His Secretary's Little Secret Read online

  He needed his secretary. The Lourdes Family Wildlife Refuge was fast becoming an internationally renowned animal research and rescue center, and he was the man in charge of the science. To make the impact he wanted to make on the world, he needed his secretary. But he wanted Portia. And he wasn’t sure how to have both.

  If only he understood humans as well as he did animals. His childhood spent with rich, globe-trotting parents had exposed him to creatures around the world. He’d paid attention and taken in an understanding of animals’ unspoken language. But even though he’d had the best of everything money could buy, he’d lacked much in the way of learning how to make connections with people other than his parents and his older brother. No sooner than he’d make a friend, his family would pack up and jet off to another exotic locale.

  Easton cracked his neck, a crescendo of echoing pops responded in his back, the tension finally unwinding. With his neck less contracted, he positioned himself so he could watch her. Portia’s gel manicured nails were still quite perfect as she gripped the pickup truck’s steering wheel at a “nine and three” position that would make any driver’s ed teacher proud. Her doe-brown eyes were focused, attentive to the road.

  Intentional. That was how he’d describe Portia. Intentional and proper.

  With all her wildness contained.

  Despite her manicured look, she fit in well at the wildlife preserve his family owned and funded. Easton brought his world-renowned skills as a veterinarian/scientist specializing in exotic animals. His brother, Xander, ran the family business and fund-raising.

  And there sure as hell was a lot of fund-raising and political maneuvering involved in saving animals. Portia’s calm organizational skills were an immeasurable asset on that front too, according to his brother, Xander. Easton only had to show up in a tux every few months and talk about the research he loved.

  For the most part, he spent his time handling the hands-on rescue and research efforts, and Portia’s efficiency helped him make that happen. He was lucky his family’s wealth meant he could leave the fund-raising to his brother and get his hands dirty doing what he enjoyed most.

  And he tried his damnedest to entice Portia to play in the dirt with him.

  Easton’s eyes slid from her face to the soft, yellow lights on the road back to the clinic. The preserve stretched for a few acres on Key Largo, a small island in the archipelago south of Florida. A necessary answer to urbanization and tourist development, Easton believed, as did his new board of directors, apparently.

  He was damn lucky. He lived his dream every day. Sure, some people were able to turn passion into a paycheck, but Easton was a veterinarian at his preserve solely for passion. He recognized that he’d been blessed by his family’s money. It had enabled him to follow his vocation without worrying about compensation. He didn’t advertise his lack of salary because, for Easton, it didn’t matter. He felt honored to work for the sole purpose of helping the animals. To do some good in this world. Money had never been a big concern for him personally, but the reality of a small refuge accountable to a board of directors meant he had to worry about things like that on occasion.

  As a secretary, Portia was brilliant—organized, dedicated—exactly what a free-spirited guy like him needed. But he also wanted her, as a man, and that made working with Portia increasingly challenging.

  Since he’d hired her, he’d noticed her—and then he’d immediately move his attention back to business. But now, he caught himself distracted by the pinkness of her lips, the way she straightened her ponytail when she was thinking. Over and over, he’d replayed that night in his head. In a perfect world, he could have both. His kick-ass secretary and his sexy lover, too. But Portia had made it damn clear he wasn’t welcome in her bed again. She’d sent him a brief morning-after text and then ignored his messages unless they were work related.

  His heart pounded as he thought of the last—and only—time they’d been together. The memory ramped him up—before he deliberately pushed it aside.

  Regaining focus on the present, he surveyed her tight smile. Portia hadn’t said much in the past few minutes, but as if she needed to fill the space with words, she sliced through his thoughts. “So do you think the bird broke a wing?”

  He blinked, troubled at the formality of her tone. “Perhaps. I’ll have to x-ray it to be certain.”

  “Good. I’m glad we were able to help him.” Matter-of-fact as ever. All business. No hint, no trace of anything more.

  She pulled the truck into the driveway of the clinic, parking it. As she turned to face him, he saw concern pass through her eyes. Had she been that worried about his fall?

  His fingers ached to touch her bare skin, to explore her gentle curves. Although her breasts were more generous than he remembered. What else had he remembered wrong from their dimly lit, rushed lovemaking? The space between them dwindled, electricity sparking in the air there.

  Her eyes danced, and he saw that spark take hold in her, too. The same spark from the night of the storm.

  He wanted to nurture that spark into a flame.

  He kissed her. God, he kissed her. Tried to rein himself in so he could savor the moment rather than risking another fast and furious encounter. He didn’t want to send her running as he had before. But damn, she tasted good. Felt good. He slid his hands up to cup her face.

  For an incredible moment, she seemed to kiss him back. Then everything shifted. She pulled away, her skin sickly pale.

  And then she opened the door and ran. More than ran. She flat-out bolted before he could even form a syllable.

  * * *

  This man had a way of flipping her stomach upside down on a regular day, and now that she was pregnant, her stomach didn’t seem to know which way was up.

  Her ballet flats slammed, skidded against the ground. Her stomach rumbled a protesting gurgle, bile rising in the back of her throat.

