Lie to You Page 9

  “Jason told you I was coming,” she states.

  I nod, nervously twisting and untwisting the cap on my water bottle.

  Annie is a very observant person, and right now, she’s studying me so close it feels as though she’s seeing straight through me. “I told you before that I thought something was up with you two. I wasn’t positive until just now though. Jesus, Joe, you look guilty as sin.”

  I cringe. That’s because I am. My pulse pounds in my head as the adrenaline kicks in. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

  “So do I,” she sympathizes. “It kills me to think you two have been keeping secrets from me. I have to know what’s going on, though. Whatever it is, I have to know.” Her hand goes to her flat stomach, reminding me what’s at stake.

  Again, I consider lying to her. As much as I loathe Jason, I hate the idea of destroying Annie’s life more. “You’re never going to speak to me again,” I croak. My eyes begin to fill, blotting out the room.

  Annie stares at me, her face full of fear and dread. “Did you sleep with him?”

  The question is spoken so softly, I would have missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so close. She already knows the answer, but she’s waiting for me to confirm it. So I do, because if there is one thing I’ve come to understand about life, it’s that you can’t outrun the truth. It’ll always catch up with you.

  “Yes.”

  I had this whole discussion planned out in my head. How I was going to tell her everything from beginning to end. How Jason was the son of the devil and she should drop him like a bad habit. But my throat is so tight I can’t speak beyond that one word. Like it or not, I can’t deny my role in this. I may not have known all the details in the beginning, but I was a willing party in keeping the lies. I’ve deceived her for years, and now it’s time to own up and accept the consequences.

  “When?” Her voice quivers, verging on tears, and a few of my own spill down my cheeks in response.

  “A long time ago. We were freshmen.”

  Her expression shifts, and I can see in her eyes the moment she begins combing her memories for signs of what was going on.

  “I didn’t know you then,” I tell her, hoping to reassure her that I didn’t mean to hurt her. “He never told me about you. I didn’t know. If I had, I never would have…” I cut myself off, swallowing thickly. She already knows we had sex. Speaking the words will only make the pain cut deeper.

  She’s silent so long I begin to worry. I don’t know if it’s the angle of the light coming through the windows or if she hasn’t been getting enough sleep, but I realize that Annie looks pale and tired. I wonder if she knows more than I realized. If her intuition has made her more aware than I gave her credit for. I always thought Annie was blind to Jason’s trespasses, but what if I was wrong? Have I been lying to her all this time for nothing?

  “I always…He was always…But he said…I asked him so many times. He always said it was only me.” She pauses, shaking her head and breathing heavily. “I have to go.”

  I can see it in her stricken expression that Annie is about to lose it. I reach out to her as she stands wanting to lend her some semblance of comfort, but I’m the last person she wants anything from.

  A hiccupped cry bursts from her lips. Throwing her hands up so fast it startles me, she jumps back to avoid contact. “I’m sorry,” she rushes out, looking horrified by her own reaction. “I just…I can’t look at you right now.”

  God. The pain shooting through my chest is visceral. I cover my heart with my hand as if I might hold the organ currently splitting open together. No amount of planning could have prepared me for how her rejection would make me feel.

  “I have to go,” she repeats. Annie can’t get out the door fast enough. Aware that going after her will only make things worse, no matter how good my intentions may be, I let her go.

  The moment she’s gone, a sob rips through me. I fold over, holding myself together, though barely. The last time I lost someone important to me, my dad died, following my mother who’d passed from cancer. That was nearly five years ago. I wish I could say I was over it, that the pain had dulled to the point that it no longer dogs me, and most days that’s true. I can ignore it, I can function, but in this moment it’s all brand new.

  Right now, sitting alone in my apartment, I feel as alone and abandoned and heartbroken as I did then. Losing Annie has reopened old wounds creating an unbearable ache that travels throughout my entire being, shaking me to my core. I’m not sure how long it will take to recover this time, or if I’ll even be able to.

