Текст книги "Lie to You"

Автор книги: J. C. Valentine

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

EIGHTEEN

“Do you hate your brother?” I’m sitting cross-legged in the center of Rebel’s bed, tracking his movements around the room as he gathers what he’ll need for the trip and packs it all into a piece of luggage that’s double the size of mine.

And they say women are the ones with a clothing problem.

“Yes and no,” Rebel replies distractedly. “We have our problems just like any other siblings.”

“But aren’t you supposed to be super close? I thought twins were supposed to be inseparable.”

“Only if they’re conjoined,” he remarks. Dropping a stack of perfectly pressed shirts into the luggage, he stops to look at me. “Ransom and I used to be close as kids, but it’s never been...symbiotic. That shit you see about other twins being able to read each other’s thoughts and living mirrored lives? We’re about as far from that as you can get. We have the same face, similar personalities, even the same taste in women,” he adds with a dark smile, “but we’re about as different as two people can get.”

Reminded of my time spent with the two of them, I can see where he might think that. Rebel is much more intense than Ransom. However, Ransom can be just as dominate and controlling as Rebel, just as I’m learning Rebel can be as sweet and gentle as Ransom. They’re more alike than either of them realize.

“If you don’t like each other very much, then why offer for him to live here?”

“I told you, he needed a place to crash, and I had the space.” Rebel is getting annoyed, which is evident by the way he moves a little faster around the room, stuffing his belongings into his bag with a little less care.

“Because you don’t stay here often,” I surmise.

“That and because he maintains it while I’m gone. Maids can be expensive. Family labor comes free.”

I nod in understanding, even though I’ve never once known the luxury of having a maid myself. A question that’s burned in my mind for ages rises to the forefront of my mind and, before I lose my nerve, I ask it. “If you have this place, why bother with the hotels?”

“I told you, I travel a lot for business.” He waves his hand at the open suitcase as evidence, but it’s not what I meant.

“No, I mean, why the hotel rooms. Why meet me there when you had this waiting for you?”

Zipping the case closed, he plants his hands on his hips, highlighting the breadth of his wide shoulders. He changed into a simple pair of khakis and hunter green polo when we first arrived. It reminds me a lot of Ransom, but the look is just as sexy on him. I can’t help feasting on him with my eyes. The man is a hot commodity no matter what he wears.

“A few reasons. The most obvious being that you were a stranger. I don’t bring random women into my home.”

“I get that. What’re the other reasons?”

“Your job is another.”

Scrunching my nose in offence, I say, “You told me that it didn’t matter what I do for a living.”

“It doesn’t. It’s honest, but let’s face it, pussycat, it’s not exactly something you shout from rooftops. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how hard you work to keep it a secret. Even my brother knew nothing about it. I bet you haven’t even told your parents, have you?”

My already declining mood plummets with the mention of them. I choose a flippant response in order to suppress the swell of emotion that threatens to suck me down. “Well, since they’ve been dead for years, I’d say the chances of them finding out are slim.”

“Shit.” Rebel’s expression scrunches up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” The fact that we know next to nothing about each other despite all the time we’ve spent together hangs like a giant red flag waving between us. It’s apparent to me that we can’t continue on this path like this much longer. The time has come to erase all the secrets dividing us. It’s the only way if we expect to make this work.

“So, the hotels?” I ask, needing to get us back on the topic of conversation.

Clearing his throat, Rebel picks up his bag and motions with a tilt of his head for me to follow. “The first time I saw you dance, I had just returned from a trip. I knew Ransom was home and I didn’t feel like company, so I stopped to have a drink. You were...” He pauses, his shoulders rolling forward as he sets his suitcase by the front door and searches for the right words.

“You were memorizing.” Turning to face me, his expression wills me to understand him. “I’m not the kind of guy that picks up women in bars, let alone strip clubs, but there was something about you. I knew I had to have you.”

Removing a set of keys from the charcoal suit coat draped over the back of a side chair, he continues. “I got the hotel rooms because I didn’t want what we did bleeding into my personal life.” Returning to the door he stops, and with his hand on the knob, he casts me a tense look. “It wasn’t because I was embarrassed by you or what you do. I like my privacy. No one save Ransom and my parents have ever been to my home.”

“What about Florence?” The sound of her name coming off my tongue is so bitter it makes me want to spit.

He shakes his head. “Not even her. And yes, I know she has a key, but only because she owns the building. I’ve never personally invited her inside. Not once.”

Well, color me confused. Did she just let herself in on a whim that night then? I find it unlikely. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you I find that hard to believe,” I say, casting him a doubtful look.

Dropping his hold on the knob, Rebel faces me head on. His thick arms fold across his chest and his eyes hold mine, making me feel like a bug under a microscope. “Explain.”

