Текст книги "Lie to You"
Автор книги: J. C. Valentine
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
FIFTEEN
“Thank you for the dress,” I mutter, reluctant to give him even that much.
The exclusive shop Rebel took me to wasn’t fancy in the way that I had expected for a man who hinted at being well-off. It was more of a well-kept secret that amounted to a hole in the wall and makes me wonder how he knew about it and how many women he brought here before me. Inside there was exposed brick and racks upon racks of high-end designer clothing that cost way too much.
Giving me free reign was his first mistake. Feeling vindictive, I told the sales lady I was looking for the most expensive piece she had that would fit my frame. That’s how I ended up wearing this overpriced, fire engine red pure silk gown with a bodice embellished with hundreds of tiny, glittering crystals.
Not only does it make me feel like a princess, I also feel like the sexiest bitch to walk into this stuffy, over decorated, pretentious party.
Yes, I am in a downright sassy, hellacious mood. Do I care? Hell no. Rebel dragged me here against my will and I plan on making this night very memorable for him.
We enter the ballroom through an ornately carved gilded set of doors bookended by two lean and good looking men dressed in their finest suits. Rebel gives them his name and one of them checks his list, then we set off into the main hall.
The place is gorgeous, of course—money buys nice things. Divided into three sections—a dining area, dance floor, and stage—the room is enormous. The tables are rounded, large enough to seat twelve, draped in rich gold fabric and topped with stunning bouquets of red roses. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, candles flicker from wall-mounted sconces, and a string band plays an endless symphony of music that is touchingly beautiful.
It reminds me of masquerade balls and lavish weddings. I love it. Every inch of the space is a feast for the senses. But I’ll never let Rebel know that.
Rebel’s jaw is set as he casts his gaze around the room. To me he says privately, “I saw that look in your eyes when we got out of the car. You’re on notice. Behave tonight, Josephine. Don’t make me regret this.”
I paste on a pretty smile that feels too tight and tuck my hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I’m hurt,” I say with a pout. “Where’s the trust?”
His chest rises and falls heavily. Wordlessly pinning my arm to his side, Rebel guides us onto the floor, expertly weaving through the milling bodies.
Our first stop brings us to an older couple I peg to be in their early fifties. The man is portly with a double chin and ruddy cheeks. His balding head glistens in the low light, and a fine sheen of sweat dampens his brow. The woman at his side, however, is stately and beautiful. Her makeup is expertly done, her graying hair twisted up off her neck in a classic style, and her body is toned and slim beneath her knee-length Jackie Kennedy inspired sleeveless cream dress.
“Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly. How are you this evening?” Rebel’s charm is cranked up to high, his smile stretching across his handsome face as he extends his hand to shake with Mr. Donnelly.
“Mr. Scott,” Mr. Donnelly greets with a winning smile. “Good to see a familiar face. And this must be the lovely lady you’ve told me so much about,” he says, turning a set of amazing sky blue eyes on me.
Trying to mask the shock that Rebel has been talking about me, I smile dutifully, shaking hands with the man. It’s surprisingly firm, if not a touch sweaty.
“This is her,” Rebel says proudly. “Jack Donnelly, meet Miss Josephine Hart.”
“Josephine,” Mr. Donnelly says, trying my name on for size. He scans my body appreciatively, though not lasciviously as I’ve come to expect from the opposite sex. “It suits.” Releasing my hand, he places it on the small of his wife’s back, his smile expanding as he draws her forward. “Josephine, I’d like you to meet my lovely wife, Holly.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me and drawing closer to Rebel as my shyness kicks in. Without the familiarity of the stage behind me, I feel exposed. Nice as these people seem to be, I’m out of my element in a crowd. Hell, one-on-one is a serious stretch for me. Normally, I’d lean on my sarcasm to get me through the rough patches, but it doesn’t fit the occasion. I may want to embarrass the hell out of Rebel, to punish him for being such an ass, but my desire not to embarrass myself wins out.
What I wouldn’t give to have my phone right now so I could distract myself with mindless texts, or a game of Angry Birds, but Rebel relieved me of it before I set a foot out of the car.
“I believe we’ve been seated at the same table,” Mr. Donnelly informs Rebel. “And I’m certain I saw a platter of crab cakes headed that direction a moment ago. Care to join us? I have some things I’d like to run by you if you have a minute.”
