Bed of Lies
Page 20
She had given her body to a man she truly cared about, someone she had fallen for.
Her father had once told her that the only man whom she should ever share her body with was the man that she would marry, but she had instead chosen to do it with the man that she loved.
No regrets.
C. J. woke up the next morning bleary-eyed and alone in a massive bed. She frowned when she realized the pillow beside her was empty. She reached out and placed her hand on the imprint left behind on the fluffy cotton.
“Terry,” she called out weakly, pushing herself to her elbows and squinting against the bright light. “Terry?”
He had been lying beside her a few hours ago. In the wee hours of the morning, before the sunlight had pierced his bedroom blinds, she had felt Terrence stir in bed. His hand had fallen on her hip. His lips had skimmed her neck and shoulder. She had felt his manhood nudge insistently against the back of her thighs, begging to be let in, and she had instantly turned and offered her mouth to him first, then her body. She hadn’t hesitated and neither had he. They had made love a second time in the dark and quiet of his room.
C. J. still had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her whimper when he entered her. But at least the pain had been nothing like the first time. She had even managed to move her hips a little with each thrust, tentatively meeting him stroke for stroke. Besides, having Terrence’s hands on her, having his warm lips against her skin, made up for the pain.
She wanted his hands and lips on her again—right now—but he was nowhere to be found.
C. J. threw back the sheets, tossed her legs over the edge of the bed, and quickly stood up. She winced a little at the dull throbbing between her thighs—her body’s silent reminder that she wasn’t a virgin anymore. She staggered toward the bedroom door and stuck her head into the hallway. The corridor was dark.
“Terry!” she called out. No one answered.
Save for her, the condo seemed to be empty, but that didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t have gone somewhere without telling her he was leaving.
“Where the hell is he?” she grumbled before walking across the bedroom’s hardwood floor to the en suite bathroom. She knocked gently on the door.
“Terry, are you in here?”
When she didn’t get a response, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She flicked on the lights.
The bathroom was huge and looked like something you would find at a swanky five-star hotel in New York or South Beach. Its twelve-foot ceilings were covered in black mosaic tile and a freestanding soaking bathtub that looked like it could fit a small family was the centerpiece of the room. It had an enclosed shower and a mini-sauna. She turned toward the double vanity and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the swivel mirrors and almost yelped.
“Oh God,” she said, staring at her reflection, raising a hand to her face.
She looked horrible! The makeup she had carefully applied the night before was now a smudged amalgamation of raccoon eyes, smeared red lipstick, and caked eye shadow. Her hair was a matted mess. She couldn’t let him see her like this!
She hopped into the shower and washed. When she stepped out ten minutes later, drying herself with a towel, she realized then that she hadn’t come with a toothbrush, makeup, or even clothes to change into—anything that a more experienced woman who had had her share of morning-after encounters would have known to bring along.
Amateur, C. J. thought as she grabbed for Terrence’s bottle of mouthwash. After that, she wrestled her hair into a ponytail.
C. J. searched frantically around his bedroom for something to wear and settled on one of his bathrobes. It was a little big—she had to roll up the sleeves—but at least it was something. Finally, she made her way down the hall toward the kitchen and living room.
She found Terrence in the kitchen, sitting on one of the bar stools like he had always been there. Two paper cups of coffee sat on the marble counter in front of him. He stared absently at the television across the room. The flat screen was tuned to some twenty-four-hour television news network. When she walked into the kitchen, he suddenly turned and looked at her.
“Hey,” she said with a smile, feeling her chest warm at the sight of him, “I was wondering where you had gotten off to.”
“I walked down the block to pick up breakfast.” He slid a paper bag across the counter in her direction.
“That was sweet of you!”
C. J. hopped on the stool beside him and opened the paper bag. She grabbed eagerly for the toasted chocolate croissant inside and bit into it. She moaned with contentment, rolling the flaky crust around in her mouth, not realizing how famished she had been.
“Nice robe,” he muttered, fingering the lapel of the bathrobe she was wearing.
C. J. chuckled and glanced down at herself. She reached for one of the coffee cups and took a quick sip. “Sorry, I had to borrow yours,” she said between chews. “I realized I didn’t bring any clothes with me. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” He wiped chocolate away from the edge of her mouth with his thumb. “It looks good on you.” He then lowered his gaze to the countertop and restlessly tapped his fingers on the granite.
C. J. squinted at him. Something was wrong. She could sense it. Unrest practically radiated off of him.
“Is everything all right, Terry?”
He raised his eye to look at her. His expression was grim. “Actually . . . no, it isn’t. We need to talk.”
Oh no, she thought, dropping her half-eaten croissant back into its bag. Everything had been going so perfectly. She should have known something would happen to screw it up.
She wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “T-talk about w-what?”
“That day . . . that day that I had my car accident downtown, did you come to the hospital to interview me?” Terrence asked, fixing her with a steady gaze.
She hesitated. Where had this come from?
