Текст книги "Lie to You"
Автор книги: J. C. Valentine
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
SEVEN
Dancing helps me clear my head. It’s just too bad that Kota needed an extra body on the floor tonight. I need the release. I need that unhurried moment where I can just let my mind go blank, let my thoughts drift into nothing while I move my body.
Mirage is hosting a party tonight. Some guy is getting married and this is where he’s decided to have his bachelor party. I wonder if his fiancée knows what he’s doing and what kind of place this is. The kind of services a man can pay for that go beyond a simple drink.
Not that I care. I’m here to make money, not solve personal problems. Lord knows I have enough of my own.
Navigating the congested floor, I hold a tray full of empties high and weave past the tables. The club is louder than usual tonight. The men have grown rowdier with each passing hour. I’ve never seen it like this before, and if it weren’t for Kota and the beefy guards positioned at every corner and exit, I might be scared. But this is the safest place I can be right now.
Reaching the back of the bar, I dispose of the empty bottles in the garbage and return the used glasses to the dish washer. Poor Bernice has already run the damn thing five times tonight and looks exhausted. However, she’s moving with a speed and agility the rest of us can only aspire to.
“If you need more glasses,” she says when she notices me standing behind her, “there’s a fresh stock under the bar. Be careful, though, they’re still hot.”
I tip my head in confirmation as I take a drink of water from a glass I’ve stashed beside the ice bin. I’m looking out over the club, scanning the patrons through the blanket of dark that’s occasionally broken up by colored strobe lights, when I see him.
Rebel sits at a two-top near the back, but much closer to the action than normal. I assume with the chaos, he wasn’t able to get his usual seat. He appears relaxed, in his element, and those dark, hawk-like eyes are fixed on me.
I wonder how long he’s been here, and how long he’s been watching me. When I survey his table, I don’t see his usual drink, so it must not have been long.
“He’s got it bad for you.”
My gaze switches to Bernice, who is busy filling drink orders. Still, she somehow has the time to keep track of my love life. I shake my head as I retrieve a clean tumbler and drop a couple cubes of ice into the bottom.
“He’s been here nearly every night this week, and he’s not here for the shows,” she continues.
I don’t like how observant she is, but I have to admit, I do like the thrill that rushes through me at her words. It feels good to know he wants me and that it isn’t just my imagination. I’m not putting more into it than there is. Rebel wouldn’t spend his evenings chasing after me if he wasn’t serious about catching me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Pouring two fingers of scotch, I return the bottle to the top shelf and retrieve the glass. “I guess we’ll find out,” I say, winking at her as I walk away.
My eyes fix on Rebel as I sashay my way toward him. I love how his dark eyes betray him. They skate over me, drinking me in, in a way that would be inappropriate if we were anywhere else. Ignoring the shiver of pleasure that traces down my spine, I set the glass down in front of him.
His mouth curves up in a slow smirk as he reaches for it, and even though I know I should, I can’t seem to make myself walk away. I watch, fascinated, as he brings the glass to his full lips and takes a drink. His throat is thick and covered in day-old scruff, and when he swallows, I imagine running my tongue down it, tasting the hint of salt and cologne on his skin.
“You remembered.” His voice is a deep husk that travels straight to my core. I could pretend to be unaffected, but we both know it would be a lie.
“How could I forget?” I say casually. “You’re a man of habit.”
He considers this, that sexy smile still in place. “What are you doing the rest of the evening, Josephine?”
“Work, home, bed, in that order,” I say, my mood shifting on a dime. I’m not interested in playing games tonight. I especially am not interested in dealing with Rebel and his dominate, overbearing attitude. As hot as I used to find that—and still do, if I’m being honest—I’m still sore over his behavior at his parents’ house over the weekend.
Rebel treated me like a pawn in a game of chess. He was so busy trying to outplay his brother he forgot that I am a human being with feelings. I know I can’t keep this side of my life a secret forever, but when it finally does come out, I want it to be on my terms. What I don’t want is for the information to be used as leverage, which is exactly what Rebel did.
