Liars Like Us

by Mary Campisi

  “What?” She swiped a napkin across her mouth. “Do I have sauce somewhere?”

  “No, but you were a hundred miles away. Daydreaming about the palace?”

  The palace was the name he’d attached to HA Properties when he heard she’d accepted a job there. He hadn’t been happy about it either and had gone into great detail listing the reasons why employment with an Alexander was unsuitable. Of course, she’d ignored him, and he’d scowled, but the nagging had stopped. Or maybe, he’d simply put the nagging feature on pause because at the moment he appeared quite ready to start up again. “I’m doing just fine there. Thanks for asking.”

  “So I hear.” He twirled a forkful of spaghetti, brought it to his mouth. “Camille said you have a new wardrobe.” Those eyes narrowed, shot sparks. “Very chic. Designer labels.” He plopped the spaghetti in his mouth, chewed.

  Leave it to her aunt to sprinkle breadcrumbs of interest throughout town and leave the most appealing bits at Rogan’s feet. Ugh. Charlotte pretended great interest in a meatball. “Yes. They’re fun.”

  “I bet. And where exactly did you come across these designer clothes?”

  Shreds of the old, grouchy Rogan surfaced. Elizabeth laid a hand on his, squeezed. “They’re only a loan,” Charlotte said, jabbing a piece of meatball. “I’m going to return them.”

  “I think whoever loaned them to you is awfully generous,” Elizabeth said, stroking Rogan’s hand.

  Their mother would have to take that exact second to enter the room with more homemade bread. “Are you talking about Charlotte’s clothes? Aren’t they exquisite?” She set the plate of bread on the table and slid into her chair, eyes bright, voice soft. “Tate is such a thoughtful boy.” More gushing, a softer “So kind, so caring.”

  Charlotte inched her gaze toward her brother, caught him staring at her, jaw set, brackets deep around his mouth. “Why am I not surprised? That guy does not get the message. He’s a real pain, I’ll give him that.”

  “Rogan, that’s unkind and unnecessary.” Rose Donovan lifted her chin, continued, “If Tate Alexander wanted to do a good deed for your sister, who came to us with little more than ripped jeans and T-shirts, then who are we to refuse?”

  Her mother made her sound like an urchin. Sure, Tate had offered her his sister’s clothes, but he’d also said she’d be doing Meredith a favor, seeing as his sister was done with designer labels—at least for now. “They’re only a loan, and I don’t know why you have to make such a big deal about it.”

  “Because it is a big deal and because it’s about a lot more than clothes, and we both know it.” He held Charlotte’s gaze, refused to look away. “I don’t want him coming near you.”

  Was he serious? “You don’t get to say who I see and don’t see. It’s not your business.” She glanced at Elizabeth whose eyes had grown wide like she’d been caught in a trap and couldn’t get out. Maybe she’d never seen siblings argue since she was an only child. Well, she’d come to the right house to witness it firsthand.

  Rogan’s dark brows pinched together, his voice stern. “Do I have to pay the guy a visit and set him straight? He might think he can pull his sweet crap on every woman, but you’re my sister. You’re off limits, and he’s always known it. I made sure of that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze shifted to a point over her head. “Let’s just say I made sure he knew my sister would never be one of his conquests, and if he ever thought about it, he’d have to answer to me.”

  “You threatened him?” She sucked in a breath, tried to remain calm. “When?”

  The scowl said he wasn’t happy she’d questioned his actions. “The time Camille tried to set up a date for you two. You were just a kid, and no way was I letting him near you. When I heard about it, I went to his house and told him to stay away.”

  “You had no right to do that.” All these years, and she’d thought he stood her up. “Rogan? Look at me.” His gaze landed on her and she didn’t miss the anger flashing across his face. “Why would you do that?”

  “I was protecting you.”

  “Protecting me?” She tossed the napkin on the table and stood. “Do you know what you did? All these years…”

  “Charlotte.” He stood, too, the anger replaced with concern. “I was only protecting you, can’t you see that?”

