Secret Pleasure. Taryn Leigh Taylor

installing the malware on her phone and downloading a copy of the app should be easy. According to his sources, she was one of five people that Max had trusted to test the prototype version of SecurePay, the digital cryptocurrency app that was poised to take Whitfield Industries to the next level.

      Actually, plan A had been to buy the damn SecurePay app legally and have his guys pull it apart to find the string of code he needed to prove Max had violated the exclusivity clause in his contract with John Beckett. Unfortunately, thanks to a security breach, the launch of Whitfield Industries’ flagship tech had been scrapped at the last minute. So now if Aidan wanted to gain the rights to his father’s legacy, he’d have to improvise.

      “Let me know what you come up with.”

      “Will do.”

      He hung up and glanced over at his bike, pulling a hand down his face.

      Jesus, he hated this covert bullshit.

      You have a problem with someone, you tell them to their fucking face.

      Like you’re doing right now? his conscience asked.

      Aidan frowned.

      He had no choice. Right now was when the stars had aligned.

      Charles Whitfield had been indicted for blackmailing a key member of the SecurePay team, Emma something-or-other, and Aidan was damn sure it wasn’t the first time. Because five years ago, the same day he’d died, Aidan’s dad had signed away all rights to the code that represented the pinnacle of his life’s work, a move so out of character that coercion was the only explanation that made any sense.

      No way in hell was he going to let Max rule from on high, poised to make billions by commandeering tech that existed only because of John Beckett’s genius. Besides, he thought darkly, there was a certain poetic justice to using the only Whitfield who meant anything to Max—the shy, studious girl who’d stared at Aidan with hearts in her eyes, the intense, focused woman who currently served as her brother’s PR consigliere—to take him down.

      Yes. Kaylee was the nuclear option—the quickest, most brutal way to ruin Whitfield Industries the way Whitfield Industries had ruined his father.

      And Aidan wasn’t in the mood to wait.

      “Damn it.”

      Kaylee pulled her hand from her bag to find it covered in liquid foundation. Her jeans were coated in beige, her white T-shirt splotched with it. So much for a fast getaway. She’d been hoping to change and sneak out as quickly as possible. Fooling Aidan from a distance was one thing, but she didn’t want to tempt fate by running into him again.

      She laughed at herself as she flipped the light switch in the tiny backstage bathroom with her elbow. As if Aidan would be looking for her at all. Unlike her, he’d spent the majority of their youth completely unaware of her status as a member of the opposite sex. She stuck her makeupy hands beneath the tap, washing the mess from her skin.

      She remembered the first time she’d seen him. He’d stolen her breath, throwing her long-held beliefs that boys were gross and cooties were a fate worse than death right out the proverbial window. A golden boy with shaggy hair and a leather jacket. He’d been fifteen to her eleven, and she’d thought he was the coolest guy she’d ever met. So different than Max’s other friends. There was something rough about him, more dangerous than the country-club jerks she’d grown up with. But the best thing about Aidan was that he never ignored her. And sometimes, when Max was busy doing something for their parents, Aidan would talk to her, tell her stories full of adventure—races he’d won, fights he’d started, the trips he planned to take.

      Her crush had only intensified with puberty, and by the time she was fourteen, she was counting down the days until Max and Aidan came home from university on break. By then, his boyish promise had been realized, and Aidan had grown into his cocky swagger. He didn’t just have the attitude anymore but a muscled body that could back it up. Kaylee had been mesmerized.

      By that point, Max was a cool, distant stranger, but Aidan still made time to greet her, tell her a story, flirt a little. At least she’d thought it was flirting, until one fateful evening when she’d come home from studying at the library to find Max was having a get-together. Kaylee had witnessed firsthand what real flirting was like when she’d covertly watched Aidan and their neighbor Natasha wrapped in each other’s arms, indulging in the kind of kissing that Kaylee had only seen in movies. She’d fled from the passionate scene with a heavy heart, made heavier when she’d heard that Aidan had gone on to seduce the pretty blonde right out of her bikini. Or at least that was the story as Natasha had told it later that summer.

      Her hero worship of her brother’s best friend had taken a big hit after that, and to punish Aidan for the transgression of not waiting for her, Kaylee had done her teenage best to treat him with polite disdain. Trouble was, he hadn’t even noticed.

      And she’d realized for the first time that her crush had been one-sided. It had broken her infatuated little heart.

      By the time she was sixteen, they were nothing more than polite acquaintances, discussing things no deeper than how school was going and summer plans. But he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

      Tonight, though. Tonight, Aidan had looked at her like he’d looked at Natasha all those years ago. With heat. With lust.

      And it had felt incredibly good to inspire something other than pleasantness in him. Even if he had no idea she was the one doing it. She knew it, and she would let the rush of it wash over her for a long time.

      After shutting off the taps, she dried her hands with some paper towels and headed back to the dressing area. One of the other girls loaned her a simple black jersey skirt, and she donned it before stuffing herself back into her corset.

      She’d sneak out the side door and wait outside until her Uber arrived to take her home. Of all the nights not to drive herself. But last Friday, one of the other performers had let her know some creep had been checking out her Audi, and Kaylee had decided it might be safer to get a ride this week. A woman couldn’t be too careful.

      She skirted along the billiards area, glad that most of the attention remained on the stage, and Ginger Merlot’s performance, where it belonged.

      She was almost at the side door, almost all the way to freedom, but she couldn’t resist a final backward glance at the man who’d made tonight one to remember. The pillar would probably block most of him, but she tried to discern the sleeve of his jacket from the post anyway. The creaky metal door to her right swung open and the sound stole her attention a split second before she slammed into someone. Someone big and solid. Someone wearing a leather jacket. Someone whose strong hands steadied her, warm against her arms.

      She recognized the scent of him on a primal level.

      His proximity did funny things to her pulse.

      She couldn’t look away.

      Neither of them said anything.

      It took her a moment to realize he was still holding her, that she should pull back. But as she looked up at the man who’d starred in many of her girlish fantasies, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Because the rush of hormones and lust, the thrill of being so close to him and having him looking at her that way—like he felt some of the maelstrom of desire churning in her belly—was heady...like a wet dream come true.

      And suddenly she wanted that dream. Wanted it desperately.

      The seductive siren song of rebellion wound its way through her bloodstream.

      What would it hurt?

      He obviously hadn’t connected her alter ego with her real self. And there was no reason he should.

      It was a great wig. She had her contacts in.

      Why shouldn’t they both have what they wanted?

      And he wanted her. She could feel it in the flex of his hands on her skin the second before he let go of her. Could see it in the flare of