by Zoey Parker
Thankfully, Julie returns with Lily.
My sister arches a brow at her new patrons. Meanwhile, looking as beautiful as I imagined she’d be, Lily slows to a stop and shyly meets my roving stare. Julie has the wool coat in hand, so I’m free to admire my dress choice for my date.
Leaving me to Lily, Julie hands me the coat and steps in to greet her customer. By that point I’m swiveling to regard Lily fully.
“Cliché, I know, but I have to say it—you look stunning,” I tell her. I help her up to the podium, a little wary of those heels of hers. Finding her gaze in the mirror, I smile. Her lips tilt up, telling me she likes the woman she sees as well. I add the finishing touch.
Smoothing the coat over her shoulders, I let my hands skim down to frame her waist. I tie the coat’s sash from behind, aware of Lily’s response to me. Her body tenses under my gentle hands. It only makes me want to hold her more, but we have an audience.
I murmur, “Go and change. I’ll be out here waiting for you.”
# # #
Julie has the young woman and her friends around the podium now, a cream-colored pant suit on debate. When she lingers to the side, letting the girl group mull over the outfit, I nudge my head to the changing rooms. “Could you wrap up that coat and dress privately?”
“Sure.” She brightens up, hopping to do as I ask.
Ringing up my sale quickly, she rounds the counter with the shopping bag, handing me the receipt. “Would you like me to distract her?”
“Could you?”
Julie grins. “Is that a challenge?” She puffs, waving me to the door. “You go on and let the professional do the work.” Then, grabbing a sleeveless floral-patterned blouse from the nearest rack, she marches in the direction of the changing room and leaves me assured she’ll have a good excuse for my absence.
With the shopping bag tucked in the trunk of my car, I’m back in time to catch Lily walking out with Julie. My sister pushes the blouse back on its rack, straightening it before joining us.
My arm slides around Lily’s waist, drawing her closer, as Julie watches on.
“You two lovebirds enjoy your evening. And Lily, you’re always welcome here.” She sees us off.
We walk from the boutique to the restaurant, La Sœur, the only place I know offering French-American cuisine in the city. I don’t need a reservation here, not when the owner is an acquaintance.
“Mr. Hanley.” The maître d’, a familiar face, steps around his podium with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “We’re in for a treat with your presence.”
Skipping the wait, Lily and I are seated before I can ask after the maître d’s health. He rushes off with an apology, but he leaves me with an experienced wait staff member. The middle-aged man carries himself with such pomp, I’m reminded why I don’t frequent places like this.
Pizza would be just fine, but I want to give it all to Lily. Give her a taste of my wealth and business successes, and hopefully make this transition as each other’s alibis smoother.
As much as I could kid myself, I won’t. I like Lily. I like she’s not one of my typical women. If I had to deal with any other girl, I might lose my mind.
Dinner is exactly as I expect. Pleasant food, drinks, and company, and it’s not too surprising the night flies by and soon I’m asking for the check. Paying for our meal, I’m ready to hit the road and see Lily back to Potentia. I’m eager to get her to my place and in my bed.
When I ask if she’ll come home with me, my hand is dangerously close to slipping down to her ass.
I feel her shudder. “Sure, I guess. It is the weekend.” With a quick smile my way, she turns to focus on where she’s walking.
I notice her wobbling ankles, but as I go to mention it, we’re stopped by the arrival of La Sœur’s owner.
Angelina is a French-loving American widow in her forties, the ex-wife to not one, but two multi-millionaires. She opened her five-star restaurant a little over a year ago and business is thriving, so she shouldn’t be thirsting for my company.
Yet here she is, making a bold play and doing it in front of Lily.
“Luke, mon cher, it’s been too long,” she coos, her tone honeyed. She kisses my cheeks, her be-ringed hands lingering on my forearms and nails digging lightly into me as she drinks me in. Her full survey doesn’t go unnoted.
Lily inches from us, my hand having dropping from her back at the sheer force of Angelina’s will.
Reaching out, I rectify the problem. I circle my fingers around Lily’s wrist and keep her from moving farther. She stares wide-eyed at me, meeting Angelina’s carefully masked ire.
It’s a perfect time for introductions.
Extracting Angelina off me proves more difficult, but soon I have Lily in my arm, pressed to my side again.
Lily is polite, but Angelina is borderline curt. She fluffs the bottom of her sharp, black bob, her pink lips thin, her high cheekbones peppered with freckles. Those freckles dot her buxom cleavage as well, most of it hanging out of her low-cut black halter dress. She doesn’t wear the color as well as Lily.
Six feet in her tall heels, Angelina regards Lily under her nose as one might gum smeared on the sole of their shoe. I’m ready to rip through her, remind her how far the Hanley family’s power stretches, and how quickly I could undo her success.