  She ran inside the clinic, through the side entrance and toward her office off the main reception space. She sagged back against the wall, sliding down to the floor while trying to decide if she needed to race the rest of the way to the restroom or simply stay put, calm, unmoving.

  Yes, staying still was best. She drew in one deep breath after another. With each breath, she tried to focus on her immediate surroundings. At least the normally bustling clinic lacked people at this hour. All the staff and volunteers had gone home after settling the animals in for the night. Good, she’d hate to have an audience for this. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she heard the creak of the door that lead to the supply closet.

  Portia swallowed again, feeling unease and nausea reclaim her stomach.

  A light flicked on in an adjoining office with the door open. Maureen. Easton’s research assistant and sister-in-law. Like Easton, Maureen put in long hours, sacrificing sleep for the animals’ sake.

  She had a clipboard in her hand, and a pen tucked in her hair. Maureen must’ve been doing inventory. While keeping a meticulous inventory made life at the clinic run smoothly during all seasons, hurricane season made this task rise to a new level of importance. If the intensity of the tropical storm a few weeks ago was any indication of the hurricanes to come, Portia knew how vital it would be to the survival of the refuge for them to maintain plans and supplies.

  But what of her own plans?

  Portia took a steadying breath as Maureen noticed her and came over. Her bright red hair bouncing in curls, Maureen crouched next to Portia, green eyes searching.

  “Are you okay?” Maureen’s slight Irish brogue lilted.

  “I’m fine. I just forgot to eat dinner and I’m lightheaded. Low blood sugar. I’ll be fine.”

  Standing, Maureen opened a drawer in the supply room, the one where she’d stashed other sorts of emergency supplies—saltines, PowerBars and gum. “You work too hard.”

  Mau
reen tossed her a packet of crackers. To Portia’s surprise, she actually caught the wrapped package, shaking hands and all. Tearing open the wrapper, Portia stood and took her time nibbling while she searched for the right words to deflect Maureen’s comment.

  “I enjoy my work.” Not completely true.

  She was grateful for her well-paying job and the adorable one-bedroom cabana that came with it. She had a dream of becoming a teacher one day, but she needed to pay for her brother’s education and save enough to finance her own—

  Except that wasn’t going to happen. She was out of time to fulfill her own dreams. She had to think of her brother and this baby. And even if her pay doubled, there wasn’t even enough time to figure all of that out before she had to confess everything to Easton.

  She hated thinking about money at all. It made her feel too much like her gold digger mother. But there were practical realities to consider.

  Like getting some crackers into her stomach before she hurled.

  She nibbled on the edge of a saltine. Each bite settling her stomach. For the moment, anyway.

  Maureen glanced around the clinic, leaning around the corner that lead to the examination room. “Where’s the doctor?”

  “He’s examining an injured bird we rescued.” Or so she assumed. She’d left him in a bit of a hurry.

  What on earth had he been thinking to kiss her like that?

  More to the point, what had she been thinking to allow it to happen? To respond? Normally, she prided herself on her control. Her good sense. With Easton, it seemed, she had neither.

  Maureen passed over a container of wet wipes, her bright diamond ring glittering. Recently, she’d married Easton’s brother, Xander. “Here.”

  “What?” Portia took them, confused.

  “You’ve got dust on your knees and on your elbows.”

  She looked down to check, heat flaming her cheeks as she remembered being close to Easton. Of their bodies pressed against each other on the hard ground. Not that she intended to share those details with anyone. “It’s messy work out there.”

  As if on cue to make her cheeks flame hotter, the side door opened and she heard the long stride that was distinctly Easton’s. From a distance, he glanced at her, the bird cradled against his chest in a careful but firm hold.

  Maureen stepped forward. “Do you need help?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got this. You two carry on.”

  Easton headed toward the back where they did X-rays, away from other animals. His footsteps grew softer until the sound faded altogether.

  Maureen turned back to her. “You seem more of the office job type. I’ve often wondered what made you take on this position.” Blunt and honest conversation with Maureen. While normally Portia appreciated Maureen’s directness, Portia didn’t know if she had the stamina for this sort of exchange right now.

  “The pay is more than generous and the locale is enticing.”

  Did that sound as lame out loud as she thought? Didn’t matter. It was true. She’d needed the better-than-average pay, with housing included, to save the money she needed to pay for her brother. Her stomach did another flip and she reached for a cracker. The scents of the clinic were bothering her in a way they normally didn’t—the stringent smell of antiseptic cleaner used religiously on every surface, the wood shavings lining crates, the air of live plants.

  “And the pay is such because the other secretaries before you couldn’t handle an eccentric boss and his unconventional hours, helping him with X-rays, the animals and fieldwork, cleaning his messy office...or they tried to put the moves on him. And yet you’ve put up with him even though he’s clearly not your type.”

  Portia stiffened, biting down hard on the edge of the cracker. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. “What would my type be?”

  “Did I sound presumptuous? I’m sorry if that came out wrong.”

  “Not at all. I’m truly curious because... Oh, never mind.” The question had sounded innocent, but in a strange way, Portia began to wonder if Maureen knew, or at the very least suspected something had happened between Portia and Easton.