Rebel’s hand glides across my hip and around my back, drawing me closer until my stomach is flush with his thigh and he has to tilt his head back to look at me. “When you say bed, I assume you mean mine.”
A bitter laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “That’s not how this goes, remember? Complete anonymity?”
His eyes darken, turning into turbulent pools of night. “That was before,” he drawls. Behind me, his hand presses against my back, his thumb slipping beneath the tight fabric of my shirt to caress my heated flesh. “Before the names, before you showed up in my home. Before you fucked my brother.” That last bit is full of bitterness and hatred, and I step back, breaking our connection.
If Rebel is angry, I don’t want to be anywhere near him. He’s always struck me as the dark and dangerous type, and tonight, he’s playing the role well. If he goes off, I intend to be miles away from the detonation site.
Despite my uneasiness, I harden my voice. “If you intend to continue holding that over my head, don’t bother coming here anymore. I won’t be punished for something that was out of my control.”
His eyes narrow and, slowly, Rebel stands. He advances and for every step he takes, I take one back. There is a dark promise in his eyes, and even though warning bells are clanging in my head, my body is reacting. My blood simmers and my skin grows tighter as he closes in on me. We’re in a public place. Rebel won’t hurt me, but past experience dictates that he won’t be stopped from doing other things.
Spinning on my heel, I decide to get away from him as fast as I can. He may frequent Mirage, but I work here. I know this place better than him, and even if it’s not any kind of fortress, there are areas he’s not allowed.
I see Big John stationed at the opening to the hallway leading to the dressing room, and I make a beeline for him. If I can reach him, John will bar Rebel from following me.
I don’t reach him.
Rebel grabs hold of my wrists and pulls on it hard enough to make me lose my balance. I fall back against his chest, and his arms wrap around me, holding on tight. Lowering his head, his lips graze my ear as he speaks. “Don’t you know chasing my dinner only makes me want to devour it more?”
“Get off me, Rebel. I mean it.” I don’t. My voice is embarrassingly breathy. My blood is on fire. Having his hard body pressed up against mine, his heat scalding my skin through our layers of clothing, the sound of his voice in my ear coupled with the words he says, makes my knees shake.
“Come now, you and I both know that’s not what you really want. Just look at you, Josephine,” he purrs into my ear. “Even from this angle, I can see how your skin has turned that pretty pink whenever you get aroused. And your nipples—they’ve grown hard. I can see them poking through your shirt. So tell me, if I put my hand between your legs, would you be wet for me?”
His words never cease to stir the sex-hungry, wanton woman inside me. I crave to let him touch me, to taste him in return. Then reality sets in. The pounding pulse of music floods my ears and I remember where we are: In the middle of the club, surrounded by people.
Wrenching away from him, I swing around and level Rebel with a hard look. “Leave.”
His eyes flash. I can see the exact moment he reaches his decision, and I hold my ground as he steps closer, his body so close to mine we touch from chest to thigh. He stares off somewhere over my head as he speaks. “I’m leaving, Josephine, but only because that bouncer looks like he’s ready to draw blood. But before I go, I want you to know one thing. This isn’t over. Not even close. I want you at my place tonight, in my bed.”
I scoff, ready to tell him where he can stick his commands, when his eyes cut to mine, shutting me up instantly. “You will be there,” he tells me softly, but the undercurrent of warning is there. “If you go against my wishes, you won’t like the results. Are we clear?”
I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. Rebel is a pushy bastard. Unlike his brother, who is somewhat malleable, Rebel is a dictator. What he says goes. If I allow it, without a doubt, he won’t hesitate to run over me. I don’t want to listen to him, but it’s impossible not to. A part of me is desperate to please him, to reap the rewards of making a man like him happy. Because, despite all the reasons I should be running from him, there’s something deep inside Rebel that makes me want to stay. He’s not the hard, cruel man he projects. I’ve caught hints of a softer side, and I’m game to draw it out of hiding.
“Are. We. Clear?”
