Stripping Bare (Steele Ridge Book 7) Read online

  Stripping Bare

  Steele Ridge Series

  Kelsey Browning

  Stripping BARE

  A Steele Ridge Novel, Book 7

  Video game mogul Jonah Steele may be a billionaire, but as the youngest brother in a family of alphas, his struggle to prove his worth is all-consuming. Although he saved his hometown from ruin, he can’t forgive himself for the biggest failure of his life.

  As a teenager, Tessa Martin survived one of the most devastating nights of her life. Now, she’s a corporate psychologist and stronger than ever. She also has her sights set on Jonah Steele, her former boss and the only man who can track down the hacker who compromised her confidential client files. But can she confess that Jonah’s deepest secrets were exposed as well?

  As the threat distorts into a real-life version of Jonah’s legendary video game, his and Tessa’s complicated emotional past—and the secrets buried there—could prove fatal. Will they strip away the past and reveal their feelings for one another, or allow it to blind them to a killer’s twisted game of revenge?

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  Published by Steele Ridge, LLC

  Steele Ridge Series

  The BEGINNING, A Short Prequel, Book 1

  Going HARD, Book 2

  Living FAST, Book 3

  Loving DEEP, Book 4

  Breaking FREE, Book 5

  Roaming WILD, Book 6

  Stripping BARE, Book 7

  Don’t miss out on a single release—or sexy hero!

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  Want to help Kelsey, Tracey, and Adrienne get the word out about their Steele Ridge series? Write a review and/or recommend to a friend!

  To all the men and women who are vulnerable enough and strong enough to tell their own stories, however imperfect they may be.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  If you’ve read my Texas Nights series, you know I love to write lighthearted contemporary romance with plenty of snappy dialogue and sexy banter. Although you’ll find some of both in this book, the Steele Ridge series has been my first foray into stories that lean more toward romantic suspense. Here, my villains aim to not only hurt but to kill.

  So Going Hard and Stripping Bare both have a darker feel than you might be accustomed to with my contemporary romances.

  Also, this particular book hinges on a devastating shared backstory between the hero and heroine. If you or someone close to you has been a victim of sexual assault, you may find parts of Tessa’s story uncomfortable to read. Please know that I treated this topic as authentically as I was able, which means I didn’t gloss over what I felt my characters would truly think and feel. At times, I questioned if I should be delving into this topic. But avoiding it would’ve been a disservice to the characters, the story, and my readers.

  In addition to being one I needed to tell, I hope Tessa and Jonah’s story will help both illuminate and heal some scars of sexual assault.

  Respectfully,

  Kelsey

  1

  Seattle, Washington

  December 20

  Three Years Ago

  Even geeks needed downtime.

  “Have a great holiday, y’all.” Jonah gave a group of Steele Trap’s coders a little salute as they filed out the door to take time off until after New Year’s. The people at Steele Trap were dedicated to making the best video games out there, and they did it by working long-ass hours.

  So every year at this time, he gave them bonuses, plied them with good booze and food, and then hustled them out the door for two weeks. Because that also gave him two weeks to hunker down and brood before getting the hell on with life.

  Tonight, the strain of maintaining his happy face during the holiday party had worn on him, but he’d damn well kept it on.

  With everyone gone for the night, he returned to his office, not bothering to turn on a light. After all, getting his drunk on didn’t require more than the dim glow from the hallway lights. He could see well enough to reach into the credenza behind his desk and pull out a bottle.

  Hello there, Mr. Lagavulin. Haven’t seen you since this time last year.

  He plunked the scotch and a glass on his chrome and Lucite desk. The interior designer who’d gussied up this place would probably blow an artery if he saw the tech stickers Jonah had slapped on the sleek piece of furniture. But every office, cube, and conference room on this floor was decorated in modern geek—Star Wars figurines, Legends of Zelda posters, and Rubik’s cubes.

  That was what made it home.

  For the past eighteen months, he hadn’t been comfortable in his own home, all because of a woman. But tonight wasn’t about Tessa Martin.

  Tonight was about drinking a birthday toast to his sister, just like he did every year on this date.

  He kicked back in his office chair, feet up, and stared at the bottle of booze. This was part of the ritual, too. Looking at the damn thing until he couldn’t resist opening it. Usually, that took about ten minutes. Tonight, he lasted seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

  He poured his first drink into the short glass and lifted it in a halfhearted salute. “This one’s for you, Micki.”

  He and his twin sister hadn’t celebrated their birthday together since they turned eighteen. They had always been so close. Until the party their senior year. Everything changed that night. Micki changed. He changed. The whole friggin’ world changed.

  Especially Tessa Martin’s world.

  Jonah had tried to repair it all, but his efforts had been too little, way too late. All the way around.

  He was progressing nicely through the bottle, a warm haze taking up residence in his head, when he heard a noise from down the hall.

  “It’s the holidays!” he hollered, trying for a lightheartedness he didn’t feel. “Get out of here. If you don’t, I’ll take back your holiday bonus!”