  “I just meant I can see you with a suave, well-traveled businessman or a brilliant professor. But of course you’re clearly more than capable of taking care of your own love life. Tell me about your type? Or maybe there’s already a gentleman in your life?”

  A gentleman in her life? Time for a stellar deflection.

  Portia arched her brow and rolled her eyes. She did everything she could to visually signify that she had no connection to anyone at all. One of Portia’s greatest strengths had always been hiding behind conversation.

  “Tell me about your honeymoon plans.” That topic ought to do it. Maureen and Xander had delayed their honeymoon trip because, after they were married, they’d realized just how deeply they cared for each other. Originally their marriage had been for convenience—he’d needed a wife to keep custody of his daughter and she’d needed citizenship—but it had since deepened into true love.

  “I cannot wait, Portia. It will be hard to be away from Rose for two weeks, but she’ll be staying with her grandparents.”

  Rose, Xander’s sweet, blonde baby girl. Portia’s unborn baby’s cousin.

  The weight of that sentiment slammed into her every fiber.

  Her baby and Rose would be family. Portia’s hand settled on her stomach. She was connected to this place and this family now, no matter what.

  Portia’s brother was connected too, through her, even though he lived in the panhandle—in Pensacola, Florida—getting ready to enter his last year of college. He had emotional support from their aunt nearby, but the older woman barely made ends meet. She had gone above and beyond by taking the two of them in after their mother drank herself into liver failure when Portia was thirteen and her brother, Marshall, was only seven.

  It was up to Portia to support her family—including this unexpected baby.

  Her head started spinning with how tangled everything had become.

  Maureen stepped forward, concern creasing her brow. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

  “It was a long work day. I’m hungry and exhausted. That’s all.”

  She needed to get herself together. Wear looser clothes if need be. Give herself a chance to verify everything was alright with the pregnancy and if it was, take the time she needed to come up with a plan for her future.

  She’d worked too hard for her independence to give it up now, no matter how tempting Easton might be.

  Two

  What the hell was up with Portia?

  When he’d stepped into the wildlife preserve’s main building, he had taken note of her pale face and standoffish demeanor. Leaving her alone to talk with Maureen seemed the best option. He’d heard the two women leave a half hour later, each sending a quick farewell shout before heading out.

  Easton understood that Portia regretted their impulsive encounter during the tropical storm. He’d almost started to accept that it wouldn’t be leading anywhere. It was one night and no more.

  But then he’d seen that look in her eyes today.

  Shaking his head in bemusement, he closed the clinic door and punched in the security code before turning away into the inky dark. Night creatures spoke to him through the cover of darkness, a cooing mix of coastal birds and tropical bugs. He could identify each sound as readily as he could identify different human voices. As a young boy, Easton digested each sound the way some men committed the sounds of roaring engines to memory. He knew each voice and wanted to help ensure they all continued to speak.

  He’d had offers to work at other, larger clinics in more exotic locales, but the newly named Lourdes Family Wildlife Refuge was a personal quest for him and his brother. And he liked this place he called home.

  As m
uch as he’d enjoyed his eccentric life growing up, always on the move with his globe-trotting parents, he also enjoyed waking up in the same place each morning. The Key Largo–based animal preserve blended the best of both worlds for him—the wilds and home.

  Even the main house reflected that balance of barely domesticated wildness. A sprawling mansion, it stood two stories tall, complete with open balconies and an extravagant, oasis-inspired pool.

  Which was where Easton was headed now. His brother, Xander, sat alone on one of the lounge chairs, a glass of bourbon neat in his hand.

  Easton and his brother had always been different but close. Since their parents traveled the world with little thought of creating a home or helping their kids build friendships, he and his brother relied on each other. Even more so after their father died and their mother continued her world-traveling ways, always looking for the next adventure in each new country rather than staying in one place to connect with her children.

  This house represented more than Easton’s commitment to preserving animals in Key Largo. This shared space with his brother represented an attempt at familial cohesion. An attempt at proving they could grow something stable, something to be proud of. The moonlight filtered through stray clouds, peppering his walk in a play of shadow and light on the well-maintained lawn.

  He didn’t want to blame his parents. They deserved to live their lives as they wanted, to be themselves. And even if they hadn’t been conventional parents, they had more than lived up to their commitment to feed, house and educate their children.

  But as much as he didn’t want to blame them, he’d found his rocky relationship with them had influenced him. He found it difficult to sustain lasting relationships with women. He’d had a series of short romances. And the only time he’d even considered the altar, she—Dana—had split up with him right before he could propose. She’d said he was too eccentric, too much of a kid at heart, for a committed relationship.

  Which was ironic as hell since he’d already been looking at engagement rings.

  He hadn’t told her that. Dana probably would have said he wouldn’t have been much of a husband, or that he wouldn’t have actually bought a ring. And she probably would have been right. He knew he was eccentric, and he’d worked to find the right career to blend his passion and personality with work he cared about. He got to climb trees and play in the woods for a living. Not too shabby as a way of channeling his strengths. He’d taken what he’d inherited of his parents’ quirky ways and toned them down, figuring out how to stay in one place.