His hard, commanding voice shakes me from my thoughts. I nod once and watch as Rebel’s smile returns. It’s harsh and cruel and full of dark promises, but it floods me with excitement.
Lifting his hand, Rebel’s eyes search mine as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck and tugs my head back. My heart beats hard against my ribcage and when he lowers his mouth to mine, tracing my lips with his velvet tongue, I nearly combust. His lips hover over mine, his tongue licking me, taunting me with the promise of more. The kiss isn’t a kiss, but a taste of what’s to come.
He knows what he’s doing to me, and when he lifts his head, I can see the glimmer of wicked delight in his eyes. A sharp burst of pain explodes across my scalp when he gives my hair a hard pull. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Releasing me, Rebel smoothes his suit jacket with a single, sharp tug, and then he turns and walks away.
EIGHT
It’s strange being back here. The last time I visited Rebel’s apartment, I was under the assumption it belonged to Ransom, and I had no idea Rebel was his twin brother, or that I had been having sex with the wrong man.
Now, I find myself standing in front of the rust-colored steel slab door wondering what the hell I am thinking. I drove here straight after work, and all under the instruction of a man who both angers the hell out of me and lights every cell in my body on fire with a single look, touch, or spoken word. It doesn’t take much, and he has me wrapped around his little finger.
This should disturb me, but it does the opposite. Part of the draw is handing over the reins. For just a short while, I don’t have to be the one in control, I don’t have to make the decisions. I’ve been making them for too long, ever since my mom got sick and my dad checked out on reality. Sometimes, it’s nice to just forget the rest of the world exists. When I’m with Rebel, it’s like being out on the stage. I can let go, block out everything, and just live in the moment.
The thought makes me pause mid-step. The door stands just out of reach and if I lift my arm, I can almost touch it. One thought prevents me from doing it. If this is how I really feel about Rebel, then that means he does for me what dancing always has. He is my escape, my slice of peace and happiness, of sanity in a day that is always just a few degrees from spinning out of control.
No, that can’t be right. Rebel is a good fuck. He’s someone who spells out disaster even as he delivers eye-crossing orgasms. My attachment to him doesn’t run any deeper than that. It can’t. It just can’t. Panic begins to set in and I take a few steps back, distancing myself from the door and the person on the other side of it.
I should leave. Being here is only causing me more confusion. Whether or not Rebel commanded it, whether or not I have the compulsion to follow his rule, I don’t have any business being here now. I’m not in the right frame of mind to handle him, and if I go in there, I know any choices I make won’t be made logically. Rebel will have the upper hand and I will be doomed before I step a foot over the threshold.
My decision made, I turn around and head back the way I came. With every step, I have this unshakeable feeling that throbs in my chest telling me to move faster. I feel as though I am running from danger, and in a sense, I am.
Rather than wait for the elevator, I go for the stairs positioned at the far end of the long hallway. It’s in my sights when I hear the unmistakable click of a lock retracting. There are three other apartments on this floor, but the tingle of awareness on the back of my neck ensures that I don’t have to turn to look in order to know which one’s door has opened.
“Where are you running off to, pussycat?” Rebel’s smooth-as-ice voice carries down the hall, sending shivers up my spine.
My feet stop moving and I pivot around, glaring at his use of Kota’s pet name for me and the rest of the dancers even as I shamelessly eye the shit out of him.
Rebel is like the sun. He’s stunningly beautiful and impossible to take my eyes from, no matter how bad I know he is for my health. I stand there for what feels like forever, absorbing the vision he makes.
Arms braced against the doorjamb, he’s dressed in a pair of loose fitting blue-gray pajama bottoms with the name of a football team emblazoned up the side of one leg in stark white letters. Somehow, just knowing that he follows the sport makes him seem more human. My gaze continues traveling over him, to his torso on full display, revealing his lightly sun-burnished skin and a dusting of coarse dark hair.
He looks so much like Ransom, it floors me. It has got to be a crime for two men to not only be identical in appearance, but also be so amazing to look at.
