were messages from his stepbrother and sister-in-law, his eldest niece and a proxy message from the little one. They’d even drawn on a paw print to represent the dog.

He put the card on his entertainment unit, next to his new fancy universal remote—the birthday present he’d gifted himself since his family didn’t really get his love of technology. The card looked totally out of place in what Marc jokingly referred to as “the computer nerd’s bachelor pad.”