  TWELVE

  Any planning I might have intended to do regarding my love life is currently—perhaps indefinitely—on hold. Losing my best friend has left a gaping hole in my heart and life. I feel as if I’ve lost a vital part of myself, and I don’t know how to get it back. I haven’t talked to Annie in over a week. She didn’t show up for finals and she didn’t make it yesterday for the last day of class.

  She’s vanished from my life completely.

  The only reason I haven’t freaked out and filed a missing person’s report is because I’ve talked to Jason. Well, screamed at him is more like it. Apparently, after Annie left my apartment last week, she gave Jason the old heave-ho and packed her bags. She boarded a plane to her parents’ home and took off for West Virginia that very night.

  Good for her. She finally did what I’ve hoped she’d do for ages.

  Of course, Jason is blaming their break up on me. He thinks I threw him under the bus because of my extreme hatred of him. I choose to let him believe that. The truth is¸ I might hate him, but Annie is in love with him. I would never hurt her to get to him. Although I’d hate to see them get back together, there’s no denying a small part of me hopes that maybe this will be the catalyst he needs to change his wicked ways, though I highly doubt it.

  Jason’s the least of my concern. The only person I’m worried about is Annie, and as far as I know, she’s in a good place right now. Lord knows, I wish I had my parents around to fall back on when I’m feeling my worst. Like now.

  Sometimes, I think about what they might say to me. I imagine my dad’s soothing baritone, the way my mother’s fingers used to comb through my hair, tickling my scalp. The unique scent they seemed to carry with them wherever they went. To this day, whenever I smell patchouli, I think of Dad.

  I’m half sitting, half lying down in bed, an open bag of Cheetos next to me and a two liter of Pepsi propped up between my bent knees. With only work to occupy my nights, this could quickly become a pattern for my days. Running used to be something I looked forward to doing every morning, but now it sounds like such a chore. Watching morning chat shows and binging on junk food is far more appealing.

  I’m absorbed in a segment about wearing heels while cleaning the house as a way to firm your butt cheeks, when I hear someone knocking on the front door. It’s a rapid, persistent knock that demands immediate attention. Grumbling, I transfer my snacks to the bedside table and shuffle into the living room to answer it.

  I’m still licking the orange Cheetos dust from my fingers when I open the door. Ransom—or Rebel—stands on the other side of it. His neutral expression flickers with a hint of amusement when he takes in my disheveled state, but it’s gone so fast it’s hard to be sure it ever existed.

  Gripping the door, I cock my hip out and lift an impatient brow—a signal for him to spit out whatever he came to say.

  He doesn’t waste another moment. “I’ve given you time to sort through whatever dysfunction you’re dealing with,” he snipes. “Time’s up.”

  Instantly, I recognize the pushy man before me. Stepping back, I sweep my arm out, allowing him entry. “Rebel, so nice of you to pop by unannounced. How exactly do you know where I live again?”

  “I have my ways.”

  I take his cryptic answer to mean he either dragged it out of Ransom, or he followed me home from work one night. Either is a fair guess. I’m learning that when these Sc
ott men want something, they’ll go to any lengths to get it.

  Rebel’s dressed in a sharp pair of black slacks and an expensive thin navy sweater that hints at every bump and groove of his muscled torso. It’s the perfect mix of business casual I’ve come to love on him and he wears it better than any man I’ve ever met.

  Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Rebel visually inspects my place. I don’t imagine it amounts to much in his eyes, considering his own lap of luxury. Mine is also a hell of a lot dirtier, considering I haven’t had much incentive to clean lately.

  “Did you have a reason for being here, or are you just curious to see how the other half lives?” I remark. The caustic tone in my voice isn’t purposeful, it just comes naturally.

  “The other half?” He turns to look at me, his expression blank. “Having money hasn’t turned me into an asshole who looks down his nose at college grads, Josephine.”

  “Oh, it must come naturally then.” I smirk as I walk past him and drop down into a chair. Today I’m all out of give-a-fucks, so I cut right to the chase. “I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

  Edging past the coffee table, Rebel seats himself on the edge of it, directly in front of me. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward, his wide shoulders bunching around his ears. “You walked out on me,” he starts, his voice a low growl. “No goodbye, no see ya later. Just walked out the door.”

