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  Dirty Secret

  by Elizabeth Lynx

  Dirty Secret

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Lynx.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  http://www.elizabeth-lynx.com

  Book and Cover design by Elizabeth Lynx

  Photography by Pawel Sierak

  DEDICATION

  To my readers.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  SNEAK PEEK: CABIN FEVER

  NOTE TO READER

  BEHIND THE SCENES

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  THANK YOU

  He came to fix her pipes. She never expected him to steal her heart.

  Heidi White was an aspiring baker, tried her best to make others happy, and secretly lusted at the hot guy in her neighborhood. The pipe burst in her basement, so she had to put the baking on hold to find a plumber, fast. When the sexy guy from around the corner showed up to fix her leak, all she could do was stare at the size of his wrench.

  Max Brighton was a single dad, business owner, and hadn't dated in years. His plumbing business began to struggle, and he became desperate to keep things afloat. He believed he found the perfect solution for his problems when the beautiful woman in his neighborhood asked him to fix her pipes. But the job was harder than he expected and he wasn't talking about her pipes.

  STORIES by ELIZABETH LYNX

  New Releases

  Dirty Secret

  Happy New You

  Upcoming Release

  Cabin Fever, releases March 2019, standalone, book 1 Lost & Found series

  Living Hell, releases May 2019, standalone, book 2 Lost & Found series

  Hot Dish, releases August 2019, standalone, book 3 Lost & Found series

  Cold Burn, releases October 2019, standalone, book 4 Lost & Found series

  Cake Love Series - standalone

  Rules of Payne, book 1, standalone

  The Attraction File, book 2, standalone

  One Wild Ride, book 3, standalone

  The Spy Ring, book 4, standalone

  Cake Love: Boxed Set, Books 1-4

  Him Her Them Series

  Her Night with Him

  GET LATEST ALERTS, releases, sales, and exclusive stories by signing up for Elizabeth Lynx’s newsletter. READ the inspiration for my upcoming book Dirty Secret, called Dirty Hands (it was a finalist in a short story contest) INSTANTLY ⇨ http://bit.ly/NwsltrDHinspire

  Chapter 1

  Heidi

  I WAS SO WET. SOAKED.

  Despite the heatwave outside, a shiver ran up my spine as I pushed my tangled, damp hair from my eyes.

  With a soft thud and breathy sigh, I pressed my back against the brick wall. My once pristine tank top, now damp and filthy, twisted up my torso as I squirmed against the coarse hundred-year-old basement wall.

  "I never realized how many pipes were in the ceiling down here." My heart beat wildly as I worked hard to keep the quiver from my voice while gazing above.

  My new sandals—a slippery hazard—kept me from adjusting my position, though I wanted to. I had an intense urge to stop my life and get off.

  Nothing was working, especially at this moment.

  "Heidi, focus. You never were cool under pressure." I heard my father's sigh loud and clear through the cell phone pressed against my ear. "Can you see where the leak is located?"

  Of course, he was right—Senator John White, and my mother, Senator Sofia H. White, were always right. And I was the one the press dubbed "Heidi White, the perfect daughter," for which my parents had the equivalent to a political orgasm. And, much to my stomach's sorrow, I had to witness. But we all knew that Heidi White wasn't good for much but a decent photo-op and perhaps a sweet cookie.

  I was flawless to all outside observers. Here I stood in the basement of the townhouse I bought less than six months ago, and I didn't have the first clue how to stop a water leak.

  I was lost and reaching out to Daddy to fix all the broken pieces in my life.

  "The ceiling."

  "That's not helpful. Look, I'm missing a meeting with Attorney General Fitzwilliam. Do you know how long I have waited to meet with that man? I'll have Debra send you instructions to shut off the water in your house."

  Of course, I needed to shut the water off first. I shook my head at the obviousness of it all. Mental note—buy a book about taking care of basic home upkeep.

  My shoulders sagged, and a rare smile formed as I spoke to my dad. Dare I hope that he wanted to help me? Not because of his habit of manipulation, but because I was his daughter, and that's what fathers do? Maybe since I became a homeowner, or an excellent tax-paying citizen as he puts it, he was seeing me as a mature, responsible adult.

  "Thank you, Dad. That would be wonderful—"

  "I had golf with Senator Aragon a few days ago. You know his son, Felipe, is fixing up his new condo."

  I held my breath, my skin numbing from the icy water. He knew Felipe, and I were best friends. Perhaps that was why he's talking about him, to update me on something funny Felipe or his father did, not because he wanted to bribe his daughter.

  "Yes, he mentioned how he gutted the place for a complete redesign."

  My body was shaking, but I had no idea if it was because of the water or the anticipation of what he would say next.

  "Felipe went on and on about the plumber he used."

  "Great. I'll call Felipe and get the name of the plumber."