“I’m sure I can spare one or two.” Rebel’s hand burns hot against my exposed back as we follow the older couple to one of the many tables set up just beyond the stage. I try to shake him off with a subtle jerk of my shoulder, but his touch only grows firmer.
His low chuckle of amusement should tick me off, but I find myself struggling not to smile instead. Pulling out a chair for me, Rebel tucks me gently beneath the table. His fingers trail across my naked shoulders as he maneuvers around to take the chair beside mine, sending a tiny shiver down my spine.
Mr. Donnelly was right. Plates have been set out, each containing a fat, perfectly round cake that is undoubtedly made with real crab. As the table begins to fill up with guests, a waiter comes around to fill our fluted glasses with bubbly champagne.
Rebel is already deep in talks with Mr. Donnelly and, although I’m right beside him, I feel strangely alone. I’ve never been to an event like this and I don’t know anyone else here. Unsure of what to do with myself, I eye the place settings. I seem to have too many utensils. After a moment, my Pretty Woman training kicks in and I try desperately to remember which fork is meant for what, but all that comes to mind is the scene where Julia Roberts sends a snail airborne.
To make the moment even more laughable, the woman beside me lays her wrinkled hand over mine and leans in to say, “I don’t know about you, but I never could figure out which fork goes with what.” Then she picks up the crab cake with her fingers like it’s a burger and bites down.
I can’t contain myself. The moment strikes me as comedic and laughter bubbles up from my chest and bursts free. Here I am, a stripper dating a wealthy man who just happens to find herself walking among society’s elite. It’s a total movie moment and I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I’m still laughing when I catch Rebel’s eye. The smile he’s wearing is full of something I’m not ready to deal with. It causes my stomach to flip wildly and my heartbeat to stutter. Covering my mouth with my hand, I clear my throat, wipe the smile off my face, and pick up a fork.
The crab cake is delicious.
***
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Nope,” is my curt reply.
We’re dancing to a version of “My Heart Will Go On” played entirely by violins. Back when Titanic was all the rage and Leonardo DiCaprio starred in every one of my elicit fantasies, I loved this song. Now it just seems like a joke. Who the hell plays something like this at a conference? It doesn’t fit.
Not only am I feeling critical of the song choices, but I’m trying desperately to hold onto my anger and resentment toward Rebel. He’s making it exceedingly difficult.
I’d almost swear I was on a date with Ransom. Behaving like nothing but the perfect gentleman, Rebel’s been attentive and uncharacteristically sweet. He’s pulling out chairs and introducing me to coworkers and clients. He includes me in conversations even though I have no clue what to say, and now we’re slow dancing, our bodies pressed so tightly together I can feel every. Hard. Inch. Of him.
Everything about this night so far, from the dress to the dinner to the company, is making me soft. I can feel it in my bones. No matter how hard I try to resist, I’m going to cave.
The problem, I think, is that this is the single most unexpected and romantic night of my life. It wasn’t that long ago that Ransom and Rebel were hiding me from the world. Neither of them wanted us going public, and at the time, I agreed that it was for the best, but that didn’t erase the hurt.
Keeping our relationships a secret made what we had feel sleazy.
Now that I am here, swaying in Rebel’s strong arms, in front of a room full of people, I feel good. Elated. Until now, I never considered how damaging to the ego it could be to pursue someone who was more worried about losing their job or damaging their reputation than they were me.
With Rebel, I no longer have to hide. He twirls me on his arm proudly despite who I am. He’s well aware of my stripper status and he doesn’t care. He hasn’t shamed me or branded me. He hasn’t asked me to change. He just accepts me, and you can’t put a price on something like that. For those reasons, I am willing to shelve Ransom’s claims for a while longer and bask in the warm feelings Rebel instills in me.
“Red is your color,” Rebel murmurs as he turns us to avoid colliding with a couple whose feet are eating up the dance floor heedless of everyone else.
“Thank you.” I shiver as his fingers slip beneath the thin straps of silk crisscrossing my back to stroke my skin.
In the two hours that we’ve been here, Rebel’s been nothing short of extraordinary. He seems to have checked his arrogant, commanding, moody self at the door. Standing in his place is a man who is confident, charming, and sexy with a smile that can light up a room. Cheesy, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I am completely enamored with him. In the span of an evening, he’s blended into the perfect combination of him and Ransom, making him damn near perfect and reinforcing my reason for pursuing him over his brother.