  “I did,” I say with a nod of agreement. And I would do it again. “You seemed to have lost interest, so I went home.”

  “Lost interest? Hardly.”

  I roll my eyes, remembering the vision of Red kneeling between his open thighs. “If that’s true, where have you been all week? I haven’t seen you lurking around the club lately.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was out of town on business.”

  How gloriously convenient for him. “With Florence Nightingale?” I presume.

  His brows pinch together in confusion. “What does Florence have to do with anything?”

  I give a bored shrug. “I just figured after that amazing blow job, you might have found yourself a traveling companion.”

  “I have no idea what you’re rambling on about. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

  Vaulting from my seat, I point my finger in his surprised face. “You’re a damn liar! I saw you two with my own eyes.”

  Surging to his feet, Rebel glares down at me, his expression equally filled with rage. “Then you need glasses because, babe, you didn’t see shit!”

  “Don’t call me that. You lost that right when you decided to invite her over and have sex with her while I was sleeping in the next room.”

  “You’re fucking crazy. That never happened,” he seethes, his face mottled red.

  “I know what I saw! You were drunk off your ass and she was right there, sucking your dick for anyone to see. You didn’t even bother to wait ‘til I was gone.” Emotion surges into my chest and throat so fast I nearly choke on it. Breathing heavily, I try to regain some form of control.

  Rebel’s expression is pinched tight with confusion and outrage. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say he was telling the truth. Almost. But I trust my eyes far more than I trust his word.

  “I was drinking, yes,” he says slowly, visibly working to keep his tone level. “But I never—never—invited anyone over, least of all her. What reason would I have to do that?”

  I fold my arms over my chest, glaring up at him. “Maybe because you completely overreacted to the situation and wanted to punish me?”

  “I admit,” he says, his large hand patting the air between us, “I can be a little hotheaded sometimes, but I still wouldn’t have done what you’re accusing me of.”

  “From the looks of it, you were blackout drunk. How the hell do you know what you would or wouldn’t have done?”

  His expression evening out, Rebel closes the space between us, placing us chest to chest. In a low, dark voice, he says, “Maybe you’re right. For argument’s sake, let’s say I willfully participated in sexual acts with another woman right under your nose. Are you going to stand here and tell me you’re any better? That you didn’t turn around and do the exact same thing you’re accusing me of?”

  My mouth goes dry. “What are you saying?”

  He chuckles darkly. “Not so righteous when the tables are turned are we, pussycat?” Lifting his hand, he tucks my hair behind my ears. Then, cupping my jaw, he studies my face with a slow, creeping smile that is absolutely terrifying.

  “I saw you leaving my brother’s room that night. Remember what I told you, pussycat?” he asks. Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to my ear as one hand snakes down to cup me between my thighs. “Nobody touches this but me. Who does this pussy belong to?”

  A sudden rush of heat pulses through my veins. He knows. My eyes slipping shut, I take a shuddering breath. It’s only a question. A question that has a simple answer. Despite my fury, I can’t resist the temptation he stirs inside me to say it, to tell him exactly what he wants to hear and I desperately want to be true. “You.”

  “Who?”

  “You,” I repeat, my voice nothing more than a whisper. I should be more upset, worried of what this knowledge means for us, but strangely, I’m not. When it comes to Rebel, I can’t seem to hold onto my anger. The instant he uses that deep, sexy voice, I’m a goner.

  Rebel’s actions belie any hint of anger he might be feeling right now. If he’s upset with me, he’s not showing it. Instead, he’s using my inability to deny him against me.

  Any anger or fear I might have felt a moment ago is quickly forgotten as white-hot desire blooms throughout my body. This is the Rebel I first met at the hotel, the one who rules my body and mind with his voice alone. I find myself craving his touch, wanting nothing more than to be at his mercy.

