Ropes of Lies: A Dirty Liars Novel
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Epilogue
Ropes of Lies
A Dirty Liars Novel
Kathy Noumi
Copyright © 2018 by 5 Point Publishing, LLC and Kathy Noumi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events are entirely coincidental.
Ropes of Lies
Edited by: Andrea Robinson and Tera Cuskaden
Cover Model: Bruno Endler
Photographer: Wong Sim
Cover Designer: Jessica Seigfried, Thrive Creative Design
Proofread by: Andrea Robinson
For everyone who said I couldn’t do it
and the one man who always knew I could.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Epilogue
Prequel Info
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Eden
My life had been a series of countdowns. Three thousand, two hundred and eighty-three days ago I moved from New York to Chicago to begin my career in property development. Two thousand, three hundred and twenty-nine hours ago my boss told me I would be promoted if I played my cards right.
Precisely one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes ago, I’d found the most dilapidated building known to man. If I could turn the crumbling structure into a thriving eco-friendly housing development project on my own, then hello, dream job.
The nine years of satisfied clients, six-figure profits, and lost sleep were measly stepping stones. The Kaleidoscope Building could change my life. Since I’d started working at Pryce & Leigh I’d had a singular goal: become the next head of corporate property development. Tonight, in just one hour—sixty minutes, thirty-six hundred seconds—the building would be auctioned off. All I needed to do was end up with the winning bid.
A man dressed in a black vest bearing the Grand Fitz Hotel monogram opened my car door and held out his hand. The pitch-black tulle at the hem of my gown poured out over the side. As I took his hand to ease out of my seat, the familiar, dewy scent of impending summer rain filled my nose.
Crowned a historic city landmark, the Fitz embodied the Roaring Twenties. Its vast beauty and timeless stories were etched in the golden crown moldings, white marble flooring, and carved oak columns.
A minute later, the cold, humidity-free air of the lobby sent a shiver across my skin. With an anxious exhale, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and inched closer to the center.
Khloe Sharp, my best friend, beamed while she made her way past the concierge desk. Tonight, she shined brighter than Gatsby himself. Her crisp white dress boasted a bold, beaded geometric pattern, and her hazel eyes sparkled as her wavy chestnut hair bounced above her shoulders.
“Eden, you’re”—Khloe paused, regarding me from head to toe—“beyond stunning.”
She did a little finger twirl, giving me the signal to spin. My midnight-black gown fanned out around my feet when I did.
“Thanks, Khlo. Show me the ballroom before anyone gets here.”
Two minute later, we stood in the Highland Ballroom of the Fitz, heads tilted back, staring at the ceiling. It had been covered in hundreds of umbrellas, all backlit by delicate twinkle lights. “Just wow,” I exhaled.
Seizing the moment, I took a few steps to the closest table. Golden pearls and glittery accents adorned every inch of the two-toned space. I picked up a sparkly gold feather, spun toward Khloe, and waved it at her.
“I knew you’d love those,” she whispered, bumping my shoulder.
“I do,” I nudged her back. “Now get me a drink.”
“On it, ma’am.” She laughed, making a whip cracking sound while sauntering off.
“An Almost Dirty Thirty with three stuffed olives,” I called after her. We’d dubbed our dry martini concoction the Almost Dirty Thirty at my twenty-ninth birthday back in April. We drank ourselves into an obscenely inebriated state in honor of the last year of our twenties.
I walked over to the seating card table and found the one with my name: Miss Melanie Eden Black. I ran my fingers over the raised font. Lost inside my head, I tried to calm my pre-gala nerves. Tonight, I had to acquire the Kaleidoscope Building at all costs. It was a simple plan, nothing to it. Yeah, right.
Somebody cleared their throat behind me, and I froze quicker than water in the arctic.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Black.”
The hairs on the back of my neck electrified into upright spikes. Jameson. His voice had a deep, sensual purr. Nothing had changed—except for the way he emphasized “Miss” like it was a curse.
One hundred and eleven days had passed since our last sparring match over the phone. Four hundred and seventy-two days since I’d last laid eyes on him in the Pryce & Leigh conference room. And the running tally was going to zero out in three . . . two . . . one . . .
I gripped the closest chair for extra support then pivoted carefully. As I peered through my lashes, two eyes the color of deep chocolate met mine. Good Lord, it’s him. A familiar tingle revved through my veins, and warmth spread across my skin the way vines crawl up a building.
Jameson Robert Winthrop.