“Second thoughts?” Rebel prods, a cocky smile growing on his handsome face. He presses deeper into the doorframe, causing the muscles in his chest and arms to flex. “Afraid the Big, Bad Wolf might bite?”
He’s so self-assured, it ticks me off. Lifting my chin in defiance, I stride toward him. “You of all people should know I’m not afraid of a little teeth.”
Rebel’s gaze is locked on me as I approach. When I reach him, he looks down at me with eyes so black, they appear bottomless. In a voice that’s low and full of gravel, he says, “The better you eat you with, pussycat.”
Flattening my hand on the center of his chest, I push him out of my way and walk into the apartment, fully aware that if he hadn’t wanted me in here, I wouldn’t have stood a chance at moving him. Rebel is solid as a mountain and just as treacherous. I’m also painfully aware that I’ve just ignored my instincts and jumped right into the lion’s den. But it’s too late to back out now.
Dropping my purse on one of the side tables, I say, “Well, I’m here.” Against my better judgment, I’m here. I must be crazy to continue putting myself through this, but damn if I know how to stop. Or if I even want to.
“Yes, you are.” Locking the door, I listen to Rebel’s bare feet pad from the room. “Do you want a drink?”
“Do I need one?”
He doesn’t answer, so I stand there, absorbing the moment of silence. Glancing around the room, I realize that the first time I was here I hadn’t taken the proper time to familiarize myself with the place. It’s nice, for a bachelor. But I guess with the kind of money Rebel hinted at having, it would be.
The floors are a high-quality polished bamboo, light with streaks of pale brown and green running throughout. With the exception of the brown leather recliner, the furniture is modern and sleek, all done in black and tones of gray. The accessories are few—a couple of paintings that look like they were designed by preschoolers, a well-placed vase, a couple bronze statues of naked women, and a glass top coffee table with an elephant serving as its base.
I’ve heard that a person’s personal space can say a lot about them, but I have no idea what this says about Rebel. That he’s cold, one-dimensional, and has a sense of humor? Or that he hired an interior decorator with zero imagination?
A shot of cold touches the side of my neck and I jump. Clasping my chilled skin, I turn to find Rebel smiling back at me. He holds up a shot glass filled with amber liquid. “I thought you could use one of these.”
Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I accept his offer, but I don’t drink it. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch—whatever it is, I have no interest in finding out. I’m going to need all my wits about me to get through tonight.
“To a hell of an evening.” Rebel lifts his glass in a salute and drinks it down. Seeing that I haven’t touched mine, he arches a dark brow. “You have a look…” he muses.
“A look?”
“You don’t trust me.”
Bending down, I deposit my untouched glass on the table. “You’re right, I don’t.”
Tutting, Rebel shakes his head as he reaches for my waist and draws me into him. Every time he does it, I instantly want to melt for him. “If you don’t trust me, then why are you here?”
The look I give him says everything. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“Now, now, pussycat. Everyone has a choice.”
“Do they? Because your not-so-subtle threat implied that I don’t.” I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time being angry with someone in my entire life. Rebel seems to be able to pull it out of me with ease, though. And yet, I know the feeling isn’t nearly as strong as it should be.
“It hurts to know that you think so little of me.” His sexy bottom lip pokes out, pouting in a way that I can’t help but begin to thaw. It’s one of those rare moments when Rebel is being playful, and I find myself wanting to smile instead of hit him. What is wrong with me?
Feeling my body begin to relax, Rebel bends his head down and strokes his lips over mine in a gentle, teasing kiss. He’s a confident man, but I can feel him holding back. I don’t know why or how he does it. Whenever Rebel kisses me, it’s like I lose control of my senses. He has complete control over me. With only that featherlight touch, my head is already spinning as if I had downed my shot and his.
“Come,” Rebel murmurs, taking my hand as he steps away. He walks backward toward the couch, pulling me down to sit beside him. Instantly, Rebel reclines back, resting his ankle on his knee as he regards me in stony silence.