For a man whose face seems to be set in either a permanent scowl or devious smirk, he’s so different here. Surrounded by friends and associates, Rebel has come alive. It could just be an act, but I don’t think so. This man loves his job. If anyone looks stunning tonight, it’s him.
As one song bleeds into another, Rebel holds me closer, nearly cradling me in his arms. I accept the embrace, twining my hands behind his neck and propping my chin on his shoulder, careful not to smudge his expensive suit with makeup.
“Thank you for behaving tonight,” Rebel says into my ear. “I wasn’t sure if you could manage it, being so pissed off, but you’ve done well.”
As far as compliments go, it’s not great, but it’ll suffice. I have a feeling Rebel doesn’t give them out often, so it makes this one extra special.
“Everyone likes you. I think Jack Donnelly is smitten.”
“He’s married,” I say, chuckling.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true. He told me earlier to make sure you come along for my next trip to Maine. He owns an estate there and wants to get to know you better.”
“Oh, that’s too much,” I laugh in disbelief.
Drawing back, Rebel’s eyes flare. “It’s true! He insisted that you come. He’d be devastated if you didn’t.”
“Fine,” I say with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Count me in. On your next trip to Maine, I’ll be sure to pack my bags.”
I don’t actually mean a word I’ve said. I have absolutely no intention of adding myself to Rebel’s no doubt mile long Mile High Club checklist. I should know by now, however, that speaking out of turn around Rebel has a tendency to carry consequences.
“Good. The plane is scheduled for takeoff tomorrow morning. I’ll let Tracy know to add an extra seat.”
My thoughts spin. “Wait, what just happened here? Tomorrow?” I ask, somewhat panicked.
“Of course. You should know my schedule by now. You’re not trying to back out on me, are you?” That damnable smirk is back. I want to slap it from his face.
“Back out on you? Rebel, you have to know I was joking,” I attempt to reason. “Even if I wanted to go—which I don’t—I have work tomorrow. I can’t just take off.”
“Sure you can. Just call and let them know you’re not coming in for a couple days. They’ll find someone to fill in for you.”
My jaw drops at what he believes to be an easy solution. “I know I don’t have as glamorous or acceptable employment as you’d probably like, but it’s my job and I take it seriously. I can’t just leave. It’s rude and irresponsible, neither of which I am.”
“Despite it not being your life’s ambition, I agree,” he says seriously. “Your dedication is a quality I find very endearing, but you made a promise and it would be rude not to follow through. So, I’m holding you to it.” With a seductive smirk, he tucks something cool and hard between my cleavage. “You’ll be needing this back.”
Angling my head down, I reach between my boobs and retrieve my phone. I give him an arch look. “I’m not going with you,” I tell him firmly as I drop the phone in my purse. Feeling the need for space so I can get my head together and banish the urge to throttle him, I pull away. “I need to use the restroom.”
Grasping my wrist, Rebel holds me in place and lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re going. The sooner you accept it, the quicker we’ll be able to enjoy all the fun parts I have planned. Now,” he says louder, slapping my ass, “hurry back. My speech is in ten minutes and I want to be able to look out and see your face while I make it.”
“You’re an insufferable ass,” I growl.
“More name calling, pussycat?” he muses. “We’ll see how mouthy you are when I stuff my cock down your throat later.”
Oh, he is just too much!
Whirling around, I storm away from the dance floor in search of the bathrooms. Rebel has a damn answer for everything, and it usually involves his dick. I should be furious with him for talking to me like that, but I’m furious with myself instead, because now all I can think about is wrapping my mouth around that thick, hard length.
Bursting into the ladies’ room, I find an empty stall and squat to relieve myself. Why can’t I just be normal? Before Rebel, sex had always been a tool to scratch an itch. After Rebel, it became a necessity. It’s always on my mind, keeping me constantly balancing on the knife’s edge of arousal. All it takes is a few dirty words or suggestions from him and I’m ready to combust.
I hate the control he has over me. I love the control he has over me. It’s as if my mind isn’t my own. He’s cast a spell on me, one that makes me horny as hell anytime he enters a room. One look, one touch, and I’m done for.