My vocal cords refused to operate properly. How was it that he appeared more attractive each time I saw him? The heat in my cheeks rose higher, nearly to a boil. He had always been the type of man who dominated a room, radiated power, and commanded attention. The sheer magnetism would make any woman melt into a lake-sized puddle at his feet.
His gaze dropped to my lips, which I realized I had been unintentionally biting. I stiffened, immediately releasing my bottom lip from the clutches of my teeth and dropping my line of sight to his polished black wingtip Oxfords.
As my gaze wandered up his body, I envisioned the lean, muscular chest beneath his perfectly tailored tux jacket. And yet his hard abs, broad shoulders, and confiden
t stance were no match for his plump lips—lips so divine they could kiss with the strength of a gladiator but remain softer than rose petals.
“Have you missed me?” he asked with a raised brow, and my knees all but buckled. Still, I’d be damned if I’d let him have the upper hand. Not tonight. Not ever again. Taking my own advice, I stood a little taller, pushed my chest out, and took a deep breath.
“Why, yes, I dream of you day and night.” Disdain dripped from my words, yet he merely smirked, unmoved. Silence lingered between us for a few seconds before I heard myself say, “I didn’t realize you would be here.”
“Hmm . . .” He rubbed his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
Christ! He could make even a tiny gesture sensual. I mimicked his hum with pursed lips. “Hmm, indeed.”
At six foot two, Jameson had a good six inches on me, even when I sported heels. It was enough for me to have to lean my head back to meet his stare. When I did, I couldn’t help but note his long lashes. They could rival a supermodel’s, what with the way they fanned out in a perfect arc. His chiseled jawline, equally striking. He was sexy and strong, all rolled into one: a lethal combination.
Caught up in my shameless ogling, I didn’t hear his phone vibrating until he pulled it out of his pants pocket. Giving it a quick glance, he turned it off before he shoved it back. My gaze dropped south of the border again. Abort mission! DO NOT STARE AT HIS CROTCH!
“It’s strange,” he said.
I choked on my own saliva but managed to squeak out, “What is?”
“My father’s company is one of the sponsors of this charity. You’re not usually so forgetful, but people change,” he said while he flicked an invisible piece of lint off of his shoulder. His blasé attitude made me want to scream or slap him so hard he’d be flung into a time warp, never to be seen again. And who could blame me?
“I never forget anything.” When he didn’t reply, I looked over his shoulder at the ballroom entrance, pretending to stare into the distance, confused and squinting. “I’m surprised you made it through the doorway.”
Jameson glanced over his shoulder and furrowed his brow. “Come again?”
“I didn’t think your giant ego would fit in the room,” I snapped while crossing my arms over my chest and tapping my Manolo against the carpet. My inner badass gave me a high-five, although the tapping wasn’t nearly effective enough on cushy flooring.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his chest where his heart should be. “You’d be such a beautiful woman, Miss Black, if it weren’t for your mouth.”
Jameson’s stare remained fixated on my lips. The last time I saw this kind of fire in his deep, brooding brown eyes, he’d kissed me so passionately I thought I might liquefy into a puddle on the floor of our Toronto hotel room. He was spellbinding, like a poisonous flower you’d been warned never to touch.
Little flutters came alive in my belly, although I tried my hardest to fight them back. Traitor butterflies! It never changed, this thing between us. How could so much enigmatic lust be fueled by such a cavernous abyss of hate? While I tried with all my being, I couldn’t deny how sinfully fuckable he looked in his flawlessly tailored tux. I couldn’t walk away, even when I knew I should. Scratch that! I should have bolted the second I turned and saw his beautiful face, but I didn’t.
I didn’t say any of the things I’d been thinking, instead I sourly taunted, “I can see you haven’t changed.”
The look he gave me now would make even a ruthless tyrant blush. I despised how he affected me. All heart-fluttering, lip-biting, core-melting second of it made me want to forget everything.
Jameson licked his lips and cocked a sideways grin. With a soft shrug of one shoulder, he said, “Why mess with perfection?”
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost got a headache. “Ignorance really is bliss, isn’t it?”
“You never complained when I—”
“I was young and stupid. It was—”
“Young, yes. Stupid, never,” he said in a firm voice, then ran a hand through his hair. Wait, did he compliment me? No, I must have imagined it.
“Chalk it up to a momentary lapse in judgment, then.”
“Was it?” Jameson’s piercing eyes focused on mine. The silence lingered a moment, then he added, “Doubtful.”