  I wanted to hang up. I began to move my thumb into position to end the call before my father could further damage my day. But something stopped me.

  It was the same thing that always prevented me from standing up to my parents. It's not that I'm a coward . . . Okay, that's not entirely accurate. I was known to be a bit of a chicken, but my parents were some of the most influential people in the country. And they had no problem screwing over their own family to get their way. Just ask my eldest brother, Brandon.

  "No need to do that, Heidi. I got the plumber's information right here. Debra is contacting him right now. Just do me a small favor, will you?"

  There it was—his favor, or as any reasonable person would see it, a bribe.

  To anyone that didn't know my dad, he sounded like the typical father. Going above and beyond for his daughter and asking her to do a tiny little nothing in return. But I knew him. It couldn't be small. It wouldn't be little. And it absolutely wouldn't be nothing.

  A cloak of fun and excitement and something people would die to be a part of would surround the favor—his real plan hidden underneath—something that gave him more power or money, while leaving me and anyone associated with the idea nothing but b
lame from the outside public.

  My dad had said once in the past when he took a donation for his charity that wasn't a charity at all, "It's not stealing if someone willingly hands over the check."

  No, Dad, it's still stealing if you pocketed the cash when you promised the person the money was going to a worthy cause.

  "Felipe still needs a date for the annual Children's Hope Gala in six weeks. That celebrity baker that you obsess over will be there."

  "You mean Nadyia Goldman?"

  I had always dreamed of being a professional baker. Had even gone through the Academy of Cuisine pastry program. My parents didn't know about that as a future political wife wasn't supposed to be a professional baker. It was okay that I liked to bake, but anything more would be frowned upon.

  The only thing I never did, was complete the program. I would have had to apprentice somewhere. Which meant I would work at a bakery or restaurant. If there was one thing a White family member never did, was work in the service industry. My parents would have freaked.

  "Yes, her. I thought you and Felipe could go together. You two are close anyway."

  There'd be a double orgasm from my parents if Felipe and I ended up married—that’s the only reason they tolerated my friendship with him. The Aragon family had more political clout and history than our family. Not a dynasty like the Fitzwilliam family as they have had presidents and Supreme Court justices in their lineage dating back to the mid-nineteenth century.

  There had been a high-ranking Aragon in Washington since the early twentieth century. Whereas the White family started in politics with my dad and my mother followed. They fear it would die with them as my two older brothers wanted nothing to do with the family business.

  As for me, my parents knew I didn't have the resolve to be a politician. The most I could do was bake, alone, in my recently restored kitchen, and then stuff my face with my baked goods.

  I'd say I was one step down from a lonely cat woman. Maybe instead of the press nicknaming me "the perfect daughter," they could change it to "the sad cookie lady."

  Despite my sad life, they believed I still had the chance to marry into a proper political family.

  "What a good idea. It’d be great to go with Felipe," I said without joy in my voice.

  I loved my friend but having this arranged by my father caused the hairs to rise on the back of my neck.

  "Good. I'll let him know. Heidi, I have to run. Bills to be signed and—"

  "History to be made. Yeah, I know, Dad. Thanks for the help. Goodbye—"

  My father hung up before I finished. He didn't have time for goodbyes or much of anything that wasn't career related. With him, it was get to the point or get out of his way.

  I opened the email on my phone. A quick tap and I watched the two-minute video from the link Debra sent. The valve in the video was yellow. I scanned the walls around the room for a colorful handle.

  Beside the washer and dryer, I discovered a yellow valve like the one in the video. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I used all my might and turned it. Realizing after I slipped and fell that the handle didn't require that much effort.

  The water stopped. With a sigh, I leaned back against my basement wall with my ass in a puddle.

  The respite didn't last as I noticed water everywhere. Not good. That was going to be a big thing. I had to call someone to clean up to prevent mold. I hated dealing with problems; I'd rather have someone else handle it.

  I believe I discovered why my parents could so easily manipulate me over the years.

  With my body still trembling, I decided to put all the work the basement entailed out of my head and went upstairs to dry off.

  It didn't take me long to clean up and put on fresh, dry clothes that were in my bedroom on the top floor of my townhouse. The rumble from my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning. I grabbed my phone that I tossed on my mustard-yellow quilted bed cover. Within a minute, I had ordered breakfast and coffee to be delivered from my favorite bakery, Bake & Take, using their delivery app.

  On my way downstairs, I heard the doorbell ring as my bare foot hit the last mahogany step to the main floor.

  Perfect timing. My stomach was about to form a coup unless I fed it.

  With a smile on my face and ready to give the delivery person any amount of money they asked for just so I could taste their delicious bagels, I opened my gray-painted front door.

  I made a quick assessment of the situation as I stared in shock at the person on the other side of my door. The old woman across the street, walking her dog, was now at possible risk of a heart attack from the scream of shock bubbling up my throat. Not wanting to live with that on my conscience, I decided to slam the door instead.

