Текст книги "Taint"
Автор книги: S. L. Jennings
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Abu Dhabi
I HAD BEEN contemplating going home for weeks. But every time I thought about returning, I was left with the same bitter realization—I didn’t have a home anymore.
Oasis was/is still mine, yet it’s been tainted by paparazzi and tourists, hoping to get a peek at Justice Drake. It’s no longer the refuge I found after being extricated from the city as soon as I graduated high school. I used to blame my mother for taking the money in exchange for her silence, but then I realized that she did what she had to do to survive. Going against the Carrs would have been suicide, and I don’t mean that figuratively. If they truly wanted us to disappear, there’s no doubt in my mind we’d be struck down by some convenient “accident.” And even as a young Polish immigrant, with big dreams in the big city, she knew the kind of clout the Carrs held. So they bought our silence, and I learned the power of the almighty dollar. You could buy happiness, buy love and buy your freedom. And me? I bought a new life.
So here I am, trading one oasis for another, still trying to figure out what’s next, and exactly who I was before people even knew Justice Drake existed.
I feel like him—I amhim. But I’m also Sean Michael Dovak too, the kid that was named to be a movie star. The kid that once slightly resembled Winston Carr, II and his son, Evan.
In an attempt to separate myself from that stigma, I did everything I could do to notto look like them. I cut my hair shorter, bulked up while the Carr men had naturally slender frames, and spent every moment I could outdoors, enhancing my inherited, tanned skin. Luckily, my mother’s strong European features erased mostly all remaining traces of Carr genetics as I grew older. Yet, every so often, someone would squint their eyes and tilt their head to the side curiously after seeing Evan and I together as children. And Mrs. Carr, the devil’s surrogate herself, did not appreciate the speculation.
Being Sean Michael always held a negative connotation. So, I became Justice Drake. And there was no shame in that.
The apartment I’m renting is about 1/3 of the size of the mansion at Oasis, but it suits me. Grandiose has never been my thing, and I fell in love with the clean, modern design of the space the moment I saw it. And since I really had no immediate plans to return to Arizona, I thought, What the hell?What better place to start over than an entirely different country?
That was about a month ago, and my little slice of Abu Dhabi still doesn’t feel like home. And part of me thinks that maybe it never will.
I make my way down from the luxury high rise and out into the morning sunlight, taking in the scents of car exhaust, spiced foods and incense. I bypass the nearby souksand tourist areas, and head down to a local café by the beach. Luckily, it’s early, and I nab my favorite table outside right away. One of the waiters recognizes me and hurries over to bring me a cup of coffee.
“Fresh fruit today, sir?” he asks, remembering my usual order.
“Yes, please,” I nod.
He bows with a knowing look and heads back into the restaurant to retrieve my usual platter of melon, grapefruit, mango and pear.
“ Hmph.Figures you would order something healthy. Question: if you could only eat fruit or chicken and waffles for the rest of your life, which one would you choose?”
I freeze, nearly dropping the steaming cup of coffee just as it touches my lips. I set it down as carefully as I can muster and turn toward the voice. Toward the woman draped in all black, from the hijabcovering her head, to the long, silken abayatouching her sandaled feet.
And I'm home.
Home in those eyes that aren't quite blue, and not quite green. Eyes that are too wild and too bright to possibly be real. A single ringlet of fiery hair breaks free and falls into those animated eyes. She tries to blow it away, causing her niqabto billow, and she laughs. She laughs, and it sounds like the sweetest music ever composed after suffering for years in deafening silence.
I don’t know what to say.
I just laugh too.
I SUCK AT writing these. While I am immeasurably grateful for each and every person that has traveled this journey with me, I always feel like I can’t truly convey that in the Acknowledgments. And the people that have been there for me, through thick and thin, through the ups, downs, and sideways of this literary rollercoaster, I strive to show them just how much I appreciate their love, support and friendship. And no little blast in the back of a book can fully describe that. It’s impossible.
So instead, I just want to thank you all. Author friends, reader friends, blogger friends… Thank you for all you do and for all you have done for me. Thank you for your encouragement and kindness. Thank you for every pimp, share, tweet, comment and recommendation. Thank you for reading this and reviewing it.
Thank you. YOU made this possible.
MOST KNOWN FOR her starring role in a popular sitcom as a child, S.L. Jennings went on to earn her law degree from Harvard at the young age of 16. While studying for the bar exam and recording her debut hit album, she also won the Nobel Prize for her groundbreaking invention of calorie-free wine. When she isn’t conquering the seas in her yacht or flying her Gulfstream, she likes to spin elaborate webs of lies and has even documented a few of these said falsehoods.