“Are you being nice?” I squinted at him, pulling the top of my dress up. “Quick, call the Tribune.”
We’d spent the exchanging angry phone calls over clients, stealing project after project from each other. I’d started keeping count after number five. We officially hit a grand total of sixty-three last week. But we never exchanged niceties.
Jameson took a step forward. The spicy, masculine scent of his cologne invaded my nose, hints of sandalwood and citrus luring me in. My heart ricocheted against my chest when he leaned in closer. I swallowed hard, holding my breath.
His lips were an inch away from my ear when he whispered, “Think you’re cute, don’t you?”
My muscles tensed instantly. I needed to put distance between us. As soon as I figured out how to use my lungs. Stepping back slightly, I breathed in, filling my lungs and exhaled most of the anxiety out. A good thirty seconds passed before I could speak.
“It’s getting old, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
I motioned to the air between us. “This.”
He chuckled while his gaze dipped to my breasts. “Not in the slightest, princess. What’s ‘old’ is how you try so hard to pretend it doesn’t turn you on.”
I tightened my hands into fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms. “You wish.”
Jameson clenched his jaw then shot me a devilish smirk. “I do.”
“You can’t help yourself, can you?”
He shrugged, innocently batting his eyelashes. “No. No, I can’t.”
“Ugh.” I sighed. “You’re so—”
“Come on, cat got your tongue? Out with it,” Jameson purred with a sinful hum in his tone.
“What are you even doing here anyway? You hate these things.” I’d attempted to change the subject, but unintentionally sounded bothered.
Jameson rubbed the back of his neck. “Why do you care?”
“I have a right to know if you came here to stir up trouble,” I snapped.
He held up both hands. “My father insisted.”
“Not like you to take orders from daddy.”
“And it’s unbecoming of you to be so unpleasant.”
An agitated huff escaped my lips. “What can I say? You bring it out in me.”
“You’re giving me all the credit?” he said, holding his palm to his chest. “That’s new.”
My first reflex was to lay my palm to his face so hard it would hurt for a week, but I clenched my jaw and held back. Where is the man I used to know? He had to be hiding somewhere inside this cocky, smart-ass shell. For all the sharp edges on the outside, Jameson used to have a gooey center, the kind that made him the type of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything if your voice sounded off, or surprise you with your favorite takeout. Even the small stuff he’d done pulled at the ropes around my heart.
The real problem remained: in the far corners of my depraved mind, I wanted to rip every single article of clothing from his perfectly toned body. Then lick him from head to toe. Memories of his hard pecs, sculpted abs, and his taste came flooding back. Christ. His lips on my skin, the way his hands felt when he touched me, and his kiss . . . Oh god, his kiss. The taste of his skin, a little bit sweet, a little bit salty, still lingered on my tongue after all these years.
Jameson cleared his throat, jerking me from my thoughts. “Earth to Eden . . .”
I attempted to remember what he’d last said. Oh, right, he couldn’t take credit.
“Why don’t you run on home?”
“Can’t.”
“Why the hell not?” I pressed.
“I came for the auction.”
My gut plummeted. The auction. “Why are you so intere
sted in this particular auction? What are you bidding on?”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a smug, lippy grin. “Does it really matter? It’s mine.”
“Would it kill you to give a straight answer?”
“No, but I love how frustrated you get.”
“What the he—you know what? It’s not worth it.”
My annoyance wedged itself between us like a shield, one with spikes, as my anger bubbled, sparking a new level of repugnance. Or was that lust? It was such a fine line. One thing I did know for sure was that he provoked me, and made my darker side spring to life.
I moved my fingers to my mouth, holding them over my lips to keep them shut. The sly flicker in Jameson’s eyes told me he noticed. He cleared his throat while straightening his cufflinks.
“Have a lovely evening, Miss Black.”
He winked, giving me a devilish grin before pivoting and walking away.
His words left me furious. And desperately aroused. The ache between my legs had me clenching my thighs together underneath my gown.
I tilted my head back slightly, closing my eyes. “This cannot be happening. Lord, please, I beg you to get me through tonight.”
Chapter Two
The ballroom doors swung open, and the enormous space buzzed with escalating chatter as the room filled to the brim. I weaved through the clusters of partygoers while a Norah Jones song hummed softly in the background.
Clearly, none of these elegantly attired people sipping bubbly cocktails and gushing over appetizers had had the fine pleasure of dealing with Jameson. I scanned the room for Khloe. She still hadn’t returned with my drink, which I now craved the way one might thirst for water in a desert.