Lie to You Page 15

  I don’t know the first thing about Maine. I don’t know anything about where we’re going or where we’ll be staying. Rebel seems to enjoy keeping me in the dark, his need for control extending to all parts of his life. All I know is Rebel wanted me with him, and here I am. I’ve boarded a plane for this man. If I wasn’t certain before, I am now. I’m all in.

  But the question still remains, is he?

  NINETEEN

  “I’m not dressed for this.”

  A stretch limo picked us up at the airport and brought us here, to this lavish country estate. It’s disgustingly perfect from the outside. The lawn is such a bright green I suspect it’s been dyed. A rainbow of flowers lines the walkway and frame the u-shaped drive, standing out against the two story monstrosity that I’m fairly certain is a Martha’s Vineyard design. It’s classic, white, and reminds me of something I’d find overlooking a sandy beach.

  “You’re dressed fine.” Rebel pushes me toward the house because my feet just won’t go on their own.

  “You should have let me change into something nicer,” I say, worriedly tugging at my clearance rack blouse from K-Mart.

  “Your clothes are fine,” Rebel insists as we climb the stone-faced steps. “Just smile and remember to be your charming self. I’m sure Jack has been fantasizing about you since the conference so I hardly think he’ll care about what you’re wearing.” He leans closer, his mouth hovering above mine. “He’ll be too preoccupied wondering what you look like under all that clothing.”

  Smacking a kiss on my lips, he grabs the oiled-brass knocker and raps it against the paneled door.

  “That didn’t make me feel any better,” I grumble. “Now I’m going to spend the whole day covering my ass.”

  “You should be more worried about those tits. They’re practically asking for a tongue lashing.”

  My mouth gapes open and while I hurriedly pull my blouse together to cover up the inch and a half of cleavage, he laughs.

  The door opens to a man in a suit with slicked back hair and sharp features. His nose is stuck in the upright position and in a bored tone, he asks us to come inside and then guides us to wait in the receiving room.

  Rebel takes a seat in one of the two club chairs while I inspect the pictures arranged on the mantel. There is a nice one of Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly dressed in matching polos and visors out on a putting green, their clubs slung over their shoulders. They look so happy, even I’m smiling.

  “Do you want to get married?” I ask Rebel, turning my attention to an oriental blue and white floral patterned vase.

  “Are you proposing?”

  Casting a look over my shoulder, I cock a brow. “What do you think? No. I meant one day, do you think you’ll get married.”

  He considers this. “I’ve always pictured living out my golden years with a harem of women.”

  “You’re such a pig,” I comment, shaking my head. He would say that. The sad thing is I can totally see him in that setting. I doubt he’s ever had a shortage of women.

  “What about you? Are you the fairytale ending type?”

  Spotting a miniature wooden statue of an African lion sitting on what I think is called a sideboard I pick it up, tracing my finger over its soft lines. “I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”

  “So you didn’t spend your childhood dressing up like a princess and dreaming of your prince charming?”

  Placing the figurine back on the table, I cross the room and claim the stiff, Victorian couch across from him. Rebel’s eyes follow my every move with interest, lingering on my crossed legs. “I did, actually, until I grew up and realized that men like that don’t exist.”

  “Are you saying I’m not your prince charming?” Rebel asks his mouth curved up on one side.

  “If anything, you’re the antithesis.”

  Right away, the firm set of his lips and his darkening eyes let me know that he doesn’t like my answer. For some reason, what I said bothers him, but I don’t get a chance to find out why.

  “Mr. Donnelly will see you now.”

  The stuffy man in the suit turns on his heel and glides away, the long tails of his jacket breezing out behind him.

  “I guess we’re supposed to follow him,” Rebel says as he stands.

  I follow, leaning in to whisper, “Does he remind you of Alfred?”

  “From Batman?” Rebel asks, his brows kitting together.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you’ve got a wild imagination.”