SOME OF S.L.’S DEVIOUS LIES:
Fear of falling
The Dark Light Series
Dark Light
The Dark Prince
Nikolai(a Dark Light novella)
Light Shadows– coming in 2014
Taint
MEET THE LIAR:
www.facebook.com/authorsljennings
Twitter: @MrsSLJ
www.sljennings.com
Enjoy a preview of
The Devil’s Contract
by
Claire Contreras
A chair screeched against the kitchen floor, and Amara knew Philip was finally leaving. Her hands were shaking as she stood, holding tightly to the table beside her. Tears began to pool her eyes as she thought about what she’d overheard—about her mother…the gambling…life as she knew it.
Her entire body trembled as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said.
“Amara!” her father shouted.
Philip was gleeful, throwing his head back in laughter. When he straightened, he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was anything but humor. Amara’s stomach coiled in disgust—in fear.
“It’s done then,” he said. “I will come back for you.”
That was the first promise Philip Batiste made to her.
SHE LET OUT a long sigh as she cleaned the last table. It had been a long workday at Anna’s, her uncle’s small restaurant. The idea of the only daughter of two wealthy individuals working at a restaurant was unheard of in their community, as were a lot of other things, which was why all of her neighbors’ houses contained more secrets than a confessional. All of Amara’s friends were inheritance babies. She was no different in most aspects. In fact, the main thing that set her family apart from others in their Westchester, New York neighborhood was that her family’s secrets were a little darker than most. Or so she thought. Either way, working part-time with her Uncle Vlady was the last thing her parents needed to worry about.
Amara slid in the booth, taking a moment to close her eyes as she rested her head on her arm. The restaurant was closed and mostly quiet, save for the chatter and pans clinking in the back. Genevieve was probably out back taking her smoke break, or busy nagging Kyle, one of the cooks, in the kitchen. The circular motions she was making with her cleaning hand slowed to a halt as she fell into a light slumber. A loud bang on the now-locked door of the restaurant startled Amara awake. Sitting up quickly, and disoriented, her knee hit the underside of the table,. She let out a string of curse words as she rubbed it and stood and walked to the door, her heart was beating wildly as she did so. Using the rag in her hand, she wiped the condensation from the glass and looked into a familiar pair of brown eyes. Light brown with tiny specks of green that seemed to flicker in the light, they always made her feel like she was looking into a kaleidoscope. Amara turned the lock as Colin flashed his megawatt smile at her.
“You’re early,” she said, holding the door open for him.
In one swift motion, he stepped in, closed the door with his foot, and grabbed both sides of her face, placing a hard kiss on her lips.
“I missed you,” he said, still holding her face in his hands. He looked at her as if she was a priceless work of art, always managing to sizzle her with a level of passion that made shocks run through her body when he was near.
“It’s only been… seven hours,” she said, looking at the clock behind him, as she ran a hand through his soft, wavy hair. She ruffled it, massaging his scalp when he closed his eyes and leaned into her.
“Seven hours too long. It felt like a lifetime,” he murmured, opening his eyes and meeting hers once more. His eyes were always so direct, so intense, that she felt speared by them. Her knees always weakened and her blood thundered inside of her when he looked at her that way. Amara rolled her eyes and drew her hand away, turning around to wipe the counter of the bar.
“You exaggerate.”
“Maybe,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her so that her back was flush against the hard plains of his chest. Amara’s breath caught at the contact, and by the memories from that morning that, for the thousandth time today, stole her attention.
“I did miss you, though. I just want you to finish up here,” he whispered against her ear, kissing the back of it.
She gulped for air as her breath quickened, her body igniting by his touch.
“So that I can take you home and get you naked again.” He licked the shell of her ear slowly.
She tried to shimmy away from him, but he held her tighter.
“Or I can bend you over right here and lift up that dress your wearing. Tell me, are you wet, Mara?” he asked, in a low, seductive voice. “Are my words turning you on? I know you love it when I talk dirty.”
“Colin,” she said breathlessly, shaking her shoulders to move away.
He pinned her stomach to the counter and unwrapped his arms, placing his hands on either side of her as he ground his hips against her bottom.
“Colin,” she warned, looking around to make sure nobody could see them. “People can see us…outside…if anybody walks over here…” her mind played out all the different scenarios—none of them ending well. He ignored her, dropping his hand to trail it upward along her inner thigh, gently pulling her legs open. He traced circles on her soft skin as her breath quickened in anticipation. Amara pushed her bottom back against his hips and stifled a moan, as Colin began to massage her through her thin panties.
“Hmmm,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. “Silk…you wore these for me?”
“Who else would I wear them for?” She inhaled sharply as two of his fingers pushed inside her.
“Have you been wet all day? Thinking about me?” he murmured. “Have you been thinking about me pounding into you from this position again?”
Amara couldn’t answer; she could only circle her hips in response.
“Answer me, Amara,” Colin said as he withdrew from her.
