Unmasked (Revealed #1)

  Unmasked

  The Revealed Series – Book One

  Alice Raine

  From the bestselling author of The Darkness Within Him comes the Revealed series - tales of dark secrets and the forbidden world of desires.

  When schoolteacher Allie Shaw takes an impromptu cleaning job to cover for her ill friend, she doesn’t expect to wind up snowed in with a devilishly handsome sex god. Allie is drawn in by his mysterious charm, but he is reluctant to act on his developing feelings.

  Under the circumstances, the two become close, but this enigmatic stranger is determined to keep his distance, and for good reason – is there more to him than meets the eye?

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to dedicate this new series to all the readers out there – without you this journey that I have been on simply would not have happened. The response I have had to my first series, The Untwisted Series, has been completely overwhelming, so thank you all for reading, reviewing, getting in touch and supporting me.

  Huge thanks also, and always, to Accent Press, my fabulous publishers and all the staff who work there, in particular Alexandra Davies, my ever patient editor, and Hazel Cushion, Stephanie Williams, and Beth Jones who work tirelessly to get my books put together, marketed, and noticed.

  As part of the planning process for this book I decided to invite my Facebook followers to help pick one of the character names, it was a great way to interact with readers, and made for a very fun few days. In the end the name Caitlin was chosen, and was picked by the following readers: Alison Carroll, Debbie Battley, Meghan Hurley, and Clare Grant, so thanks for reading, girls, and for taking part in the competition.

  I shall leave you now to venture into this new world that I have created, I hope you enjoy this second series as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

  Alice x

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  Five

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  Alice Raine

  ONE

  Allie

  One week before Christmas

  Sarah owed me a favour for this. Big time. I still couldn’t flipping believe I was driving out here in the countryside, way up into the hills, when the weather looked as menacing as it did. It might only be two in the afternoon, but the thick grey clouds that scudded in several hours ago had progressively thickened, and now the sky had darkened to the point where I had my headlights on and it was definitely threatening to rain … or snow, if my car thermometer was any indicator. I was no meteorologist, but even I knew that it would only take another degree drop to become perfect snow weather. I sighed heavily, now seriously regretting answering my friend’s call this morning.

  All this just a week before Christmas, too, I thought miserably. I shook my head as my gloved hands clutched the steering wheel tighter in irritation, the shiny wool sliding annoyingly over the plastic wheel and only serving to up my agitation levels. I should be doing my last-minute present shopping, or sharing a mulled wine at the Christmas market now, not covering a cleaning shift for Sarah at some godforsaken house in the middle of godforsaken nowhere.

  To be honest, the only reason I was doing this at all was because Sarah was one of my best friends, and I knew how desperate she was for her new business not to flop right from the outset. What with walking out of her last job after she was repeatedly hit on by her sleazy boss – who she later found out was not only a slime ball, but a married slime ball – then recently setting herself up as an independent housekeeper to support herself and her three-year-old son, Scott, I knew she needed every penny she could get. She certainly couldn’t afford to lose her newest cleaning job for missing a shift, and having personally witnessed the blotchy, snot-covered state of her face this morning, I could vouch that she was in no state to be working.

  So here I was. Allie Shaw to the rescue. Wrapped up in a cocoon of scarves, hats, and gloves and driving to the arse end of nowhere to cover a three hour cleaning shift. Add to that the fact it was bloody freezing and I really did look like a prize idiot. Huffing out a moody breath at my stupidity I cranked the heater up until it started to groan its complaint, suddenly whining and sounding decidedly like it was going to die at any moment. Wincing at the high-pitched noise coming from the vents, I turned it down a fraction and sent a silent prayer for its survival to whoever might be listening. Today was maddening enough as it was; I didn’t need to add ‘freezing my arse off in my icebox of a car’ to my list of complaints.

  The heater in the car blew my long hair all over the place until I was actually struggling to see through the swirling mass of blonde strands. Cursing under my breath, I haphazardly tried to brush it out of my eyes while still keeping my gaze on the road and one gloved hand on the wheel. Which was actually a lot harder than it sounds, because my gloves had no grip at all, and on top of that, I’d been neglecting to get my hair cut, so it was far longer than usual and seemed to have a mind of its own today. It was too long, according to my nagging mother, who for some reason thinks that anyone over the age of twenty shouldn’t have hair below their shoulders. God only knows her logic behind that thought.

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror to check the traffic, I saw my dishevelled reflection and rolled my eyes with an accepting sigh. I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, sideways, and upside down. My wayward hair resembled that of an aged scarecrow, and my cheeks were ruddy and flushed from the buffeting warmth of the heater, making me look half drunk. All in all it wasn’t the best look I’ve ever rocked.

  Heaving out a huge breath I checked the sky with a squint and frowned – if possible it looked even greyer and more ominous than it had five minutes ago – definitely not a good sign.