  She sipped air, tried not to let the tears fall. “You should not have done that, Rogan. I blamed him all these years for something that wasn’t his fault.”

  “I couldn’t let him get near you, not after what happened to Marybeth.” He sighed, made his way around the table, and stood next to her.

  “Marybeth Caruthers?” She laughed. “Nothing happened. It was all staged by Tate’s father. The man wanted you to hate each other, and worse, he didn’t like the fact that Tate had a mind of his own.”

  “What’s that guy been feeding you? You really believe Tate was innocent?”

  The truth spilled out fast and with a bit too much emotion. “Yes, I really do.” She finally realized what she’d refused to see before. Tate Alexander was kind, compassionate, and more afraid to get hurt than she was. “You misjudged him. We all did.” Her voice wobbled, cracked. “Me, more than anyone else.”

  Chapter 9

  Of all the ways Tate dreamed he and Charlotte might get a chance to start over, he’d never imagined it would happen because of her brother’s comments. But when he opened the door, Charlotte stepped inside, placed her hands on her hips, and said, “We need to talk.”

  That could mean just about anything with Charlotte Donovan and he’d stopped trying to guess a long time ago. “Sure.” He took her jacket and said, “Let’s head into the living room. Unless you’re hungry? Astrid made chicken cordon bleu tonight and pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.” He grinned, patted his belly. “I ate three.”

  She stared at his belly. “Of course, you did, and you’re still going to look like that if you eat three a day for the next month.” Tsk-tsk. “It really is disgusting to be around people who never have to worry about what they put in their mouth. Want a slice of apple pie? How about two? And don’t forget the ice cream because you can’t have apple pie without vanilla ice cream. Or how about a chocolate chip cookie, or three? Whatever you want, as much as you want, and you never gain an ounce.” Sigh, and a disgusted grunt. “It is so not fair.” She followed him to the living room, flung herself onto the couch, and tucked her legs underneath her.

  At least she was more relaxed than the last time she was here when she kept her hands in her lap and her back off the couch, like she was afraid to touch anything. Charlotte could touch whatever she wanted…the baby grand piano…the artwork…him. He cleared his throat, patted his belly again. “You don’t know about the laps I swam when I got home. It’s become a necessity with Astrid cooking like I was sixteen again and could burn calories just from breathing.”

  Her lips pulled into a half smile. “I have a question for you.” She patted the spot next to her on the couch. “Sit. You make me nervous when you walk around.”

  He waited for her to attach sarcasm or a quip to the comment. When she didn’t, he sank onto the couch, crossed one leg over his thigh, and turned toward her. He would have liked to rest his arm along the back of the couch, but then he might be tempted to touch her hair or stroke her shoulder. “What’s your question?” he asked before his brain started visualizing all sorts of “activities” with Charlotte.

  “Did my brother warn you to stay away from me?”

  “What?” Where had that come from? Was she talking about the past or more recently, like since she’d returned home?

  “It’s not a trick question.” Those green eyes studied him, waited.

  What to say to that? There was only one thing to say. Tate lifted a shoulder and said, “Of course he did. You’ve got a very protective brother, and I can’t say I blame him. I didn’t miss the way he was watching us at the wedding.”

  “I’m not talkin
g about now; I’m talking about all those years ago when Camille set up the blind date. Did Rogan tell you to stay away?”

  The fire in her eyes and the determination in her voice said she was not going to let it go without an answer. The real answer, not some half-baked version that told her nothing. “Yes.” Stay away from my sister; don’t you dare go near her. We both know you’re no good for her. You’ll just break her heart, and I won’t let you do that. If you ever had hopes of being a decent guy, then do the right thing, and leave her alone. Yeah, Tate remembered those words all right.

