Twisted Lies

by C. B. Clark

  He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Did the alcohol work?”

  She shook her head. “Not really, but I didn’t stop. I was the life of the party. You know, the girl who could outdrink anyone. I was a champion. The boys thought I was pretty cool. So did I.”

  He continued his soothing caresses, holding her close, giving her the chance to spill her secrets.

  “When I moved away from home to go to college and lived in a dorm, my drinking wasn’t a problem. It was under control. At least I thought it was. I got drunk most nights, but I made it to my classes every morning. I drank heavily all through law school. It’s a miracle I passed.” Now she’d begun, the hideous truth spilled out. “When the blackouts started, I’d wake up hungover, not knowing what I’d done the night before. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure where I was.” A sob hitched in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

  “Soon I wasn’t just drinking at night. I needed some hair of the dog in the morning and another shot of booze at lunch just so I could make it through the day. There were so many days when I lay in bed, and I didn’t know if the sun was up or it was night, and the sky was dark. And I didn’t care.”

  Tugging free of his embrace, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, willing away the burn of tears. “At first, I blamed everyone else.” She swallowed. “You know, it’s not my fault. Poor me. I need this drink because my parents abandoned me.” Her mouth twisted. “I had a dozen excuses.” The familiar sour taste of disgust filled her mouth. “Somehow I managed to get my degree, but the situation wasn’t pretty.”

  The bed creaked as he shifted onto his elbow and stared down at her. “But you did it. You stopped drinking.”

  “Not at first, and not for a long time.” She shrugged. “Not until Otis came into my life.”

  “Your dog?”

  She nodded. “When I found him in that back alley, his fur was matted and dull, and his ribs were sticking out. He had a wound on his hindquarters as if someone had kicked him.” She twisted the sheet into a knot. “He was so happy to see me, so loving, so trusting. He gave me a reason to stay sober and get up every day so I could feed him and take him for walks.”

  Russ chuckled. “He’s quite a character, all right.”

  “But I still drank. Not all the time. I was trying to quit, but quitting wasn’t easy.” The sheet was in a knot. She forced her fingers to relax. If she kept ripping at the fancy material, she’d tear the high-thread-count silk. “My aunt encouraged me to go to AA, and my boss ordered me to get sober and stay that way.” She met his gaze for the first time since she began her sordid tale. “You’d like Clara. She’s a force of nature. Once she sets her mind on something, it happens. No choice about it.”

  He laid his hand on her hip.

  She squirmed away. Might as well tell him all the details, the whole squalid saga. “I attended meetings, and they helped. Knowing I wasn’t alone in my struggle was important. But I still drank.” She heaved a breath. “Not like I used to. Not every day. I’d be sober for two days, sometimes even up to a week, but I always drank again.

  “The longest I stayed sober was twenty-one days.” She sniffled and wiped her damp eyes with a corner of the sheet.

  “Twenty-one days is pretty good. That’s three weeks. You should be proud of yourself.” He caressed her arm.

  She stiffened. She didn’t deserve his compassion. “You don’t understand. I broke that record the day I met you in the park.” There. She’d told him. The truth was out in the world, warts and all.

  “You were drunk?”

  “No, but I did have a drink.”

  The bed bounced as he shifted closer. He smoothed a lock of hair back from her damp face. “But you stopped. You only had the one drink.”

  “But I ruined my twenty-one days of sobriety.”

  He tilted her head so she faced him. “Thank you. I know telling me this wasn’t easy.”

  She couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat, so she nodded.

  “I admire you.”

  She’d expected disgust, pity, any number of reactions, but not admiration. “Why?”

  “You recognized you had a problem, and you’re doing something about it. Not everyone does that.”

  “But—”

  He placed a finger over her mouth, silencing her. “Getting sober is hard. I know people with drinking problems, close friends of mine. I’ve seen them struggle. You’re trying. That’s what counts.”

  She shivered at the rasp of his callused finger trailing across her cheek. “But—”

  “Shhh.” Again, he silenced her. “You’re going to beat this. I know you will.”