It’s uncomfortable, being subjected to such close scrutiny. Sitting on the edge of my seat, my back ramrod, I can already feel the muscles beginning to ache with tension. By now, we’re usually naked with a bed close by. So what is he waiting for?
“What are we doing here, Rebel?” I ask impatiently. “I thought you wanted to fuck.”
His chest expands as he inhales deeply and extends his arms across the back of the couch. “I asked you over tonight so we could talk. But if you’re eager to fuck, I’m flexible.”
“You’re a pig.”
“Oink, oink.” He says it so straight-faced, with zero inflection whatsoever.
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him...playful. The laugh that rips out of my chest catches us both off guard. His smile is slow to come, but when he does it, holy hell. It’s like the sun coming out after a storm.
“Oh, Lord, Rebel. I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” I breathe, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Is that what you think?” His eyes hold something—sadness maybe—as he watches me regain my composure.
“It’s what I know,” I clarify. Something about laughing broke through the unease I’d been feeling, and now I sit back, twisting to face him. “You don’t let me in, Rebel. You never have.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Yes, I have. Every night we were together, I let you in.”
“Not into a room,” I say with a huff of annoyance. “Into your life, to who you are as a person.”
“I know what you meant,” he says, irritated with me now. “And I could say the same about you.”
Is he accusing me of being closed off? “If I was, that’s only because I was following by example. I’m not the one who set the rules, Rebel. You did that. Hell, I wouldn’t even know your name if Ransom hadn’t told me.”
He growls at the mention of his brother, and really, I find it so ridiculous I roll my eyes.
“I did it to protect us.”
“From what?” I challenge, but I don’t wait for his answer. “From bloodthirsty ninjas? From government spies? You did that to protect yourself,” I snarl. “The hotel rooms, the secrecy, Red. All of that was designed to protect you.”
“Red?”
Out of everything I just said, that’s what he chooses to focus on?
“Florence. Whatever,” I say grudgingly. I hate the way her name feels coming from my mouth. It leaves a bitter, vile taste on my tongue. Every time I think of them together, of her sighing his name when he sinks into her, makes me want to puke. Rebel smirks at me, and for the sake of my sanity, I choose to ignore it. “You used her to push me away.”
“You have a lot of theories,” he muses, “but where’s your proof?”
“The only proof I need is what I feel and see with my own eyes.”
“That’s a pretty loose base to build a case on. Our eyes and emotions lie to us all the time.”
Scooting closer, Rebel’s arm snakes out to gather both of my thighs together and draw my calves across his lap. Removing my shoes, he drops them to the floor. I watch as he casually begins pressing the pads of his thumbs into the arch of one foot.
I will not moan.
The massage is unexpected and feels way too damn good, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I enjoy it. What are his motivations? Why is he being nice?
After a few moments of silence, I realize the conversation—or maybe it was more of an argument—has died. I’m glad. If I’m going to spend any length of time with him, I don’t want to spend it fighting. Casting my gaze out, I think about how terribly off the rails the family dinner went and decide this is the perfect opportunity to finally learn something new about my mystery man.
“How long have you lived here?”
Rebel’s attention lifts to take in the space around us. “Five, maybe six years.”
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “Like, really nice.” What I mean to say is it’s expensive. On this side of town, a loft space like his is way out of my price range. It’s not even because it’s in a good neighborhood or that it’s state-of-the art in any way. It’s a hundred-year-old restored warehouse converted into high-priced apartments chosen for its central downtown location in an area the city wants to revitalize. For that reason alone, it’s prime real estate. It’s a rip-off if you ask me, but I can’t argue with its beauty.
Rebel chuckles beneath his breath. “Thanks.”
“You’re dad mentioned you were into computers? What, exactly, do you do to afford something like this?” I ask, tilting my head back to analyze the open crosshatch of steel beams and giant metal air ducts lining the ceiling. People really pay for this. It’s a nice space, but I still prefer a traditional home any day of the week.