  As my satnav barked an order to turn off onto a small lane I slowed to navigate the narrower road and thought back to what Sarah had told me about the job. Apparently the client was working away at the moment and was due back on Christmas Eve. He’d requested a clean of the house and for some food to be prepared and left in the freezer, which sounded simple enough. To be honest, just the thought of it made me nervous – I was a school teacher, for goodness’ sake. I kept my house tidy and cooked passable meals, but I wasn’t sure I was up to Sarah’s standards, and was mostly just hoping that I could blag my way into convincing the client that their house had been cleaned by a professional. The client’s only stipulation was that there was to be no turkey in the food. Perhaps he was a Christmas hater, I thought with a smirk. Bah, humbug to that!

  It had all sounded relatively easy when Sarah had begged me between thick, wet coughs this morning, but that was before the weather had changed for the worse. Oh well, my satnav showed me I was just two miles away, so I’d get in, whip round with the hoover, make a pasta dish and a casserole, and get the hell out of there before the weather really set in.

  Finally pulling up to the property I sat in my car for several seconds, gazing in open-mouthed wonder at the gigantic house that lay behind the metal gates in front of me. It was enormous – basically a mansion – and beautiful, with wooden shutters on the windows, weather-softened grey bricks, and ivy-covered columns by the front door. After a second or two my wonderment ceased rather abruptly by the horrible realisation that my idea of a ‘quick hoover’ might take a little longer than I first anticipated. Bugger it. Grim
acing at the gargantuan task waiting for me, I used the code Sarah had scrawled on a piece of paper to activate the front security gate, then pulled up the curved, gravel driveway to the impressive looking double doors.

  It seemed a bit of a crime to park my decrepit Fiat Punto outside such a beautiful house – a Ferrari would have been more appropriate, but also rather outside of my price range. Sarah had told me that the owner was quite fussy about his house and grounds, and liked everyone to use the allocated parking bays to the side of the drive, but after a brief glance at the four neatly marked tarmac spaces I rebelliously ignored them and pulled onto the gravel right outside the front doors. Well, the owner was away, so no one would know that I’d broken his silly rule, and if it saved me thirty seconds of being out in this freezing weather then it was worth it.

  Before I exited the car I sorted through the big bunch of keys Sarah had given me to find the one with an elastic band around it. This was the key for the front door, and the elastic band was Sarah’s low cost method of distinguishing it from the multitude of other keys. I couldn’t possibly imagine how one house could require so many different locks, or understand why Sarah would need a copy of all of the keys, but I certainly felt quite a lot like a prison guard with this handful. Finally armed with my entry method, I switched off my ignition, leapt out of the car and into the seemingly sub-zero day, and dashed toward the house praying that the heating was on.

  Mercifully, as I burst through the door into the hallway, it was decidedly warmer inside than out. Thank goodness for that. Closing the door with a relieved breath, I leant back on it and raised my eyebrows in appreciation at the room. This place was gorgeous. For some reason I had expected modern fixtures and fittings – perhaps because Sarah had said the owner was fussy about his property – but instead it was a perfect country house, complete with beautiful wooden floors, a curved staircase, mismatched (but lovely) furniture, and soft rugs as far as the eye could see. I loved it immediately.

  Sarah hadn’t mentioned the client’s name when I’d gone to get the keys from her this morning, she’d just referred to him as ‘he’, but as I pushed off the door and began to walk through the beautiful space I found myself wondering about what type of person – or people – might live here. Just because Sarah said ‘he’ didn’t necessarily mean that he lived alone, did it? It might just mean that she only dealt with the man of the house. Was he single or married? Young or old? One thing was abundantly clear though – the owner wasn’t short of a few quid.

  Glancing around again, I decided on an older male, probably a little overweight and living alone, because although the house was incredibly cosy considering its vast size, there weren’t many mementos or personal touches like photographs. There was, however, a floor to ceiling wine rack, full to the brim, with excess bottles sitting by the side of it. The owner obviously liked a drink, hence my guess at the slightly overweight part.

  I’m not a snooper as such, but if it hadn’t been threatening to snow I would certainly have been tempted to poke about a little and play my own version of Through the Keyhole. As it looked like I might be on a deadline, though, I shelved my curiosity and decided to try to save time by putting the pasta on to cook while I hoovered.

  Guessing that the kitchen would be at the end of the hallway, I proved myself right when I found myself coming to a standstill as I crossed the threshold into the vast space. Wow. This kitchen was a-maz-ing. Completely different from the traditional entrance hallway, this room was a modern example of glass, marble, and sparkling steel design. Spanning the entire back of the house it was completely immaculate and fitted with some impressive floor to ceiling windows which looked out on to a wooden deck, and huge, neat lawn that stretched into a seemingly endless forest beyond.

  The marble surfaces were mostly clear, but a gleaming pasta machine, bread maker, and fancy juicer caught my eye in one corner. My eyebrows rose at the high-tech gadgets – so these people liked to cook as well as drink. My gaze was drawn to a coffee machine like no other. At least, I think it was a coffee maker. With all its dials, knobs, and handles it looked more like a spaceship, but the familiar bag of beans sitting on the top seemed to confirm my speculation. The house owners were people after my own heart, because I absolutely loved a good cup of coffee.

  As tempted as I was to linger and enviously admire the various gadgets lying around, I cast another worried glance out of the window and saw the clouds were now even lower, a sight that soon had me searching to find the food cupboards.