Yeah, her restaurant is floated on the backs of a lot of our business. Most of her top clientele are direct referrals of mine. I’ve inked plenty of deals here. So I don’t mind a whit whipping that fancy rug right out from under her heels, right fucking now.
Lucky for her, she avoids my censure with the timing of her maître d’ calling for her to report with the chef.
Reaching out to touch my hand, she says, “I’ll see you around then. We have much to discuss. I hear you’ve been très busy.” Then Angelina’s lips paint on a fake smile for Lily and she swishes away before I can call her on it.
When we clear the front door of the restaurant, I apologize.
Lily tries to brush it off with exaggerated nonchalance, but I catch the wilt of her lips and the smothering confusion in her dark eyes. She’s bothered by what just happened. I can’t have her fret like this, not for the hour-long drive home.
She’s shocked when I grab her waist and press her to the passenger’s door of my car.
Studying her features for a moment, I explain, “She’s mostly always like that, but I’ll have to speak to Angelina next time. I hate for her to question us.”
“Of course,” Lily says, her chin dipping, lashes fluttering down. “She can’t think we aren’t a couple. That wouldn’t be any good.”
Reality drops my hands from her and I take a step back from this woman who only yesterday was just my employee. I’m reminded of why we’re here, of why I ended up bursting into Lily’s uncomplicated life.
She’s made it clear, and I’m glad for it.
“Yeah.” I run my fingers through my hair, jaw clenching, my next words grinding my teeth together. “You got it. It’s all about the show.”
Chapter 9
Lily
Is this how Cinderella felt at midnight, torn from the ball and her prince, and from her fairy tale happily ever after?
I bet. Only I don’t have any hope of Luke and I being anything more than what binds us now, an alibi and a desire to keep living peacefully in Potentia.
Afraid he’ll catch on, I’ve been trying all through our date to be pleasant and positive, but I’m losing my grip as the night comes to an end and he drives home. I’m glad he’s decided to play his music—it gives us something to talk about.
Part of me wishes I were headed home to be alone to sort out my confused reaction to Luke tonight. And maybe I’d be able to answer some of the myriad of questions running circles around my head, such as how can a man change so dramatically in a few hours?
Luke arrived on my doorstep for our date, looking like himself, talking and holding himself like the Luke Hanley I was accustomed to, but he wasn’t my boss.
It clicked now. I was seeing him as just plain old Luke, outside the office. That night Russ dragged me to see him I was facing the office Luke, not Friday-date night Luke.
Of course, even plain old Luke didn’t do casual. He is wearing his suit like a second skin. The deep red-wine blazer plays on his eyes. The stark white shirt, black tie, and black slacks pop out in their clean, sharp lines.
Realizing I’m staring, I tune into his question. He’s inviting me to change the music, his tone implying he assumes I’ve grown tired of his choices.
“No, that’s fine,” I say quickly, my gaze veering back to my window. We’re close now. Another few minutes and we’ll be at his place.
I guess I’ll have to hold myself together, but for how long? Until he screws me again? Until I mess up our air-tight alibi and give Detective Art Dayton what he came around looking for?
“Lily.” Luke’s calling me.
I blink out the window, recognizing the garage the car is now facing. It’s Luke’s home.
Thinking about Dayton makes me lose it. The tears threaten. Luke exits the car as I press the heels of my palms to my burning eyes, ducking my head, the doubts and fears a heavy load in there.
My car door opens, a whoosh of cool air licking my calves, the stockings doing nothing to keep off the chilly autumn night. Luke’s hands are gentle. They unbuckle the seat belt, loosening some of the pressure off my chest, and they turn me in my seat into his hard, strong chest.
He smells wonderful, and his soft, deep voice is sanding away the flood of anxiety and hopelessness that was threatening to drown me.
“Lily?” He draws me back, hands framing my cheeks, thumbs sweeping carefully under my eyes.
I lift my mouth, my gaze falling over his lips. I want him to kiss me; I’d like to pretend for a little while longer. When his mouth touches mine, the world feels right. I’m in control of at least one thing for now, knowing he wants me as much as I want him.
The kiss reaches a bruising level, and that pain helps me gather myself. If I’m going to break this up, I should at least go out with a bang.
“Inside,” Luke’s command is pressed to my mouth. He moves back, letting me step out of the car, and closing the door after me. He ushers me to the path and stairs leading to his back door.
It’s a path I took last night with Russ. Funny how unsure and terrified I was then, and now I’m back, Luke’s arms around my waist, my shaking hands pressed to my chest.
Back at my boss’s house, and this time I’ve initiated the delicate steps to sex. I slip off my shoes, glad to be rid of them. My toes wiggle, relishing the cool, hardwood flooring in Luke’s condo. Anticipation zings through me, heating my blood and drumming my heart.
At my side, Luke loosens his tie with one hand, and then he releases me with another sharp, throaty order, “Undress.”