“Sizing me up for a loan, pussycat?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just wondering how many diamonds I can squeeze out of you before I kick you to the curb.”
A grin splits across his face, and the way it lights up his eyes momentarily steals my breath. I wonder if he realizes how incredibly handsome he is. “Ah, well, then. I can certainly give you a few of those, but I warn you, I have a very stiff payment policy.”
“Oh?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow as my mood instantly shifts to match his.
Adjusting my foot, he rubs the heel across the hard length hugging his inner thigh. Made from thin cotton, the lounge pants leave nothing to the imagination.
I lick my lips, and his gaze drops to follow the movement. My stomach is fluttering madly, deep wells of desire pooling between my legs. Sitting forward, I reach out, tracing my fingertips over his hard cock.
Rebel’s head falls back at the contact, and he moans deep in his chest. This man makes my mouth water. Swinging my legs around, I sit up on my knees for a better angle and slip my hand inside the opening of his pants. My fingers find his soft, silky flesh, and I trace the thick vein that runs from base to tip. Rimming the tip of his cock, I spread the drop of satiny precum, using it to lubricate the head as I give it a gentle squeeze.
“Fuck, Josephine, don’t you dare stop.” Rebel’s eyes are shut tight, his throat working on a swallow. Mouth watering for a taste, I lean in and press my lips against the tough column of skin below his jaw in an open-mouth kiss at the same time I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and give it a firm stroke.
Despite the lust consuming us both, I have enough presence of mind to know that I retain the upper hand. Rebel is gone, his brain arrested by the need to come. So far, he’s managed to dodge my questions, but not anymore.
“What do you do for a living, Rebel?” I purr as I pull his cock from his pants and get my first good look at it in ages. It’s long and thick, the head swollen and flushed a rich purple hue. I bite into my bottom lip as I close my fist around him and work his length up and down.
Rebel’s hand finds my thigh and grabs on, clenching and unclenching in time to each pump of his cock. His hips lift to my touch, and his lips part as his breathing grows labored.
“IT,” he gasps out.
“You fix computers?”
“I program them. God,” he groans, his head kicking back against the charcoal cushion. “Suck it, Josephine. I need you to suck it.”
I shake my head, refusing his request even as my mouth waters for a taste. “Do you like your job?”
“Yes,” he hisses through his teeth. He’s barely holding on, and I grin wickedly, loving that I have this control over him.
“What about women? Do you have many of those?” I ask, veering onto another topic that’s been weighing on my mind. I’m heading into dangerous territory. I know this. I’m not even sure I want to hear the answer to this question. What will I do if he tells me he has a girlfriend, or a wife, waiting for him in some other city?
“What?”
“How many lovers do you have?” I repeat, pumping him harder and faster, drawing another pained moan from him.
Without warning, Rebel grabs my hand and forces it to still. His onyx eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, time stops. The only movement is the rise and fall of our chests as we struggle to tame our ragged breaths and the occasional twitch of his cock in our combined hands.
“Just one. You.”
My chest feels like it just split open. Warmth floods me and a knot of emotion clogs my throat. I want to ask him how long and where Red factors in, how, or if she still does? Is he playing me? Is he just telling me what I want to hear? I have so many questions, but his finger pressing against my lips stalls them.
“Not another word, Josephine, unless you want to spend the rest of the night with a gag in your mouth.”
I open my mouth to issue a protest, but Rebel’s eyes flare with warning, and the words die instantly.
“Good girl,” he praises. Cupping my jaw, Rebel presses his thumb beneath my chin and tilts my head back to accept his mouth. His tongue dives inside, licking and suckling mine in that aggressive but highly sensual way of his.
For a moment, I forget myself. Releasing my hold on him, I move to straddle his legs, ready to throw myself back into the deep end, but Rebel’s forceful hands on my shoulders bar me from getting any closer.
Confused, I break our kiss and sit back to give him a questioning look. “Bedroom?”
“After,” he says, a wicked smile crossing his face. “Get down on your knees, pussycat. I want to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”