  His faith in her warmed her soul, but it was misplaced. “I’m an alcoholic, Russ. It’s not a disease you cure overnight. I’ll always be an alcoholic, and I’ll probably drink again. Falling off the wagon is inevitable.”

  He teased the skin on her neck with the pad of his thumb. “Now I understand why you’re so determined to find the answers to what happened to your parents.”

  “I guess I’m hoping if I find out the truth, I’ll have closure, and I won’t have to deaden the pain with alcohol.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’m in. I’ll help you. No promises that we’ll find any answers, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I didn’t tell you of my drinking problem so you’d feel sorry for me.” She didn’t want his pity.

  He grinned, and the dimple she found so irresistible popped out.

  “Sorry is definitely not what I’m feeling.” His eyes smoldered. “Athena Reynolds, you are one beautiful woman, inside and out. I want to kiss you more than I want my next breath. Is that okay?”

  Okay? This was perfect. He was perfect. She smiled and nodded.

  Chapter 24

  Daylight seeped in through the gaps along the edges of the heavy curtains covering the window, and the dark bedroom was warm and cozy. The rain had stopped an hour before, and the gusts of wind buffeting the cottage had eased.

  Athena slept on her side, her body molded to his. One arm was draped over his stomach, the other bent beneath her head. Her eyes were closed, and her long eyelashes swept her sleep-flushed cheeks. A gentle snore escaped her parted mouth.

  Russ breathed in the smell of the lavender-scented body wash she’d used. Unable to stop himself, he traced his finger along the swell of her breast. Something fluttered low and deep in his chest, something he’d never experienced before. He tightened his embrace, never wanting to let her go. She felt right, smelled right, and fit his body like she was made for him.

  When he met her in that park in Calgary, he’d found her attractive. Hell, yeah. But then he’d received the call from the lawyer informing him she’d tracked down the elusive Margaret O’Flynn. His plans for romance ended, and he’d hopped on the next plane for Vancouver.

  How could he have known the woman in the park was the conniving, avaricious bitch who’d stolen his inheritance? His face heated as he recalled how he’d stormed out of the lawyer’s office, determined to fight her for Angus’s millions. But then she’d tracked him down. You could have knocked him over with a feather when he stood up from repairing the hatch cover and saw her standing on the wharf. He was even more shocked when she told him why she’d followed him.

  Of course, he hadn’t believed her. Only a fool would give up a fortune to a complete stranger, and she wasn’t a fool. He’d known that five minutes after he met her. Intelligence shone from her clear blue eyes. She was up to something. He was certain of that. And so, he’d invited her for a sail, hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  He hadn’t counted on the physical attraction between them and the ensuing complications, but he should have seen it coming. She was a beautiful woman. He was a healthy, virile male. Put the two of them together on an isolated island in the middle of a raging storm, and the outcome was predictable.

  He’d surprised himself. Even with the possibility of sex off the table, he still wanted her close, content to hold her in his a
rms, touch her soft skin, and kiss her sweet lips. Sure, he wanted to take the physical relationship further, but he had his personal standards—no unprotected sex, not ever.

  She muttered something unintelligible in her sleep.

  He smoothed her hair back from her face, soothing her, easing her restless dreams. She’d opened up and revealed her innermost secret. Hard to imagine she struggled with alcohol addiction. Not that he blamed her. She was dealt a poor hand. Losing your parents was hard at any age, but to have them vanish without any explanation must have been hell. No wonder she took to alcohol as an escape.

  He’d had a few run-ins with drugs and alcohol after his parents’ accident. If it hadn’t been for Angus, who knew what would have happened? His adoptive father took Russ under his wing and guided him through his grief. Instead of drinking, Russ focused on sports. Hard to be an all-star athlete if you were drunk or stoned.