  “Jonah?” A woman’s sweet Southern voice floated back to him.

  Of all people, it had to be her. Of course it did, because this was, after all, National Punish Jonah Steele Day. The one day of the year he allowed himself to shamelessly wallow in mistakes from the past.

  He stared at the doorway, and she appeared there just as he’d known she would. She stole his breath in a way that liquor never could. Tessa Martin was a kidney punch, lung squeeze, and heartbreak all in one.

  Dark ringlet hair controlled into some mysterious girl twist at the back of her head. Golden-brown skin, the stunning result of her biracial heritage. And a slender fragility that couldn’t be eclipsed by the curves of her breasts and hips.

  She stood in the doorway with one slim hand on the jamb and the other holding a digital recorder. Her style was classic and cool and so fucking sexy he tried not to look at her straight on. Whereas most of the women who worked at Steele Trap wore jeans and cargo pants, Tessa dressed in fitted business suits. Sometimes with pants, but nine times out of ten, with skirts that showed off her legs.

  Tonight, her suit was a festive holiday red and hugged the curves he couldn’t seem to ignore, even though he’d told himself a million times he should. That didn’t keep him from wondering about what she wore beneath.

  Was she elegant and classy all over?

  “What’re you still doing here?” She cast a doubtful glance at the bottle on his desk, and a dark corkscrew curl sprang loose from her neat updo.

  “Spending some quality time with an old friend.”

  “You want to talk about whatever has you looking at that bottle like it might save your life?”

  Uh-uh. Not even on a day when snow fell in hell.

  But he was the one who’d asked
her to come to Steele Trap as an organizational psych consultant. Because he still owed her. Owed her for something he could never make restitution for.

  When he’d announced the company would now have her on retainer, his staff had given him the hairy eyeball. But after they got over their pissiness at having a head doctor around, they claimed she was good. A good listener, a calm sounding board, a positive influence. An all-around well-spoken, well-educated, well-adjusted psychologist.

  She’d made something of herself when a lesser woman would’ve drawn inward for self-protection. Instead, Tessa had opened up and flourished. The day he’d walked into Steele Trap’s breakroom to find her—shoes off and smile glowing—competing in a Ms. Pac-Man tournament with half the company’s staff, he had known he was in trouble.

  Had known he could fall for her.

  She was sweet and smart and knock-a-man-on-his-ass sexy. And he wanted her with a fierceness he shouldn’t feel. Should never act on.

  “Thanks, but I’m good.” He tried to smile at her like he’d smile at anyone else—casual and easy. Like with everything else when it came to this woman, he was a fucking failure. “Nothing to talk about.”

  She strolled into his office, her hips moving subtly from side to side under the fabric of her skirt, making him wonder what her skin there felt like. He’d seen her naked hips once years ago, and all he’d wanted to do then was cover her up. The full-blown memory of that godawful night tried to make an assault on his brain, but he refused to let it invade.

  She raised her eyebrows pointedly and nodded at the scotch. “Then why don’t you ask me if I’d like a drink?”

  “Sorry, but this is a solo activity.”

  “Well, that’s awfully selfish of you.”

  His protest didn’t stop her. She simply pulled out one of his visitor chairs and made herself all comfy. Crossed one leg over the other, and he was mesmerized by the red high heel dangling from her foot.

  “Tessa, you don’t want to be around me tonight.”

  But rather than putting her off, his words seemed to darken her deep brown eyes with concern and curiosity. Yeah, his reluctance to talk had to be super-strength catnip for a psychologist.

  Flailing for anything else to talk about besides himself and his crappy mood, he nodded at the recorder in her hand. “You know you can make voice notes on your phone, right?”

  “This downloads straight to a secure database I use for all my client information.” She slipped it into a pocket on her jacket, obviously settling in. “So about that drink…”

  Well, it was a damn sight better to make this a social visit than some kind of head-shrinking session. As far as he knew, she was a white wine drinker, so his stash probably wouldn’t be her gig anyway. “Scotch okay?”

  “Anything but beer.”

  He located another glass and poured her a short shot, then filled his own to the rim. Just two friends, having an after-work drink. What the hell would friends talk about over a drink?

  The holidays were always safe.

  “Going back to North Carolina for Christmas?” he asked, injecting his words with casual good cheer.

  With an absent hand, she reached for the glass and rotated it in a circle, gazing into the golden liquid. “Are you?”

  “Not this year.”

  “Is that what’s making you so unhappy tonight?” she asked, leaning forward. “That you’re not making it back home for the holidays?”

  Restless, he rose and sipped his drink as he paced around his desk. On his second pass, Tessa caught him by the wrist. “Talk to me. Please.”

  He rested his hip against his desk, but that meant he was close enough to Tessa to draw in her scent, cool and mysterious like a fall mountain morning. Trying to suppress the need she tripped off inside him, he blurted out, “It’s my sister’s birthday.”

  “Why would that make you so unhappy?”