  We follow the man I’ve decided to call Alfred down a maze of hallways, each elaborately decorated with expensive paintings and antique furniture, until we reach a door made of twisting gold metal.

  It opens like an accordion to reveal a small box and he motions us inside. “Press the star button for the lift to take you to the subfloor. Your destination is the third door on the right.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek as he steps out of our way to let us pass. Once the doors have been closed, Rebel punches the appropriate button on the wall and we begin our descent.

  I clear my throat.

  “Don’t say it,” Rebel warns.

  “What? I thought Alfred was really nice. Didn’t you?”

  “You’re incorrigible,” he accuses, his voice holding a smile.

  The elevator slows to a stop and when Rebel pushes the metal doors back, we step out into a low-lit hallway that feels like a...well, cave. Tilting my head back, I give Rebel a pointed look. “If bats rush me, I’m using you as cover.”

  “If bats rush you, I’ll already be back on the elevator before that can happen.”

  “Some knight in shining armor you are!”

  Throwing his hands up, Rebel walks ahead. “Hey, you’re the one who said prince charming and fairy tales don’t exist.”

  My rebuttal will have to wait. The room we enter is larger than I expected for a basement, and it’s certainly not lacking. Decorated with rich mahogany woods and deep burgundy carpeting, it’s a true man cave.

  Jack Donnelly is seated behind a sprawling desk that takes up the length of one wall. When he hears us enter, his balding head rises and he graces us with a warm, welcoming smile. “Ah, my two favorite people.”

  Hefting himself from the chair, he rounds his desk and shakes hands with Rebel. For me, he opens his fluffy arms wide. “I’m thrilled you came.”

  “I couldn’t say no,” I tell him as I accept a brief hug. In fact, it’s so brief, that I decide Rebel is full of shit. Judging from his embrace and the photos I saw upstairs, he’s just a very nice man. Friendly. The only woman he has his sights set on is his wife.

  My suspicions are confirmed when Holly Donnelly breezes into the room moments later carrying a tray of glasses surrounding a pitcher of what looks to be...yep, iced tea.

  “I hope you two are thirsty,” she trills as she sets it down on a table in the small seating area along the opposite wall. “I made sweet tea.”

  “Please, have a glass. She’s famous for it around these parts,” Jack says proudly.

  Holly, bent over the table, begins putting a glass together. Looking up from her task, she sets a loving smile on her husband. “Two sugars and a wedge of lemon?”

  “That’s right, darlin’.”

  She does it up the way he wants it and carries it over. “Thirty-seven years of marriage and he still takes his tea the same way.”

  “And she still asks the same question every time,” Jack says as he accepts his glass. Taking a sip from it, his eyes light up and he hums. “Perfect every time, just like you.”

  Holly brushes her hand over his barreled chest in a playful smack. “Oh, you sweet talker.”

  After Rebel takes the lead and serves us both a drink, which surprises me, we seat ourselves on one of the two red leather love seats stationed around the table.

  “I want to talk shop,” Jack says bluntly as he lowers himself into a chair across from us. “When are you planning to buy me out, Rebel?”

  The sudden aggres
sion in his tone has me looking to Rebel with concern. He sits back coolly, crossing one ankle over his knee, and adopting a bored expression.

  “I see the rumor mill is buzzing,” he drawls. “I have my eye on early June.”

  “Why the hold up? Why not this minute?”

  “I’ll need to liquidate a few assets first. Is the deal still fifty-one percent of the shares?”

  Jack nods. “That was the agreement.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, Rebel sets his empty glass on the table. Propping his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands together. “Are you still set on not telling Florence about you leaving? It’s her company, too.”

  “That may be, but it’s my brainchild. She might understand financing, but you’re the visionary. If anyone is going to grow and expand the business, it’s you.”

  “I’m only as good as my team,” Rebel says, and even though he seems sure of himself on the outside, I hear the subtle touch of doubt in his words.

