Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

Honestly, I have virtually no idea what she’s talking about. All I can think about is the way her frenetic energy envelops me, the flush on her cheeks making me want to cup her face, the rapid-fire pace of her words making me want to kiss her to shut her up.

She stops, her word salad finally coming to a stop as she stares at me, and after a moment, I decipher enough to respond. “And what do you propose to do about this?”

I’m genuinely curious what she thinks is the appropriate response to everything that’s gone on. To me, the best-case scenario would be for her to do as she’s told and allow my guards to be with her at all times, for my sanity and her safety. For her to submit to being mine completely.

Not tamed. She’s too wild, too beautifully unique to ever be tamed, and that would dim her gloriousness. But a little . . . domestication? Constraint? Maybe.

My lips tilt up at the idea of a tame Allie, not even able to picture what such a creature would look like. She’s like a lioness. Sure, you can stick one in a cage, but that’s cruel. If you are going to have one, let it have safety barriers but plenty of area to roam.

The question is . . . will Allie be willing to live within the barriers I’ve built for myself as well? Because if she’s a lioness, I’m a lion, the pride leader.

“I propose transparency,” she replies. “Again, I’m willing to admit that I was wrong. You were too,” she says, getting a hit in, but I don’t stop her roll. “And yes, I realize this is eerily similar to my guard issue before, though that one was accidental, a reasonable assumption on my part, and this one was thoughtlessly intentional. But I’ll come back to that.”

She holds up one finger, her eyes flashing and her head shaking back and forth. “Wait, Dom. Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we?”

“I don’t play poker, but I do own an underground casino, so why not?”

My unusual half-joke gets a small smile from Allie, who twists and sits down on the edge of my desk, which is amazingly cute.

“Fine. Here goes . . . I like you a whole fucking lot. And I don’t say that lightly or to many people. I’m excited to get to know you more. So, I am sorry. Truly sorry for scaring you.”

I inhale deeply through my nose, surprised at how soothing her words are to my soul. “Apology accepted.”

She quirks her eyebrow, planting a hand on my desk blotter and leaning down, staring into my eyes.

“And?”

I lean forward. “And what?”

Allie sighs dramatically, not seeing my subtle sarcasm, and hops off my desk, taking two paces before turning and throwing her hands in the air. “And this is the part where you apologize for sitting in my apartment like a creeper. It’s also where you explain how you got in my apartment in the first place and how you knew I’d been ‘sipping smoothies’ when I didn’t have anyone with me when I left the studio.”

I drum my fingers on the desk, not wanting to lie to her but afraid to tell her the full truth.

My hesitation is apparent, and she comes back around to sit on my desk again, looking into my eyes. “Transparency, Dominick. You want it from me, you need to give it back.”

She’s throwing down a gauntlet, and I know that I could lose her in this moment if I don’t share some hard truths.

“I can’t give you that in all things, nor would you want it, Allie,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “There are things that if you knew them, they could put you in danger. But I will say that putting a tracker in someone’s phone is rather easy. Logan followed it and watched you for me until I could get back to town.”

“And getting in my apartment?”

That one’s easy. “Your doorknob was replaced a few months back, remember? The locksmith gave me a copy of the key.”

“He just gave you a key?” she asks, looking horrified. “What the hell? You could’ve been a fucking serial killer, for all he knew!”

I clear my throat, realizing again just how . . . innocent Allie is. Secrets of bad men aren’t something she’s used to. The biggest one, of course, is sitting in this very chair.

“I’m quite certain he knew exactly who I was.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, nodding. “Okay, so to surmise, the locksmith gave the friendly local Mob boss a key to my apartment, you’re tracking my phone, and you have guards following me everywhere.”

She stops, then looks up like she’s not believing the words that are coming out of her mouth. “You know that’s crazy, right? It’s like some tier-one stalker shit, Dominick. You’re freaking me out.”