She gasped. “Yes, dammit. Yes,” she answered, pushing his hand back under her dress.
He chuckled from behind her, and damn if his laugh permeating through her didn’t turn her on more. “Uh-uh,” Colin tsked, shaking his head slowly. “You need to finish your work.”
He stepped away from her so suddenly, she had to grab on to the counter in order to stay upright.
“What?” She pivoted her body toward him. “Seriously?” she seethed, and then groaned loudly when she saw the amusement painted on his face. “I hate you,” she said as she began to walk away from him with the dirty rag in her hand.
Colin’s hand shot out and latched onto her arm, stopping her forward momentum. She didn’t want to turn around, she wanted to continue walking to the back of the diner so that she could clock out and go, but she turned around, nevertheless.
“You don’t hate me, baby,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. His eyes were soft as he looked at her, and she knew she couldn’t stay mad.
She exhaled. “I kind of hate you.” She looked at the floor between them.
Colin laughed softly and lifted her chin, stepping in and kissing her slowly and thoroughly, until she was weak in the knees.
“You so don’t hate me,” he said, his voice husky and full of desire. “Now hurry up so I can finish what I started.”
At twenty-four, Colin was two years older than Amara. Already settled in his job and working on his master’s degree in finance, he worked for his father at Wolfe Investments Group, a huge company that represented equally large clients. If you had money, you were investing with Wolfe. Amara’s own parents consulted with Wolfe and used their services.
Colin and Amara’s families had been neighbors for as long as she could remember, and they’d gone to the same school and even hung out with the same crowd. Attracted to each other for years, they flirted on and off before they’d decided to act on it.
She smiled as she followed Colin toward the back exit, switching off lights as she passed them. Everybody was gone by the time she finished wiping down all of the counters and setting the tables with tomorrow’s special menus. Amara paused when she reached the back room, where Colin stood among the rows of extra plates and silverware. She switched off the lights, figuring he would follow her, but he pulled her into his chest instead.
“What are you—?” she started to ask, but was cut off by his kiss. The way his mouth claimed hers always made her stomach drop. He was always so passionate, so enthralled with her, that it almost made her feel uncomfortable. Sometimes it was too much too soon. They were too young to feel that intensely about one another. Or maybe it was just hormones. Either way, he always swept her up in the force that was his adoration for her.
“I was dying for you to finish,” he said. It was a pant against her lips.
She laughed and shook her head. It really hadn’t been that long since they’d seen each other. He wasn’t normally that crazed over being with her, but Amara had to admit she was flattered. Colin placed his warm lips on her neck and drew his kisses downward as he scooped her up behind her knees and deposited her on the edge of the sink. It was a sink that was rarely used, and Amara wondered absently if it was sturdy enough to hold her.
“I thought you wanted to go home?” she asked in a whispered pant.
“I did, but I wanted you more.” Lick. “And more.” Suck. “And the longer I waited for you—watching you move your hips the way you do—and those legs…you know what your legs do to me.” The hands that were massaging her calves were working their way up the insides of her legs.. Amara was proud of her legs. They were the payoff of years of cheerleading and dance she’d been in. The short denim dress she wore showed off every curve of her defined legs, and gave her just enough room to open them a little wider for Colin’s eager hands.
“Show me,” she said, throwing her head back.
“Show you what?” he teased.
“Show me what my hips do to you—what my legs do to… oh God.” It was the last coherent thought she had before he hooked his long fingers inside of her. His fingers were an oxymoron, callused and soft, depending on what side he let you feel.
“Feels good, right?”
She nodded rapidly.
“Tell me how good it feels, Mara,” he rasped, his mouth against her ear.
“It’s good… it feels good…oh God, just don’t stop.”
“I’m not.” He said, as he withdrew his hand. Before she could even think to complain, Colin pulled his boxers down and pushed his length into her with such force that Amara’s head hit the wall behind them with a thump.
“I could never stop,” he said. “Not when you feel this good.”
She moaned her agreement, wondering idly if it would always be that good. They’d been doing this: meeting in places, going home with each other, messing around in public for almost a year and still, every time they got together, it felt like they were weaving magic. They couldn’t get enough of one another.
They were frenzied, like mating rabbits. Any place, any time, they were always frantic to touch the other. Colin pushed inside of her slower, grasping for control, and she knew he was close, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaked an arm around her and another in between them. He hated finishing before her. He always made it a point to make her orgasm before his bellowed through him. As he pressed and circled his hips against her, tiny, uncontrollable spasms worked their way through her. Amara bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out loudly and opened her eyes to find Colin looking right at her, right into her soul.
She wanted to look away as he impaled her one last time, but couldn’t. His eyes were raw, honest, and way too wise for his age. She always thought she could see the truth in her own reflection when she looked at him. It was hard to keep feelings at bay when he looked at her that way, like they belonged to one another. She had to remind herself they didn’t. It wasn’t like that between them.