  My heart pounded with wild abandon in my chest. That couldn't be the delivery guy. The man who stood on the other side of my door . . .. The one I just slammed the door on, he didn't work for Bake & Take, did he?

  That would mean, to procure that delicious everything bagel and cup of coffee made from perfectly roasted beans that my stomach craved like an addict, I'd be forced to interact with him—something I never wanted to do.

  I had watched him for weeks. Okay, months, if I was honest. Sometimes I ran inside when I saw him turn a corner on the sidewalk. Every time, my skin prickled and my heart raced.

  Maybe I was shallow. I shouldn't judge a man based on his looks. Just because he had thick, curved, perfectly defined arms, glistening dark hair that reminded me of midnight in mid-summer, and his lips were thick and delicious, and I imagined, just waiting to be licked, doesn't mean I should want to jump his bones.

  "Are you from Bake & Take?" I yelled into the door, stubbornly refusing to find the nerve to open it again and speak to him directly. Screw nerve, it was fear's turn to rule my life.

  "No. I'm not sure I have the right house. Does Heidi White live here?"

  Oh no. He knew my name.

  That's why he was here. To serve me papers. To make sure I went to jail and my perfect daughter title was ripped from my imaginary sash.

  He'd seen me. Somehow, this guy knew my dirty secret.

  I shouldn't have done what I did, but it's not like I had a fascinating life. Everything about me, from birth until now, had been under a microscope. No wonder I turned out to be such a pervert.

  There's another knock, and my eyes flew up toward the peephole. Time to face him. My parents won't be happy if he has a restraining order against me.

  Gathering my damp, blond hair and twisting it to fall over my shoulder, I found a tiny shred of courage and used it to open the door.

  My breath caught. It was the heat; it had to be, and it rolled over me in a wave. He's so hot. I couldn't help but drop my gaze to his chest, but not before I noticed his eyes. They're blue. Not some unusual color, but they sparkled like I cracked open a geode with bright azure crystals shining back at me.

  Why hadn't I noticed his eyes before? Maybe because it's hard to see someone's eyes when I hid every time they came near.

  "Hi, I'm Max Brighton. I'm with Brighton Plumbing. I was contacted from someone that knew my client, Felipe Aragon. Mr. Aragon referred you, and I was told that you had an emergency here. Something about a leaking pipe?" He reached out his hand to me.

  While I knew I should shake his hand and my fingers itched to touch him, my brain reminded me that this was all a trick to have me arrested. Or, at least, humiliate me in some way.

  Instead of lifting my arm, I focused on his hair—dark, wavy with a light breeze pushing it around. But that caused my hand to make a fist because I wanted to reach over and curl my fingers through it. To see if his locks were soft, maybe shove my nose into his head. Did he smell as good as I wanted him too?

  Max cleared his throat with his arm still extended toward me. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad if I touched him.

  How could that end badly? Then I remembered there was a reason I kept away, hiding in my house when he walked by. Staring at him only through a peep
hole like some pervert.

  My issues with men were the excuse my parents used to send me to Europe after college. Not because it was a fantastic graduation gift, but to hide me from the worst thing I did to our family. My parents hoped word of my depravity and recklessness didn't spread.

  So far, no one knew what happened the night of my twenty-first birthday.

  I was meant for a certain life. My parents were reminding me every chance they got—and due to the privilege I had relied on, it was expected of me to give back to the family. To be with people, they approved of, for fear my secret would be revealed. And, for me never to forget, I was to marry well.

  Now, instead of interacting with men, I ran and hid, only to stare at them through peepholes and cracks in the curtains.

  I lifted my hand to him, my arm quivering.

  "Yes, I'm all wet downstairs . . .. Uh, I mean, my basement is wet. From the leaking pipe. I'm soaked." I held up my hair as proof of my wetness.

  When he grasped my hand tightly, squeezing my palm with enough power to cause me to whimper, I took note of his arm, corded with muscle not over-worked like a bodybuilder, but just enough muscle to be mouth-watering.

  So much muscle. I couldn't stop thinking about it or staring at it. His biceps, moving to his shoulder, and then to his chest.

  I bet he had juicy muscles everywhere on his body.

  Get a grip, Heidi. He's here to fix your basement, not lube your girly bits.

  Releasing my hand from his, I waved him inside. "It's hot out there. Come in."

  I could only hope he believed the flush that I knew was taking over my cheeks was from the weather and not his touch.

  Stepping aside, he brushed past me, and I caught his scent—a mixture of honeysuckle, sweat, and something singularly Max.

  After closing the door, I watched as Max's eyes searched my home, looking for work but only finding wood floors, furniture, and some decorations.

  After a moment, his gaze fell on me. My skin heated as he took in my body the way he did my living room.

  "It’s a good thing I came over. If you're all wet, then I'm here to help."