“What is there left to explain?” I ask, my voice rising an octave. “I saw you, Rebel. I saw you and her together and I know it was you because Ransom was there, too. Even you have to admit the evidence is pretty damning.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees. “But you don’t know the full story. Unfortunately, neither do I. All I can offer you right now is assurances that I’m not the kind of man who cheats. You should also be aware by now that I’m not a man who lies.”

I can’t deny that I’m disappointed that he’s still incapable of providing me the answers I’m looking for, but I acknowledge what he has given me.  “You are many things, Rebel, but I have to agree with you there. As much as it pains me to admit it.”

Dropping his arms, a self-satisfying smile appears on his face. “Well, for once you’re not being a total pain in my ass. Quick,” he says, swinging the door open. “Let’s get out of here before the wind shifts.”

My lips twitching at his uncharacteristic joke, I breeze past him. “I hope you bought traveler’s insurance, Mr. Scott.”

***

Boarding the plane was the easy part. I’ve never been on one before. Having read some racy billionaire love stories, I half expected for Rebel to charter us a private plane. Something flashy and high class, with a private suite for us to have wild, crazy sex in.

Instead, he’s booked us first class on a jumbo jet. We have reclining seats and I’ve been given the one by the window. I am beyond thrilled with the accommodations.

Regardless of what Rebel’s salary is, it’s better than anything I could have afforded for myself. It’s an absolute treat...for someone who likes flying.

Despite the excellent service and the view, I am beyond terrified. I’d just as soon not look out the window because I’m pretty sure seeing the world hundreds of feet below me is not going to make me any more comfortable.

“How often do you fly?” I ask Rebel in a poor attempt to relax my racing heart.

He’s leafing through a magazine with a photograph of an ancient artifact on it. “A few times a month.”

Wow. “Do you ever get nervous?”

“What’s there to be nervous about? It’s the safest form of travel.”

He’s answering my questions so matter of fact, I wonder if he’s really even hearing me. It doesn’t matter anyway, I decide. I just know I need to keep talking or something bad is going to happen. Can hearts explode?

“You know that’s probably just a lie travel agencies tell to get more business. I mean, we’re hurdling through the sky in a giant tin can. If we go down, we’re dead.”

His black gaze flips up. He’s amused. “Are you scared, pussycat?”

I scoff. “What’s there to be scared of?” I ask sarcastically. “I mean, what are the chances one of the engines will blow up? And I’m sure they remembered to refuel before takeoff.” But what if they didn’t? Blood pounds in my ears and my breathing grows labored. How the hell long is this flight, and is it too late to get off? We’re soaring several thousand feet in the air, but I’m sure someone on board has a parachute in their carry-on.

“You won’t need a parachute,” Rebel assures me, and I realize that I’ve just said all of that out loud. Reaching into my lap, he gathers my hand in his. “If the plane crashes, I’m sure they’ll have enough safety vests to go around. If not, I don’t mind sharing.”

My eyes shoot open wide. “I forgot about drowning.”

He chuckles. I’m so glad he finds my terror entertaining. “We’re not flying over any bodies of water, and we’re not going to crash. Everything is going to be fine.”

Lifting his hand, he flags a stewardess down. “Can you bring us a couple glasses of something strong? My girlfriend’s nerves are shot.”

My jaw drops. Stunned by the label he’s given me, I almost miss the woman asking me if this is my first time flying. Too worked up to find my voice, I nod.

Once we’re alone again, Rebel catches the look on my face and says, “What?”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he says briskly, turning the page on his magazine over. “It’s just a label that makes for a smoother explanation.”

My expression falls and I slide my hand out from under his. A label? From fuck buddy to “label.” Not exactly an upgrade.

The stewardess is back in minutes, handing us a glass each of amber liquid. I’m impressed that she was able to peg Rebel so well. It’s exactly what he would have ordered. As for me, I’m more of a beer girl. I don’t attempt to hide my disappointment, though whether it’s due to the drink or Rebel’s comment, I don’t know.

“Drink. It will help you relax,” Rebel says gruffly. Placing two fingers on the bottom of my glass, he pushes it toward me. Holding his gaze, I down the scotch, hating the smooth burn that travels down my throat and into my chest.

With an approving smile, he returns to his magazine and sips at his own drink. Within minutes, I feel the weight of the alcohol spread to my limbs. Taking a risk, I rest my head lightly on Rebel’s shoulder. When he doesn’t reprimand or reject my advance, I increase the load until my head is fully supported. I may not like him much right now, but he makes a good pillow.

Closing my eyes, I consider for the hundredth time the wisdom of my decision to take this trip with him. Rebel and I are not a match made in heaven. He’s brash and condescending on a good day, and I’m...well, me. I’m a “label.” To be with him, it’s clear that I’m going to be giving up a lot of myself. Example number one: this trip.

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 aggression 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.”