  To my surprise, the cupboards were full, indicating that somebody had shopped this week – maybe these people had a housekeeper as well as a cleaner. How very upper class – because the fridge was also full of fresh food. Grabbing a large knife I set about quickly and haphazardly chopping some vegetables I found to make a casserole, hoping that the client wasn’t as picky about the size of his vegetable dice as he was about his parking arrangements.

  As the pasta was also cooking I hastily went in search of the cleaning cupboard Sarah had said was located under the stairs. Dragging a high-tech Dyson from the cupboard I turned my iPod on and set about hoovering the luxuriously furnished lounge.

  With Mika blaring in my headphones and me tunelessly singing along, the time started to pass quite quickly and I began to meticulously work my way from one end to the other. The owners of this place really did have remarkable taste, because this room was once again different from the previous two, somehow managing to effortlessly combine traditional features like the stunning inglenook fireplace with a modern flat screen television, curved leather sofa, and an enormous DVD rack. From the vast array of movies on the shelves, they clearly liked to watch films, and did so in considerable comfort. The couch curved elegantly across the room, ending at a well-stocked drinks cabinet topped with a selection of sparkling glasses, decanters, and even a bowl full of packaged snacks. Pursing my lips appreciatively I nodded my approval. Mind you, there wasn’t really anything not to like. How the other half lived, I thought with a wry smile.

  I was midway through my mammoth vacuuming session and singing along with Mika when the hoover suddenly cut off. Assuming I had pulled the cable from the wall in my exuberance I spun around to remedy it before letting out an ear-piercing shriek and leaping backwards, clutching at my chest as my heart suddenly beat frantically against my ribs.

  The hoover hadn’t pulled itself from the wall. No, as I followed the trail of the cable it led me instead to the hand of a very large man, his arms folded and an incredibly angry expression on his face. Swallowing loudly, I briefly scrunched my eyes closed to make sure I wasn’t imagining him, but he was still there when I opened them again. And from the deep frown on his brow, he was still angry. Even through the shock of his sudden appearance, I could see this man was undeniably handsome. A shock of dark hair sat in a ruffled mess on his head, his jaw was defined and lightly stubbled, his lips were drawn into a tight line of disapproval but were infinitely tempting, and his dark eyes, although irate, seemed to somehow draw me in to the point where I felt the urge to step closer. Thankfully, I didn’t, instead forcefully making my legs stay still.

  On top of all of that, it suddenly permeated my consciousness that he was only semi-clothed. Jesus. My eyes flicked over his body and I think my heart stopped for a few seconds before taking off again at such a rate that it was now booming in my chest like some badly played bongo drums. He was wearing nothing but a pair of navy pyjama bottoms.

  Crikey, what a sight – so good in fact, that it really should be illegal. His legs were long, the thin cotton clinging to muscles hidden beneath, and the waistband hanging deliciously low on his hips, so it exposed a ‘v’ of muscles that led to goodness knows what splendidness below. Everything looked narrow and tight and … well, inspired all sorts of delicious thrusting naughtiness to spring to mind.

  He was, quite simply, glorious.

  My mouth suddenly felt as parched as a dry river bed. Licking my lips, my eyes lingered on his well-muscled a
bdomen for far longer than necessary, but I couldn’t seem to pull my gaze away as I gulped desperately and absently reached to tug my earbuds out. I didn’t even know him, but the urge to step forwards and run my tongue up the centre of his chest was almost overpowering.

  His appearance had definitely sent me into an instant tail spin, there was no doubt about that.

  ‘You’re not Sarah,’ the man stated grouchily, completely bursting my lovely erotic bubble of pleasurable chest licking and hip thrusting. Of all the words I’d briefly imagined coming from his beautiful lips, those were not the ones I’d hoped for. Although exactly what I had hoped for I wasn’t sure – his mere presence seemed to have completely thrown me. His bluntness, however, did bring me somewhat back to earth and raised my hackles, so instead of asking the obvious question of who he was – the house owner, I hoped – I instead opted for a sarcastic response.

  ‘Good observation, you must be a genius,’ I said dryly, rather glad that I didn’t sound as shaken as I felt. God, my heart was pounding so hard that I could feel my ribs vibrating. My reply caused his dark eyes to narrow in annoyance as he began to roll his lovely lips until they formed a tight line of disapproval. Hmm … there was something about that intense, broody look that made my knees feel a little weaker, and to my surprise I felt a low ache of arousal settle in my belly.

  Crikey. This was all very much unexpected.

  I had expected to clean, cook, and scarper, but now I was faced with a hulking great pile of hot, angry male, who for some inexplicable reason was turning me on more than I had been in a long time.

  I hadn’t dated for a while. A long while. I’d been too busy with work to even notice men – being a newly qualified teacher does that to you – but apparently right now in a strange house, with an equally strange and irritable man, was the moment that my libido decided to kick back in. Just flipping typical.

  ‘Look, I’ve been up for the last forty-eight hours, I don’t need your sarcasm,’ he informed me in a low, gritty tone, which was so incredibly masculine that it caused goosebumps to rise on my arms and did absolutely nothing to help my lust decrease. Jeez. I really needed to get a grip.