Well, no more. He can’t really expect me to bow to his every whim. His word is not God. He can’t make me travel to Maine with him. I won’t. I have responsibilities, and as curious as I am to find out what exactly he meant by having “plans” I refuse to buy into it. Obviously, it was a ploy. A ruthless tactic to get me to agree to go.
Well, I’m not that easy. I mean, I am, but only in bed.
Resolved to tell him exactly where I stand, I straighten my dress and leave the stall. This has got to be the fanciest restroom I have ever seen. It’s practically a spa. Hell, I’m not sure spas are even this nice.
There are giant bottles of lotion neatly aligned on smoked glass shelves next to a basket of feminine napkins and a crystal bowl filled with breath mints. I mean, come on. What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t stuff my handbag with a few items before I go?
After my bag is good and full, I head over to the sinks. Dipping my hands under the automatic faucets set to the perfect temperature, I begin washing my hands. I’m inhaling the heavenly aromatic soap when the door whisks silently open. When I look up, I see the devil staring back at me in the mirror.
Florence is the kind of woman who makes your skin crawl and insecurities you didn’t know you had rise up all at once.
She’s wearing this emerald green number that falls down her body in soft waves and her vibrant red hair is gathered and pinned on one side of her head so that it falls in delicate ringlets over her shapely shoulder.
I have the sudden urge to claw her eyes out.
Her eyes stay locked with mine as she glides up to the counter beside me. Setting a glittering gold clutch on the counter, she pops it open and begins applying a second coat of shimmering gold lip gloss to her already perfectly painted lips.
I hate her with a passion that only grows more pronounced the longer I am forced to breathe the same air. The idea that she’s been with Rebel in any way turns my stomach.
Destroying one of the artfully folded white hand towels, I pat my hands dry and toss it in the laundry bin on my way out.
“I like your dress.”
I pause before reaching the door, unsure I heard her right. Is Red paying me a compliment? Turning, I catch her eye in the mirror.
“Red is a good color for you,” she adds.
Caught off guard, I’m not sure how to react to that. I hate this woman, and yet she’s being nice to me. Running my hands down the luxurious material I say, “Thanks. Rebel—”
“Hates red, I know.” She sighs dramatically, as if it is such a terrible thing and immediately every muscle in my body tenses. “Pity you didn’t know before buying it. It’s such a lovely dress. I’d have chosen it myself if I didn’t know how adverse to the color he is.”
If that’s true, which it isn’t, then I can finally see why he threw this bitch away.
Recognizing her angle, I narrow my eyes at her reflection. She’s wearing this sympathetic smile that could almost pass as real if it wasn’t so damn fake. I know a jealous ex-lover when I see one, and she is every bit the jealous type. I saw it in her eyes that night at the club when Rebel brought her in for a couple’s lap dance, and I see it shining just as bright and alive now.
Florence thinks she can upset me with her words, with her so-called insider’s knowledge of Rebel, but what she doesn’t know is that I’m standing in a position she’ll never be in. I suddenly feel very possessive of it. Our relationship may have its share of problems, but I’ll be damned if she’ll be the one to drive the final nail. Drawing in a breath, I take a step toward her, holding my bag in front of me.
“Damn,” I say with feigned angst. “This dress was so expensive. Like a year’s salary expensive.”
Turning in her high heels, she leans against the counter, her face scrunching up in pity. “Oh, that’s terrible. And now you’re stuck wearing it in front of everyone, knowing how much he despises it. I can’t even imagine how embarrassed you must feel right now.”
“I know. It’s absolutely humiliating, right?” Taking another step, I meet her eyes and lower my voice. “I mean, Rebel paying so much money for something he hates? Ludicrous. And the way he touched me earlier, the way he looked at me?” I shake my head, touching my hand to my chest as I lay it on thick. “Now I understand why he looked like he wanted to rip the dress off my body. He hated it so much, he’d rather me be naked than wear it.”
Florence’s eyes are glazed over, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. I can practically see the gears turning in her head. “He bought it…for you?” She seems to be having trouble connecting the dots.
Seeing the opportunity laid out before me, I go in for the kill. “He did. He said I look amazing in it. So, I don’t know. Call me crazy, but maybe he doesn’t really hate the color. At least, not on me. Maybe,” I say thoughtfully, my tone growing more venomous with each word, “he just hates the color on you.” Reaching out, I flick a piece of her red hair off her shoulder, driving it home in case my words haven’t fully set in yet.