  Athena had mentioned an aunt who supported her. And there was her dog. He smiled. The longhaired, tail-wagging mountain of a beast was quite a character. If Otis hadn’t darted across the trail in front of him, Russ wouldn’t have crashed his bike. He wouldn’t have met Athena until the confrontation in the lawyer’s office. And wouldn’t that have been a shame? He yawned, his muscles relaxing, as he tucked her head under his chin and closed his eyes.

  ****

  She awoke slowly, feeling rested for the first time in ages. She stretched and opened her eyes. The bed beside her was empty. The only indication Russ had slept there was the slight indentation on the pillow. An image of him holding her close, and the steady reassuring beat of his heart, rose before her. She touched her lips, swollen from his passionate kisses.

  A rush of heat seared her cheeks. What had come over her? She’d begged him to stay and make love with her. Even worse, she’d told him about her drinking problem. Instead of recoiling in disgust from her sordid tale of weakness and regret, he’d told her he admired her.

  Sitting up, she threaded her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the tangled snarls. Talk about bed head. The curtains were open, and bright sunlight streamed through the window, revealing a clear blue sky. The branches of the towering cedar and Douglas fir trees were still. The storm had passed, and the day was beautiful. The ocean would be calm, and they could row the rubber raft to the Minerva and sail back to Vancouver.

  A tinge of regret tightened her chest. She should be thrilled she was leaving Shelter Island and all the disturbing memories, but leaving the island meant saying goodbye to Russ. She almost wished the storm would return so they’d be forced to spend another day—and night—together.

  She quashed the ridiculous idea. There was no future with Russ. Not for her. Not in the way she wanted. She promised him she’d sign over her rights to Angus Crawford’s fortune. In exchange, he’d agreed to search through Angus’s house, office, and personal files and see if there was anything that would explain what happened to her parents.

  She was a fool if she thought he was helping her for any reason other than he wanted Angus Crawford’s business and the money, and he was prepared to do anything to get them. She needed to face the truth. His kindness last night involved greed, a way to stay on her good side and ensure she didn’t change her mind.

  They were both using each other. He wanted Angus’s estate. She wanted answers to her parents’ disappearance. He had access to Angus’s personal files that no one else had. Classic you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Quid pro quo.

  Yesterday’s upsetting events returned full force…the box of photographs, her uneasiness at being in Angus Crawford’s cottage, the shock of seeing her old home after all those years… She shoved off the covers and slid out of bed.

  Her clothes were folded neatly on the dresser. She’d left them dripping wet and hanging in the bathroom to dry. Someone—Russ—had retrieved her clothes from the bathroom. She picked up the clothing and, clad in only the oversized T-shirt, she scurried down the hallway to the bathroom for a shower.

  Much later, filled with determination to leave the island, she stepped out of the steaming shower, toweled dry, and dressed. Without bothering to look at her reflection in the fogged mirror, she forked her fingers through her short curls, and opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hall.

  And stopped.

  Male voices echoed from the living room.

  She inched down the hall. Nearing the front room, she slowed her steps.

  An unfamiliar man’s voice filtered from the room. “Like I told you, Mr. Crawford, this place takes a lot of upkeep. Mowing that lawn keeps me hopping.”

  Russ responded, but she couldn’t hear what he said.

  He must be talking to the caretaker. Russ had said the caretaker would stop in to check on them. She turned to head back to the bedroom but paused. She had to face Russ some time. Maybe the situation would be less awkward if they weren’t alone. That way he couldn’t bring up any embarrassing details of the previous night. Inhaling a deep breath, she about-faced and strode into the room.

  Russ was clad in the faded jeans and rumpled T-shirt he’d worn the previous day. His feet were bare, and his dark hair mussed as if he’d just climbed out of bed. He stood in the middle of the large room.

  A rush of desire kicked her in the stomach.

  She must have made a sound because he swung toward her and smiled. His dimple popped out, and his golden eyes crinkled at the edges.

  Her pulse skyrocketed.

  “There you are.” He beckoned to her. “Come and meet Rick Menzies. He’s the caretaker I told you about.”