  “You carry the team. They operate under your instruction,” Jack barks. “Give yourself some credit, Scott. Christ, you graduated top of your class. You’ve developed revolutionary designs. You’ve single-handedly sent six companies operating below their potential into Fortune Five-Hundred. You understand the business, you have the contacts, and you know how to get the job done. This company would be nothing without you.”

  I’m stunned. What Donnelly is saying goes so far beyond the simple programing that Rebel told me about. I feel lucky to be sitting here, privy to this information.

  Pride radiates from Rebel, but for whatever reason, he’s holding it all back. I sit back and watch the exchange in fascination. Rebel is such a cocky sonofabitch, so self-assured, controlling every situation and ruling over it with an iron fist. But here, now, it’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Rebel I know is nowhere in sight. He’s been replaced by someone who is much more subdued. Still learning, not entirely certain about the path he’s on.

  I know what the difference is. He looks up to Jack Donnelly. This is his role model. I would have guessed that role was taken by his suit-wearing, tough-as-nails father, but this overweight, paunchy man who’s as sweet as the day is long, is it.

  ***

  Jack and Holly asked us to stay in their guest room so we could enjoy an early breakfast with them, but Rebel declined. I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed.

  After they had finished their business negotiations, we enjoyed an amazing meal put together by none other than Holly herself followed by attending a live showing of Les Miserables put on by a local theater.

  The couple was great company. Down to earth, warm and funny. I never would have expected to have such a nice time with people twice my age, but I did. Even more, I never would have expected to have such a good time with Rebel. That’s twice now. Spending time with him outside the bedroom is fast becoming an unexpected treat.

  “Do you plan on spending the rest of the night pouting?” Rebel asks from his side of the bed. “Because if you are, I’ll call a cab to come get you and take you back.”

  “I’m not pouting,” I protest, even though I am. “But if you insist on being a dick, I’ll call the front desk and ask them to put you in another room. How’s that?”

  “Careful, pussycat. Your mouth is flapping again. If you don’t shut it, I might be inclined to fill it.”

  Lying on my back, I turn my head on the pillow and sneer into the darkness in his general direction. “I thought my mouth was what first attracted you to me in the first place.”

  “No, that was your tits. Your mouth is what kept me coming back.”

  I bust out laughing. “I hope that wasn’t an attempt at a pun, because if it was, it was terrible.”

  “I don’t know. I thought it was pretty clever,” he says, and I can hear his smile.

  The thought of it causes something inside my chest to swell. I feel so incredibly high in this moment and the cause of it is lying right beside me.

  “I like you today,” I confess.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Turning onto my side, I prop my head on my hand. It’s too dark to see him clearly, but his silhouette against the stark white of the sheets gives me enough of an impression of him. Even that limited visual manages to be imposing. Even in a king sized bed, he takes up more than half of it, his big body nearly stretching from the headboard to the footboard.

  Finding his bare chest, I spread my fingers out, caressing the dusting of coarse dark hairs. “I didn’t want to come with you to Maine, but I’m kind of glad I did. You’ve been amazingly agreeable since the conference.”

  “Agreeable huh?” Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he stills my hand. “You caught me in a good mood, Josephine. Don’t let it cloud your judgment. I’m not a man who plays nice or fair.”

  Taking back control, I drag my hand down over his stomach. His grip tightens as though he might stop me, but he doesn’t. “No, you’re neither of those things, Rebel. I hate to break it to you, but I figured that out a long time ago.”

  “And you still come back for more,” he rumbles.

  “I still come back,” I agree. Gently, my hand slides beneath the cool sheet. Finding him naked, I wrap my fingers around his growing shaft. His chest rises and falls heavily as his breathing picks up. Leaning down, I lightly graze his whiskered cheeks with my lips until I locate his, then whisper against them, “Something you should know about me, Rebel. I don’t play fair either.”

  Holding him firmly in my hand, I pump him from root to tip, relishing his groan of pleasure. Then, with practiced control, I climb on top of him, fitting my naked skin tight up against his, and slowly guide him inside of me.