As if on cue, the hallway light flickered off just as Colin slid out of her and helped Amara to her feet. Everything was dark as they collected their scattered clothes. Using their cell phone lights to re-dress, they laughed as they bumped one another.
“Have you seen my other shoe?” she asked as she hopped on one foot and slipped on her right shoe.
“Nope. Have you seen the condom wrapper?”
She gasped. “That’s not good. We need to find that.”
They laughed as they stumbled around, cleaning up all evidence of their backroom romance. All items accounted for, Amara locked up the restaurant and Colin he ushered her into the back seat of his SUV. His driver, Sean, was waiting to take them back to Colin’s place. Amara said hello and thanked him for waiting before she scooted across the seat. Colin sidled up next to her and tucked Amara into his chest as he ran his fingers down her arm.
“Jasmine,” he murmured, his face in her hair. “You always smell like Jasmine.”
“Lilies,” she murmured as her eyes closed. She was so exhausted.
“What?”
“I smell like lilies, not Jasmine.”
“Yes, lilies. Lilies, Jasmine. Same thing,” he said with a chuckle.
She felt him shift beside her and opened her eyes, noticing they were already in front of Colin’s building.
“We got here so fast.”
“You slept the entire way.”
“I needed that,” Amara said, smiling as she leaned up to kiss the stubble on his chin.
“You know how old I turn this year?”
“Twenty-five.”
Her lips twisted into a smile. She knew where he was going with this. He always found a way to bring up the magic age. To Amara, turning twenty-five would be just another birthday. For Colin, it meant taking on more responsibility in his dad’s company —something he was actually excited about.
As Amara stepped out of the car, her smile faltered and a shiver ran through her. The feeling of being watched prompted her to turn and scan her surroundings as she held on to Colin’s hand a little harder.
“You okay?” he asked, searching her face. He placed one hand on the small of her back as he held her other one.
“Yeah…” she said slowly, searching the shadows.
The neighborhood his apartment building was in was definitely safe, but in that moment she felt anything but.
“You’re overworking yourself. I don’t understand why you won’t—” Colin’s argument fell on deaf ears as Amara’s distraction and increasing anxiety tuned him out..
Her eyes wandered to the building beside them, where she saw a group of people in dress clothes getting into a limousine. That’s when she saw him. Philip.
“Okay, Amir, here is what we’ll do, I will pay all of your debt, you can keep your damn house and your luxurious cars, and in turn, you give me your daughter,” Philip said.
Amara’s mouth dropped open, but she covered it quickly to make sure no sound escaped that would give away her eavesdropping.
“My daughter?” her father asked, outraged. “We’re not exchanging cattle!”
“How old is Amara now? Seventeen?” Philip asked, ignoring her father.
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Too young... in American standards,” Philip said.
He spoke with a thick French accent that Amara had always thought was funny, until that day. This time it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Please, just give me time. I’ll pay you back every cent. With interest.”
“Every cent,” Philip repeated with a rueful laugh. “Old friend, you’ve just told me that you gambled your savings account away, there is a lien on your property and cars that the bank is ready to repossess. To make matters worse, your wife is now sick, and I’m sure she knows nothing of this. Did I get everything?”
Amara’s heart was nestled in her throat so tightly that she couldn’t even gasp. She couldn’t believe her father would put their family in such a situation—especially knowing her mother’s health was so poor. Amara wondered what would happen if they lost everything they owned. Where would they go? This was the house she grew up in. Amara never wanted to move out of Westchester, she’d dreamed of taking her kids to visit their grandparents in that very house someday. And their cars? They could just go and take their cars? What would her mother say? She’d be heart broken. Her mother was always keeping up appearances for her sake, always trying to show her own father that she was fine without his help. She would be devastated if they lost everything.
“Please,” her father pleaded; he sounded like he was crying, which only made Amara worry more. “I only need some money up front. Anna will need the money. I will sell my house—I will sell my cars to pay you back—but I cannot give you what you want. My daughteris not for sale.”
Her heart lurched to her throat so quickly, she thought she was going to faint. She saw Philip around all the time, and he was always watching her —always waiting. This night, was dressed in a tuxedo, standing beside a woman in a red dress. They were looking at Amara, scrutinizing her as they exchanged words. Philip raised the champagne flute he held in his hand in a salute, and Amara could feel her knees slowly giving out beneath her.
“Mar, you’re scaring me, are you having dizzy spells again?” He stopped walking and faced her, holding both of her arms. Amara was still looking in Philip’s direction, and Colin’s eyes followed.
“You all right?” he asked again.
She could feel Colin’s eyes on her as she nodded, but she couldn’t break Philip’s icy blue gaze. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.”