  “Because it’s like she hasn’t been my sister in years.” Not really. Micki had withdrawn, day by day, as if she were fading away in front of everyone’s eyes. And then, right after she and Jonah graduated from high school, she’d simply left. Later, they found out where she was—Vegas. And who she was working with—a fucking fixer with some not-so-savory connections. “And because she’s my twin.”

  Tessa picked up her glass and took a quick sip before pushing out of her chair. “Happy birthday,” she said, her voice husky. “If I’d known, I would’ve—”

  “Tessa, go home. Please.” If she stayed much longer, he might spill more about his life. About how he felt. About what he wanted.

  Her.

  “Not while you’re drinking.”

  He could play that game. His mouth quirked up and he tossed back the liquid in his glass. “All done.”

  “Then why don’t I take you to dinner?”

  He shook his head because what he was hungry for he wouldn’t find on a menu at a downtown Seattle restaurant.

  Tessa reached out—slowly—and touched his face. Just a whisper of her fingers against the three-day stubble on his jaw. But it rushed through him like the scotch, leaving a scorched trail in its wake.

  Before he could stop himself, he turned his head and brushed his lips across her palm. Her indrawn breath made it clear he’d surprised her, but she didn’t pull away.

  In fact, she stepped closer and skimmed her thumb across his cheekbone. Her gaze was warm and soft, and her lips were parted. This was a woman who wanted to be kissed. By him.

  God, he wanted that, too.

  “Tessa—”

  “Don’t.” Her touch shifted so that her fingers pressed against his lips, and he couldn’t resist rubbing them against her soft skin. “I have a feeling I won’t like what you’re about to say. If you’re worried this is inappropriate, you shouldn’t. After all, you’re the one person in this company who’s refused to talk to me.”

  Yeah, he’d been dancing around that. Would keep dancing around it.

  “I’ve been drinking.”

  “That’s an excuse,” she said mildly. “You’re not drunk.”

  “I could be if you’d leave me alone.”

  “Nice try, McSurly. Something else is going on here. I can see your pulse beating in your throat. Am I making you uncomfortable? Or nervous?”

  “Crazy,” he said.

  Her mouth tipped up in a smile that was a combination of sweetness and pure seduction. She moved into him so that the buttons on her jacket brushed the front of his T-shirt. Her scent wound around him, making him drunk in a way the single malt never could.

  Without thinking it through, he spread his legs so she could step between them. He cradled her hips between his thighs, and her skirt rubbed against the fly of his jeans.

  Her eyes filled with heat. “Then kiss me.”

  He set his glass on the desk with a definitive clink. Then his hands were in her hair and he was pulling her up to meet his mouth. God, if he thought she smelled like pure temptation, then her taste was the direct path to sin. A hint of cinnamon overlaid with the smokiness of the scotch.

  She smelled cool and untouchable, but she was burning him with the heat of her kiss. She opened her mouth to him and angled to get closer until air couldn’t squeeze its way between their bodies. Her tongue was slick and avid against his, invading his mouth like he’d dreamed of sliding into her body since the day she’d walked in here wearing her sexy suit and serious smile.

  His brain did a wild loop in his head at the sensation of her mouth against his. At the reality of a kiss so long desired. So long denied.

  Over the past eighteen months, he hadn’t slept with a woman. Hadn’t wanted to.

  And it didn’t take a PhD in psychology to figure out why. Tessa was the one woman his body craved, no matter how much his brain told him he shouldn’t.

  Without breaking their kiss, Tessa reached between them to work the buttons on her jacket. It slipped off her shoulders and swooshed to the ground. It killed him to release her mouth, but he needed to see.
<
br />   One glimpse and he squeezed his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. “I’m glad I didn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “What you wear under there.” She’d revealed a skimpy black camisole, all lace and silk with fragile straps that he could snap with a twist of his fingers. The urge to do so, just yank and rip, pounded through him. He wanted to bare her beautiful skin. Her tight, hard nipples.

  He wanted to put his mouth on her. To put his teeth on her. Eat her the fuck up.

  Dial it back. Dial it down. Dial it to fucking zero.

  She ran a palm down the center of his chest, and his heart thudded so hard his sternum was vibrating. “Look at me,” she said. “Be with me.”

  Then she slid her fingers under his shirt and touched the ridges of his stomach, making his abs contract with pleasure. His inner caveman immediately imagined what it would feel like to have her hand move lower. To have her unzip him and touch him with her soft hands. To have her wrap his cock in her fist and pump him from balls to tip.

  “Are you breathing?” she asked.

  “No,” he said on a rush of air.

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “You’re dangerous.”

  “Oh, I do like the sound of that.” Her laugh was husky, and she pushed his shirt up his chest. Her tongue touched his right nipple just a flash before her teeth tugged, and the top of Jonah’s head simply disengaged from his body. Rational thought was jettisoned.

  With a jerky tug, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the conference table. The silky feel of her camisole against his chest rippled through him, setting off mini fires under his skin.

  I want.