“Did you lie and tell the nurse that you were my fiancée to get into my room?”
She gnawed her lower lip. “Well . . . uh, y-yes. Yes, I did.”
She watched as he clenched his jaw and his back stiffened. She held up her hands in protest.
“B-but I only told her that because they wouldn’t let anyone but next of kin go into the hospital room.”
“So you lied.”
“What else could I do? I had to write the story, Terry! My questions were going to be straightforward . . . nothing out of line. I swear!”
Terry slowly shook his head and let out a cold laugh. He pushed his coffee cup and plate aside and glared at her. “So, Ev was right. You lied to get into my hospital room. You stalked him for almost a whole fucking year to get some other story.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now that is definitely an exaggeration. I may have followed him, asking for a quote a few times, but—”
“You lied, C. J.!”
“I didn’t lie! I didn’t! Stop saying that!”
What the hell was happening? This was supposed to be their beautiful morning after. They were still supposed to be lost in the postcoital glow, lying in bed together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Not yelling at each other.
“Look, I just . . . I just omitted some information, but that doesn’t change anything.”
“Yes, it does!” he boomed, making her wince. “I told you how I felt about honesty. I told you how I felt about laying all my shit out on the table. Here I was, defending you to my brother and he was right all along. And now he says you’re just using me to get more information about me . . . about our family, to put embarrassing shit about us in your fucking newspaper!”
“But you know I would never do that,” she insisted.
“No, I don’t know! I don’t know that, C. J., because I can’t trust you. You lied to me. You made me look like an asshole to my brother! Don’t you get that?”
She tightened her hands into fists in her lap. Tears pricked her eyes. “Well, if you felt tha
t way . . . if you really think that way about me, why are you just saying this now? Why’d . . . why’d you have sex with me last night?”
He sat back on the stool. All the warmth had left his gaze. “I’m a red-blooded man who hasn’t had sex in months. An attractive, half-naked woman offered herself to me.”
A lump formed in her throat. “So . . . so you took it because I . . . I offered? That’s it? It’s that simple?”
“It was a piece of ass, C. J.! What else do you want me to say?” He shrugged casually. “I did what any normal guy would do.”
That hurt. It hurt worse than if he had driven a steak knife into her chest.
The tears were threatening to pool over now. C. J. slowly pushed herself away from the counter, feeling sick to her stomach. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. She refused to do that. She slid off the bar stool and landed on her feet.
“Well, thanks for the breakfast,” she muttered with eyes downcast before walking toward the living room. She grabbed her raincoat off the floor, where it had landed last night. She then walked toward the sofa, bent down, reached for one of her boots, and began to search for the other one.
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting my shit and I’m going home,” she spat out as she headed for the hallway. Where was that other damn shoe? “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
He loudly sighed, looking irritated.
“I’ll make sure you get the robe back tomorrow. Like I said, I don’t have any other clothes.”
“C. J., I’m not . . . I’m not kicking you out!” He grabbed his cane and hopped off his stool. He followed her as she continued to search for her shoe in his bedroom. “Don’t do this.”
“You called me a liar, insinuated that I deceived you to gather information about your family, and told me you had sex with me because I was a half-naked, willing”—she paused to drop to her knees and peek underneath his bed in search of her boots—“piece of ass.” She sat back on her heels. “Why should I assume you want me here?”
“I just want you to be honest with me!”
She rose to her feet and glowered at him. “Fine, I’ll be honest. Yes, I did go to your hospital room to interview you that day, but when I found out how badly you were injured, I felt like shit. I filed the story without your quote and left it at that. And yes, I stalked your brother a couple of times to get him to talk about Murdoch Bank’s mortgage foreclosures—like any serious reporter would.” She dropped her hands to her hips. “I didn’t tell you any of that, not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I didn’t think it was important. Okay? And I didn’t date you or sleep with you to pump you for information. I’m a reporter, Terry, not a gossip columnist! I have no interest in airing your family’s dirty laundry. I’m here because I like you. Well”—she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes—“because I liked you . . . but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why?” He took a step toward her. “Because I called you out?”
“No, because you told me that you didn’t trust me, and you were cruel when you didn’t have to be.”
She finally spotted her shoe. It was behind his night table. She walked toward it.
Terrence closed his eye. His chest rose and fell as he exhaled a loud breath. He sat down on the bed, still clutching his cane.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, catching her by surprise, making her pause. “You’re right. I was . . . I was cruel. But I did it because . . . shit, C. J.! I did it because I was hurt!” He looked at her again. “I like you, too. I still do! I’ve bared a lot to you, girl. I’ve told you things I haven’t told anybody else. When Evan sprang that shit on me yesterday, it made me feel like a fool. I want to trust you. I really do. I just need to know you’re the girl you claim to be. That’s all.”