  A tall, thin man with long, shaggy blond hair jolted up from the couch. A smile broke out on his youthful face. He didn’t hide the fact he was sizing her up.

  Russ clapped his palm on Rick’s shoulder. “We can thank Rick that we were warm last night. He’s the guy who makes sure the generator has enough diesel to keep the furnace running and the hot water flowing.”

  At the mention of just how warm they’d been during the night, a flush of heat soared up her neck.

  “Russ was just telling me about you, Ms. Reynolds.” Rick held out his hand. “Nice to meetcha.”

  Her gaze shot to Russ. “He…he was? What did he say?”

  “I told Rick how you and I came onto the island to check out Angus’s cottage, and then the storm came up, and we were forced to spend the night.”

  “Oh, that.” For a heartbeat she’d been afraid he’d told the caretaker her true identity. Remembering her manners, she grasped Rick’s callused, bony hand and shook. “Nice to meet you, Rick.”

  “Right back atcha, Ms. Reynolds.” His boyish face lit up in a welcoming smile.

  “Please, call me Athena.” She tugged her hand, but he tightened his grip and held on for a moment longer than was polite. A second tug, and he released her hand.

  “Athena. Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He grinned.

  She ignored his blatant flirting. “So, you’re the person who looks after this cottage.”

  He stood straighter, and his chest puffed out. “You betcha. I’m in charge of this cottage, the grounds, the whole friggin’ island. Believe you me, this place keeps me busy.”

  She studied his long, lanky build and the peach fuzz on his pointed chin. He was younger than she’d expected. Why would a young guy like him want to live alone on the isolated island? “How long have you worked here?”

  “Almost two years.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “The dude before me worked for Mr. Crawford for years, but he got too old or something.” He grinned. “I was couch surfing at a friend’s place when I saw the ad online.” His grin widened. “I called Mr. Crawford right away, and I got the job.”

  Russ jerked his thumb toward the direction of the kitchen. “I just put a pot of coffee on, Rick. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “That would be righteous.” Rick beamed. “Thank you.” He followed Russ out of the room.

  She trailed after the men into the kitchen. A bank of overhead fluoresce
nt lights illuminated the huge room and the mile-long granite countertops. Expensive-looking glass-fronted cupboards extended above the counter. The entire room, including the state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances, gleamed. “This room is so modern, and the appliances are new. Why would Angus have spent all that money on renovations? I thought he didn’t visit the island.”

  Rick’s smooth brow furrowed. “Where’d you hear that? Mr. Crawford came out here every couple of weeks.” He flipped his long golden hair over his shoulder. “He liked to keep the place up.” He patted the gleaming countertop. “I installed this a few months ago.” He grinned. “The new tile floors were put in last year.”

  “Angus came here every few weeks? I didn’t know that. He traveled on frequent business trips, but not to Shelter Island.” Russ set the coffee pot he was holding on the counter with a bang. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. He’d call me midweek and tell me he was comin’ and to make sure the generator was filled with diesel and food was in the fridge.”

  “What did he do when he was here?” Russ asked.

  “No idea,” Rick said. “He liked his privacy, so I stayed away. My place is on the east coast of the island, but sometimes I’d see him walking on the beach or sailing in that beauty boat of his.”

  Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Was he alone?”

  “Sometimes he had a lady friend with him, but most times it was just him. Though once I recall seeing him with a big, red-haired dude…young, rough-looking, lots of tattoos…” His upper lip curled. “Not the sort of guy I’d expect a man like Mr. Crawford to know. But mostly, I kept out of his way.”

  Russ filled three mugs with coffee and handed her a cup and gave one to Rick. He leaned his hips against the counter and sipped from his own cup.

  The fragrant smell of dark roast filled the room. She crossed to the large teak table with a matching set of eight chairs in front of a bay window with a view of the ocean and sat down. Russ had told her Angus never visited the island after her parents had gone missing; yet Rick said Angus visited often. Why had Angus kept his trips secret? What had he been up to? “When was the last time Mr. Crawford was here?”