  “Tell me about it. I want to know everything.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which only plumped up her breasts and made them appear even larger. Tate looked away, rubbed his jaw. “Camille set up the date and I have to say, I was interested and intrigued. Okay, more than a little intrigued. I told her I’d think about it, but even when I said that, I knew I’d meet you. I didn’t stop to think that you were too young, or that I was too experienced, or that there was no way we should ever get together.” He laughed, met her gaze, and didn’t miss the tears in her eyes. “I planned to take you to dinner, someplace we could talk, see if we had anything in common other than the physical part.”

  “And then Rogan paid you a visit.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement filled with sadness and resignation. “Right. Then Rogan paid me a visit and blasted me with talk about doing the right thing, staying away from his little sister, and of course, the old ‘Alexanders and Donovans never mix.’ I would’ve ignored him, but then I started thinking about what he said. Not the part about the Alexanders and Donovans, or that I might be a jerk, but about you. About hurting you, about being too old and too experienced, and breaking your heart. I couldn’t do that to you, not when you were so full of life and joy. I saw what happened with my mother and father, the lives they led, the tragedy in my mother’s existence, and I couldn’t do that to someone like you.” He let out a long sigh. “I couldn’t do that to anyone. Most of the women I knew understood I wasn’t offering a ring or a life together. You, I wasn’t so sure about. So, I listened to Rogan, and I no-showed.” He willed her to see what was inside his heart as the truth spilled out. “And I have regretted that every day.”

  “I despised you for doing that. You hurt me in ways I never thought I could hurt, and I vowed to make you pay, one way or another.” Her green eyes turned bright, her voice soft. “You’re the reason I could never commit to anyone else. All of that unfinished business between us… All of that uncertainty about who you were and what we could be together. Until I knew, I couldn’t be with anyone else.” Her voice dipped further, her eyes turned brighter. “And then after what happened in Chicago…”

  Tate leaned toward her, touched her cheek. “Yeah, Chicago. Nothing’s ever been the same since, and I was too afraid to admit it. You scorched my soul, and no woman could replace what we shared that night—or the hope of what we could share together.”

  She turned her face into his hand, kissed the center of his palm. “I know. I’ve always known.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, asked the question he’d been wondering since she returned to town. “What about Jason?”

  “There is no Jason.”

  Her words spilled over him like the warm lava cake they’d shared in Chicago. “I knew it! So, you invented the guy to torment me or to make me jealous?” He wasn’t sure he liked either possibility.

  “Neither.” She inched closer, cupped his face between her hands, and whispered, “I invented him to protect myself from losing my heart, but I think it’s already too late.” The kiss came next, a soft brush of lips, once, twice. “I think it’s always been too late.”

  Tate lifted her onto his lap, coaxed her mouth open, dipped inside. Pure, sweet heaven. Charlotte let out a tiny moan, straddled him, and clasped her hands behind his head. Those breasts he’d once tasted rubbed against his chest, bringing back memories of their night in Chicago.

  She deepened the kiss, moaned, as she reached for his belt buckle. If they didn’t stop this now, in another thirty seconds, there’d be no stopping…not until they were both worn out and satisfied… “Charlotte.” Tate broke the kiss, murmured, “Maybe we should slow down.”

  Her laughter shot through him in a bold sizzle. “Slow down?” She found a sensitive spot on his neck, sucked.

  “Or not.” There’d never been anyone who could make him forget everything but the next touch. He eased her turtleneck from her jeans, slid his hands up her back. Skin, that’s what he wanted. Lots of it. Need pulsed through him as she nipped and sucked from his neck to his jaw. “Ahhh,” he groaned when she unzipped his slacks, dipped a finger inside the waistband of his boxers. “Maybe we should continue this upstairs…”

  “Is that what you want to do?” She pulled back, frowned. “After all these months, you want to wait? Because, I don’t know about you, but…” She yanked the turtleneck over her head, tossed it on the couch next to him. “I don’t want to wait one second longer than necessary.” The leopard bra landed on the couch beside the turtleneck. “Do you?”