I work on my clothes while he gets through his. If we want to strip quicker, we need both our hands freed for this part. I don’t get too far. I’m stuck on the zipper of my dress.
Luke steps up and I turn at his silent gesturing. He slowly frees me of the dress, his warm, smooth hand skimming over my back, his touch reverently stroking my flesh, following my dress down. The stockings are next and then his hands cup and weigh my butt cheeks over my underwear; they knead and spread me apart.
The only thing missing is a sexy thong. Having Luke’s fingers reaching between my legs from the back and stroking my clothed clit remind me of my unflattering but practical boyshort undies. Like my strapless bra, the undies are black and lackluster but provide all the support I need.
I’m easy on myself. This isn’t going to happen again, so I could scratch off sexy lingerie from my list. Once Luke works his magic, we’re through, but right now, he’s all mine.
So I whine at his removing his hand to answer his ringing phone, the sound sharp and insistent. Has he had it on all night? Probably; he’s Luke Hanley, a man I picture taking calls at all hours of the day.
“Yeah?” Luke answers, his irritation wearing off at my explorative touch. He holds me to his side, and I happily skim my hand over his bare chest, my lips kissing one of his brown nipples, suckling the pebbly flesh. He’s growling a response in the phone and I smile knowing I’m the cause.
“Not what I want to hear,” he says.
I reach over to pinch his other nipple and his arm tightens around my waist, his hand moving then to cup my ass, squeeze one cheek until I’m moaning and breaking off from mouthing him, my forehead kissing his pec.
“Later.” He’s off the phone.
I perch my chin on his chest and the smile I have ready falters.
Luke is scowling fiercely. It’s a mood killer.
“That was Russ.” His words are weighty. They’re supposed to have an effect on me. They do, only not immediately. “Lily, anything you’d like to tell me?”
Then as if I haven’t gotten the hint, he sucks in a breath, exhaling with, “Like something about a certain detective of the fine Potentia police force?”
“I was going to tell you.” I pull away from him.
He pushes me back, his hand on my ass holding me fast to him. And his glower tells me he won’t be letting go until he’s satisfied with whatever I have to report.
“Out with it, Lily. I’m not playing games.”
“Fine,” I sputter. “Ask nicely, why don’t you?”
Luke lowers his head, this new angle of his hard stare sending skitters up and down my spine, and they’re not entirely unwanted. It’s so caveman of him. Next he’ll toss me over his shoulder and drag me off to his bedroom, torture me with his talented hands, force the story with Art Dayton out of me.
His mouth moves closer, his warm breath puffing over my quivering lips. I want him to kiss me.
“You get nothing while this hangs over us, sweet thing.”
“You’re mean,” I huff, turning my head away and pouting. But cornered as I am, I give him what he wants more right now.
“It was a little before you arrived. He stopped by with questions about a body they found in an abandoned car.”
I pause there, pushing past the beginnings of hot bile flavoring my tongue at the memory of the body in that trunk with Russ and his other thug standing over their victim. “He said he saw my car at the lot in the dealership. That he had reliable sources matching a description of another vehicle at the lot as well.”
“Reliable sources, huh? He said that?” Luke’s clean-shaven jaw clenched. His evergreen eyes bore through me, like they could extricate the story out that way. Or maybe reach into my memory and punch Art in his nosy face.
Shrugging, I say, “That’s what he said. I didn’t ask about it though, and I seriously doubt he’d tell me.”
“That’s it?”
I shake my head slowly, remembering another detail. “He left me his card, told me I could call him whenever. He asked me about Potentia then, and asked if I liked it here.” I frown, adding, “That was weird, but I figured he was trying small talk after dumping the load of his investigation on me. He didn’t hint that he was going to stop by again though.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t.” Luke moves his hand away, freeing me. He’s off, heading toward the stairs in only his slacks and socks. “Make yourself comfortable,” he calls back.
I drag my eyes down my body, taking in my semi-nude state. “Really?” I mutter, peeved.
Taking a seat on his couch, I wait with my arms folded over my middle and my dress back on but the back hanging open. I’m still fuming when he returns, a few minutes later, a tablet in hand.
He sets it down on the glossy, white coffee table, pointing out to the vaguely familiar man on the screen. “Is that your detective?”
“Yeah,” I nod, releasing a bit of my anger, curiosity supplanting the irritation of Luke’s leaving me hanging in the middle of what was to be the final time I had sex with my boss. This is for the better though. Giving Luke this information about the detective might be a bette
r way to go with this alibi of ours.
“But he looks different,” I note. Seeing as I have Luke’s undivided attention, I point out the differences of the man on his tablet and the man who visited me today in my apartment.
“So, no beard, no scruffy clothes, and he wasn’t using a cane,” Luke sums up my points. He takes a long look at the screen, at the photo of Art, and he bobs his head, once, sharply. His phone is out and he hits a button. “Russ.”
So he has his hitman on speed dial…That isn’t weird at all.