They do now, though.
Her expression crumbles as I pivot around on my way out the door. Pausing with my hand on the door, I turn. “Oh, and Florence, just so you know, we’ll be changing the locks on the apartment first thing in the morning, so you can just toss that key away since you won’t have any use for it anymore.”
I can’t contain my smile as I find my way back to our table. Rebel is standing, buttoning his suit jacket, as I come up behind him.
“Hey,” I say softly, skimming my hand over his tight ass as I come up behind him and he circles around to face me.
His smile is instant, if not a little confused. I’ve been rebuffing him all evening, and now I have the urge to put my hands all over him. I know I’m fucked up in the head and my continual back and forth method of poor decision making is enough to make a person’s head spin, but I don’t care to think about it now. After my encounter with Red, I have this animalistic desire to claim Rebel in the most primal way.
All I can think about is finding a secluded corner, tearing this monkey suit that makes his broad shoulders appear even wider off him, and screwing his brains out. Or rather, have him screw my brains out. Against a wall. In plain sight of anyone who might walk by.
Adrenalin is pulsing through me, spiking the arousal that’s traveling down between my legs and soaking my panties.
“Are you okay? You look…flushed.” Rebel touches his hand to my cheek and I turn my face into it, licking the center of his palm.
“I’m horny as hell,” I whisper for his ears only. “If I don’t have you inside me in the next five minutes, I’m going to combust. What do you say we call the car and have your driver take us for a spin around the block a few times?”
Rebel’s eyes darken, his nostrils flaring. Between us, I feel his cock punch out against his fly, pressing into my navel. Cupping my face in both hands now, he leans down to brush his lips against mine. A low moan rips through both of us, and Rebel’s kiss grows more demanding. His lips crush mine and his tongue sneaks out to taste me.
“You have the worst fucking timing,” he growls under his breath. Lifting his head, he peers down at me, the hunger in his eyes blazing like wildfire. “I’m due onstage in less than two minutes.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Thinking back, I remember what he told me before I left his side. Somewhere in my urgent need to stake my claim, I forgot that we were here for a purpose.
A low, keening sound rises in my throat. “I completely forgot. Can’t you just…skip it?” I sound whiny. I hate whiny chicks. Great, another thing to be irritated with myself over. Not only can’t I seem to keep it in my pants when I’m around him, but Rebel’s turning me into a whiny baby.
Rebel chuckles softly. “I’d say yes, if I wasn’t the keynote speaker. Think you can live without me for thirty minutes?”
“Thirty minutes! Are you trying to kill me?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Donnelly leave his seat. Approaching us, he murmurs, “Thirty seconds,” over Rebel’s shoulder.
Cutting his gaze to Donnelly, Rebel nods sharply then returns his attention to me. “If that were the case, it’d be with orgasms, not disappointment.” Dropping another kiss on my mouth, he presses his thumb to my bottom lip. “Sit down and be a good girl while I’m gone, and when I get back, I’ll call the car around.”
“I’m not sure I can wait that long,” I tell him honestly. My sex is clenching just thinking about the things I want to do with him.
“Then I tell you what.” Leaning down, he presses his lips to my temple and whispers in my ear. “While I give my speech, I want to you pull your panties down and finger fuck that sweet pussy for me until I get back.”
Air catches in my throat and I gape up at him. “I’m not doing that.”
“You will. Go deep, pussycat. Just like I would. I’ll be keeping my eye on you, so don’t disappoint me or I’ll have to spank you again with my belt, and this time, I won’t be gentle.”
Goosebumps spread down my arms as he walks away and my body vibrates as I take my seat and scoot as far under the table as it will allow. The lights go down and on stage, a spotlight shines on Rebel as he addresses the audience.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for joining me tonight in honoring Donnelly and Townsend—the leader in innovative and cutting edge design technologies—for their excellence in branding and development.”
The audience applauds. His answering smile is brilliant, his eyes glittering with amusement as he continues his speech. Laughter erupts at something he’s said, but I don’t hear a word of it. When his eyes fall on me, I push the wet stretchy material covering me away, and plunge my fingers deep into my core.