  “Tonight,” I say, moaning around the word as he hits deep, “I want to be in control.”

  For a moment, his silence makes me think he’ll say no, but to my shock, Rebel tells me, “My tie is in the bathroom. Go get it.”

  I don’t know what his intent is, but I’m eager to find out. Easing off him, I rush to retrieve it. When I return, Rebel’s deep growl of anticipation ignites mine. I hold up the tie in question and purr, “Hands over your head, Mr. Scott.”

  TWENTY

  “Kindly untie me.”

  I expected Rebel to wake up early—he’s always up before the sun—which is why I ordered room service. I figured he’d wake up as soon as I opened the door to accept the delivery, but our acrobatics last night must have worn him out.

  He didn’t even stay awake long enough for me to untie him last night. So, I left him bound to the bed and used his body as a mattress.

  I’m eating pancakes in bed, my legs folded, creating a cradle to support my plate. Staring him in the eye, I lift a forkful of fluffy goodness to my mouth. “Mmm, I don’t know. I kind of like having you at my mercy for once.”

  His dark eyes narrow to slits as I pop the bite into my mouth. Licking a drop of syrup from my lip, I ask him, “Are you hungry? I ordered breakfast.”

  “The ties, Josephine.”

  “First, tell me. Pancakes or eggs? I’ve always wondered what kind of man you are. Or are you the scotch-on-the-rocks-‘cause-it’s-five-o-clock-somewhere kind of guy?”

  He tugs at his bindings, testing their strength. I’m no girl scout, but I did a pretty good job and they don’t budge. He huffs in annoyance and relents. “Pancakes.”

  I love when a man gives in to me.

  Rising onto my knees, I fork up a large triangle of pancake and drag it through the puddle of maple syrup. “Open.”

  “I’m not a child,” he grumbles. “Let me up so I can eat it my damn self.”

  “I may swear you’re the devil sometimes, but you’re certainly not damned,” I muse, ignoring his request. I don’t get many opportunities to harass this man, so I’m taking this moment and running with it. “Now, shut up and let me feed you.” Lifting the fork, I hold it high in the air.

  If looks could kill...

  “You think you’re the one in contr
ol here, pussycat?” he asks, his voice pitching low and dangerous. It’s the same tone he uses in bed, which gets my wheels turning in a whole new direction. “Think again.”

  Sighing, I rest the fork back on the plate. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with me being in control last night,” I remind him. “In fact, if memory serves, weren’t you the one who suggested the restraints in the first place?”

  “Role reversal is common practice in normal, healthy relationships. Just remember who put you in the driver’s seat, Josephine. I still have control, even when it seems like I don’t.”

  I regard him with a certain level of amusement. In the short time we’ve spent actually getting to know one another, he’s shown me that he’s capable of more than just a quick roll in the sack. He can be funny, he knows how to laugh, and beyond all that macho bullshit he hides behind, I can tell he’s a pretty incredible guy when he chooses to be.

  “Control, control, control. Blah, blah, blah.” Lifting the fork again, I grin, dialing the happiness up another notch. “Now, open wide. Here comes the airplane!”

  Rebel’s murderous thoughts reflect back at me through those black-as-night eyes. That look used to scare me, but to hell with it. I know no matter how rough and domineering he can be Rebel will never hurt me.

  Predictably, Rebel’s mouth fuses shut. I hold the pancake above his lips, waiting with what I know is a humongous grin on my face. “Awe, someone’s being stubborn this morning,” I coo.

  Syrup drips onto his lips, and his eyes flash darker. He’s ticked off beyond measure, and I’m laughing my ass off when any sane person would be hightailing it for Canada about now.

  “Open up. Big boys need their energy.” He doesn’t open, so I begin poking his mouth with the pancake. Poke, poke, poke. His lips glisten with sticky syrup, which sparks an idea.