  “That’s right, pussycat. Me.” Taking my hand in his, he presses it against his rock hard erection. “Just as this belongs to you.” My eyes flip up to find his and despite my earlier conviction, I see the truth bearing down on me. “Just you, Josephine. There isn’t anyone else.”

  I know what I saw, and yet I’m torn by my desire to believe what he’s telling me. I may just be lying to myself, but Rebel’s earnest gaze commands me to listen, to hear his truth. And I do. I hear it loud and clear. It clashes completely with the imprint in my mind, but rather than one truth, there are now two jockeying for position in my head. I’m left to decide whether or not I believe me…or him.

  A nerve in Rebel’s jaw ticks as he watches me struggle with my thoughts. With a low growl of frustration, he makes a vow. “I don’t know what you think you saw that night, but it’s not what it looked like. I have more integrity than to do that to you or anyone.

  “I’ll admit, there was a time when Florence and I were together,” he continues, “but I was young and naïve then. I haven’t seen her in months.

  “There’s more to the story than what you told me, and I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of it. But,” he says, pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger and angling my face up to his, “not tonight. Tonight, you’re mine.”

  Crushing his lips against mine, Rebel forces his tongue into my mouth. True to form, he’s not going slowly. He’s not going easy on me. Rebel conquers my mouth in the same manner he will my body—hard, fast, and thoroughly.

  “Never walk out on me again,” he growls between kisses. Baring down on me, Rebel plunders my mouth, his tongue darting in and out, licking and teasing, his teeth nipping my bottom lip.

  I don’t realize we’re moving until my back crashes into the wall. Pinned between it and Rebel’s unforgiving, relentless pursuit, I have no choice but to surrender. Bending down, Rebel grasps the backs of my thighs and hoists me up. Automatically, I wind my legs around his waist and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

  The feel of Rebel’s hard length pressing against my needy core sends a ripple of heat surging through me. Moaning into his mouth, I press tighter to Rebel’s body, tryi
ng to soak up as much of him as I can. The need to be closer, to feel his naked skin against mine, is inherent.

  Rebel’s questing hands tear at my clothing, delving beneath the thin night shirt and skating up my ribcage to pull it over my head. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he takes my naked breasts into his greedy palms. His eyes blaze with hunger and I throw my head back, gasping his name, as he draws a nipple into his mouth.

  Spearing my fingers into his hair, I hold him to me as his tongue circles each taut peak. His teeth bite down gently, sending arrows of pleasure straight to my core. I can feel myself climbing toward release. My head is spinning, every nerve ending firing, and just when I am about to reach the point of no return, my muscles clamping down in preparation, Rebel releases me.

  “No, don’t stop,” I cry out, grasping his shoulders, trying to bring him back.

  Rebel’s full lips are flushed a deep shade of rose and tilt up in a mocking smile. “You’re a poor hostess, pussycat. You haven’t offered your guest the grand tour.”

  My eyes bug out in disbelief. “You want a tour now?”

  “How else do you expect me to plot all the surfaces I plan to fuck you on?”

  Oh. Renewed excitement ignites inside me. Taking his hand, I pull him through the apartment, giving him the fastest tour on record. “You already know the living room. The kitchen is over there,” I say pointing to it as we pass by on our way into the short hallway. “And down here is the bathroom on your left, guest room on your right, and this room,” I say, throwing open the door to the last door at the end of the corridor, “is my room.”

  Turning on my heel, I take hold of Rebel’s waistband and tug him flush against my naked breasts. That damned smirk of his stares back at me and my stomach twinges with nerves. Whenever Rebel looks at me like that, I feel so exposed, yet so damn thrilled. Having his full attention is an aphrodisiac in itself.

  “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” I tell him as I undo his belt buckle. Dragging the strip of leather free, I fold it in half. Holding both ends, I buckle the material, creating a gap between the two halves, and then pull both ends out in a swift motion. The leather cracks loudly, and I smile as I back up toward the bed. “I’m feeling particularly naughty tonight, Mr. Scott.”