C. J. stared at him. His gaze wasn’t cold anymore. She saw vulnerability there.
No, she hadn’t meant to lie to Terrence about the things that she did for her reporting job, but she had lied to him in other ways. He didn’t know who she really was. C. J. Aston was a false image—another lie by omission. Terrence didn’t know she was really someone else, someone she had tried for years to leave behind.
C. J. walked back toward the bed and sat beside him. She took a deep breath. She would have to tell him the truth.
“My name’s not really C. J.,” she whispered, staring down at her lap.
His frown deepened. “What?”
“I said that my name isn’t really C. J., Terry. It’s Courtney Jocelyn Aston. I shortened it for work . . . well, that’s not true. I really shortened it because I didn’t want people to recognize my name. Most people wouldn’t, but some might recognize it thanks to my father.”
He slowly shook his head in bemusement. “I’m not following you.”
“My father is Reverend Pete Aston. You know . . . of Aston Ministries.”
Terrence blinked in amazement. “You mean the guy on TV? The one with all those self-help books! Isn’t he . . . isn’t he friends with Oprah?”
She laughed ruefully. Her father would certainly appreciate his name being connected with Ms. Winfrey’s.
“Yes, that’s the guy.”
Terrence still looked amazed. “Wow! So you’re Pete Aston’s daughter.”
“His estranged daughter,” she quickly clarified. “I’ve been excommunicated from the family, so to speak.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“I embarrassed him and . . . and ruined his plans. Almost five years ago, I was supposed to get married to this guy who Dad had handpicked for me. Dad told me that it was what the family wanted . . . what God had ordained for me.”
She raised her hand to her face in exasperation, thinking back to those days. It sounded so ridiculous now, but her father’s words had been impossible to dismiss or ignore back then.
“I couldn’t go through with it, though. I didn’t love Shaun. It didn’t feel right. So the day of our wedding, while everyone was in the next room waiting for me to finish dressing, I stole the keys from my mother’s purse, snuck out of the church in my wedding gown, ran to the parking lot, and made my getaway.” She lowered her hand and gazed at Terrence. “I didn’t look back. I knew what my dad would say: ‘Honor thy mother and father.’ If I couldn’t follow that commandment, I couldn’t live in his house anymore.”
“So you haven’t spoken to him?”
“Sort of. I did it through my brother. I was summoned down to North Carolina two months ago to have a ‘talk,’ but it wasn’t a grand happy reunion. My parents still want nothing to do with me, but they need my help now. Dad’s considering a run for office. He needs us to look like the perfect little family even if we aren’t.” She made a face. “I told them I’d answer any press questions when they came. I’d stick to the talking points. That’s all.” She shook her head. “But I can’t go back to being their ‘Court’ anymore. I got tired of playing that damn role. I prefer to be C. J.”
“And you shouldn’t have to be her if you don’t want to. I’d rather have C. J. anyway.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she stared down at their interlocked fingers.
“Have her in what way, Terry?” she whispered.
He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I was high after what happened last night, but then after what happened this morning. . . I just can’t do it. I don’t want to be hurt like that again. Other women might be used to this type of stuff, but I’m not. It’s all new to me. I need to know what’s happening here before we go any further.”
He chuckled anxiously. “You’re really going to put me on the spot like this?”
“I love you, Terry. I’m being totally honest with you. I love you.”
“Uh . . .” He loudly cleared his throat. He looked utterly terrified. “Uh . . .”
She watched as he fell silent and her heart broke a little.
“I should go,” she whispered into his ear.
He stared at her dumbly.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow to bring you back your robe.” She then reached down and grabbed her other boot and headed for the bedroom door. “Good-bye, Terry.”
“Shit! Shit!” he yelled. “I love you, too! All right?”
She stopped and turned to stare at him. He groused loudly to himself, looking defeated.
“Fuck it. I admit it! I love you, too.”
Not the most romantic declaration, but it still made C. J. smile.
Terrence patted the mattress tiredly. “Seriously, can we go back to bed now? All this confessing and arguing has made me tired as hell. Let’s try this again in another hour.”
“Do you really want to sleep?” She grinned and undid the belt of his robe as she walked back toward him.
He let his gaze travel languidly over her. “Well, not . . . not really.”
C. J. straddled his lap and he cupped her bottom so that she could feel his manhood pressing eagerly through his sweatpants.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a light kiss on his lips. “So, does this qualify as makeup sex?” she whispered.
“I’ll call it whatever the hell you want just as long as you stay,” he answered, pulling her close.
She lowered her mouth to his for another kiss just as the phone began to ring. She leaned back.
“You gotta be kidding me!” he lamented.
C. J. tilted her head. “If someone’s calling this early, it has to be important, right?”
“Oh, come on!” he grumbled as she stood and reached for the phone on his night table. She then handed it to him before closing the robe again.
“Hello,” he answered glumly and she resisted the urge to laugh. She watched as his face changed. His lips tightened. “Why are you calling here? Look, I’m sorry, lady. If you have something to say, you can say it to my lawyer.”