  Before he could respond, she slid off his lap, shimmied out of her jeans and matching leopard panties and stood before him—naked, desirable. Perfect. “Don’t think right now,” she whispered. “Just feel. Can you do that?” She worked his pants and boxers over his thighs, smiled. “Can you just feel?”

  She was teasing him, and she liked it. Well, two could play that game. Tate leaned back against the couch, naked from the waist down. “I think I can manage that.” He rested both hands along the back of the couch, waited for her to make her next move—which she did two seconds later as she climbed onto his lap—and onto him with a long, need-filled moan.

  But that was only the beginning. Tate proceeded to teach her that teasing carried its own special brand of torment as he stroked, sucked, kissed, and caressed her to a wild climax that brought out a string of well-pleasured sighs and a very satisfied, Oh, Tate, I will never get enough of you.

  He sincerely hoped not.

  They fell asleep with her on top of him, the way he’d pictured it since that first time. Peaceful. Satisfied. He woke to her mouth on his and a whispered, “I want you…again.”

  Tate blinked his eyes opened, smiled. “You don’t say?”

  She nipped his left ear, rocked her body against his. “I do say.”

  The woman knew how to tease and torment. “You can have me as many times as you want. But not here.” He trailed a hand down her back, cupped her butt. “Let’s go to bed.”

  A smile, a sultry “I like the sound of that.”

  “Can you stay the night?” He’d dreamed of waking with her beside him since Chicago…

  “Yes.” She planted tiny kisses along his jaw. “Show me the way.”

  His hand stilled. “Call your mother first, so she doesn’t worry and send your brother looking for you. I do not want to be interrupted.”

  She gave him a frown, followed by, “I’ll call her but Rogan better not butt in, or he’ll hear it from me.” A huff, a scowl. “I can make his life very unpleasant.”

  He had no doubt she could. Still, he had to be honest. “You know the second he finds out about us, he’ll interfere.”

  “Us?” she whispered. “So, there’s an us?”

  She meant, were they together, as in a couple moving toward something that was about more than just now, going public and not caring what people said. “Oh, yeah. There’s an us.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, said in a gentle voice, “There’s always been an us. We just didn’t know it.”

  The tears came then, smearing her mascara, spilling onto his chest. Big sloppy tears, with whimpers and tiny shudders. Tate held her, stroked her back, and murmured, “Are those happy tears?” When she nodded, his chest swelled with an emotion he didn’t want to identify right now. Not because he didn’t recognize it, but because it was too soon to admit—to himself or to her.

  Charlotte lifted her head, her fa
ce a smear of mascara and tears. “Don’t hurt me, Tate. Just don’t hurt me.”

  “Never,” he vowed. “I will never hurt you.”

  The next two weeks slipped by in a haze of getting to know one another, filled with those magical moments of discovering new treasures about the other person, from childhood and adult life. A treasure was to be cherished, and Charlotte did so love uncovering the bits and pieces that made Tate Alexander who he was.

  And the nights? Could there be anything more magical, more wondrous than the nights they shared together? She found herself waking in the middle of the night, just to watch him. And when morning came, he often woke her with a kiss or a more affectionate greeting that included sighs, moans, and a lot of pleasure.

  What woman wouldn’t want that?

  Her mother didn’t seem to mind staying alone at night, had, in fact, insisted Charlotte not concern herself with trying to make it home before the sun came up. I’m happy for you, dear. Tate’s a good man. Be happy, and don’t worry about me.

  Too bad Rogan didn’t feel the same way. Have you moved in with him? Don’t do it, Charlotte. Don’t be a fool. He’s only going to use you up and toss you aside. She’d shut him down and refused to listen to his opinions. Why couldn’t people accept Tate for the kind of man he was? Why did they have to put a label on him?

  She pushed her brother’s harsh words aside. He didn’t know Tate the way she did, didn’t know the gentle, kind side of him that wanted nothing more than a peaceful, honest existence with someone who wouldn’t judge him by his name or his family’s reputation. He wanted someone who could accept him for himself, love him just as he was, and oh, how she wanted to be that person.