Sweet Liar: Dirty Sweet #1

by Paige, Laurelin

  “No worries.” I stepped forward to tousle his hair. It was as much physical affection as he allowed these days, and even that he often pulled away from. This time he tolerated it, and it made up for the disappointment at losing an entire day of his company.

  And I couldn’t say I’d been completely selfless in giving up the day with him, anyway. I had other ideas of how I wanted to spend that time.

  * * *

  I shut the door to the den behind me and slumped against it. “Well, that was terrible.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Donovan, who had led me to his father’s office with the promise of “fucking escape.” He surely needed it more than I did—this was his parent’s house, not mine. The Thanksgiving meal we’d suffered through with all its pomp and circumstance had to be more of an affront to him, and I had been quite offended.

  “Are all people this terrible?” I asked, crossing over to the bar to scour for a decent alcohol.

  Donovan finished cutting the cap off a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. “Rich people are.”

  “Thank God we aren’t them,” I said cheekily. “Looks like we have the option of bourbon or bourbon.” I held up both overpriced bottles so he could choose.

  He looked up. “The Michter. It’s more expensive. We’ve earned it.” He toasted his cigar, drew in a puff, and rotated it until the heat was evenly distributed. “You’ll like this though. Illusione Epernay. It’s mild the way you Europeans tend to like things.”

  He handed me a cut cigar in exchange for one of the glasses I’d poured. I sniffed the foot. It smelled like coffee and cedar and, when I drew off it myself a few moments later, I detected floral and honey notes as well.

  “Very nice.” I sank into the oversized leather armchair and crossed my ankle over the opposite knee, letting the tension in my shoulders uncoil with the pleasant body of the tobacco. “Are all holidays with your family as awful as this one?” With more than two dozen high-class guests, the day had been filled with pageantry and performance. Much like this office with its overabundance of wood paneling and the gold-plated details. What a nightmare of a life.

  “I couldn’t tell you.” He plopped into the rolling chair and leaned back to prop his feet on the massive desk in front of him. “I don’t spend time with them for a reason.”

  “But now you’re in the States. For good?” He hadn’t given any indication that he was returning to the Japan office anytime soon, but with Donovan, you could never be too sure what his plans were.

  He hesitated, either uncertain of the answer or uncertain he wanted to share it. Finally, he said, “For good.”

  “I’m guessing Sabrina Lind has something to do with that.” I was fishing, and it was obvious. Hopefully it wasn’t as evident that the person I was really curious about was Sabrina’s sister, and he’d unwittingly tell me something useful.

  Donovan had never been one to show his cards, though. Even years ago when I’d first met him. When he’d practically been engaged to my stepdaughter.

  He wasn’t eager to show them now, either. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

  “I’m somewhat surprised she isn’t here today, after that scene you made the other night. Declaring you were her boyfriend right there on the streets of Manhattan.”

  He gave me a sharp glare. “It wasn’t a scene. It was a necessary declaration.” Then, after a beat, “She’s spending the day with her sister. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Neither did I, which was why I was poking around for information. As she’d asked, I’d sent Audrey a text the night before when I’d gotten back to my apartment after Aaron had been found. It had been short and factual.

  Dylan: He’s home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  Audrey: I’m so glad.<3

  She’d responded right away, and I’d wondered if I’d woken her or if she’d waited up for my news. Probably the former. And still the possibility that it could have been the latter intrigued me. As did the symbols that followed. A heart, according to Urban Dictionary. Or a ballsack, depending on which definition I wanted to rely on. Either could be considered appropriate.

  And yet I longed for the meaning of the heart.

  I was stupid. I was raving mad. Letting my thoughts drift to her as often as they did. It was all the buildup. All the wrought-up tension between us. I needed to get laid. Obviously. It would be the only possible way to cut through the bullshit and get down to the meaning of our companionship, the pure sexuality that was the only true connection we shared.

  I took another draw on my cigar as I pulled out my mobile from my jacket pocket and was surprised to find another message waiting from her. I’d forgotten I’d put it on silent for dinner.

  Audrey: Our T-Day reservations aren’t until five, btw. You can call or text anytime before that.

  I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to four. Really? That early, and I already needed a drink this badly?

  The good news was I had time to catch her.

  I set my drink down and stood up. “I, uh. Need to ring someone. Can I step out there?” I nodded toward the single French door that led to a balcony, so small it could only fit one person comfortably.

  Donovan shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me any. Aaron?”

  I puzzled for half a second before realizing he was asking if I was calling my son. “Yes. Yes, Aaron. You understand.”

  Pushing open the door, I stepped quickly out into the biting cold before I could feel too guilty about the lie. Then I clicked on Audrey’s name, put the mobile to my ear, and puffed on my cigar until she answered.

  “You called me!” she exclaimed.

  “You said I should.” Had I misread her message?

  “I know I did. I just didn’t think you’d actually call. I expected a text, at the most.”

  “I’ve felt you come around my finger—I think we’re beyond texting, don’t you?”

  She was silent for a moment, and I watched my breath curl with the smoke of my Epernay, anxiously wondering if I’d gone too far. Said too much. My head was filled with her was the only reason I had for my behavior. I needed to be inside her. Needed to fully have her before I could get over the distraction she imposed.

  Whatever the excuse, I was preparing to deliver an apology when she said, “Ohhhh. I liked that. Is that dirty talk?”

  “It’s a rather lame attempt, I’m afraid. Fortunately, I was going for frankness.”

  She giggled, and despite the godawful temperature, I felt my cock jump at the tinkle of a sound. “So we’ve discovered I like frankness for sure, and possibly I like dirty talk as well. Should we try more of that to see?”

  Oh, how I wanted to. Right then and there. There were a slew of filthy things I wanted to whisper to her. I wanted to tell her all the ways I meant to touch her sweet little pussy, how I would pet it and lick it and fill it up with my cum. Wanted to tell her how good her skin tasted, how drunk the scent of her made me, how the slick clench of her cunt while I’d fingered her made me ache with the need to bury my cock inside her to the hilt and fuck her until she saw stars.

  But after a glance behind me at the door with its thin panels of glass separating me and my friend, I thought the dirty talk should probably wait.

  “I’m hoping this call will lead to the chance for just that. Our night was cut short. I owe you a raincheck.” No, that wasn’t how I wanted to present that. As if she were an obligation. That was a far cry from the truth. “I’m looking forward to the opportunity,” I amended.

  She sighed wistfully. “I want to. So badly. But you have Aaron tonight through the weekend, and I leave Sunday.”

  “True, true. But my plans with my son have changed a bit, and I had a thought—would you be able to change your train ticket back to Delaware to something later in the day? I’m more than willing to pay for the change fee.”

  “Yes!” she squealed. “In fact—I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be presumptuous—but I already looked into it, and there’s a train leaving
at four-fifteen, and there’s no charge for changing with twenty-four hours’ notice. I can be at your apartment by ten-thirty in the morning.”

  She was fantastic. Truly.

  “Then everything’s settled. Sunday at my place.” I glanced once more behind me and found Donovan had his eyes closed, likely sleeping off the tryptophan and dreary dinner company. I braved another comment. “I’m warning you, little girl—our lessons won’t be over until my face is wet with your juices and your pussy is sore from my cock, so be prepared to learn.”

  She let out a noise that sounded like a shiver. “Wow, yes. I definitely like dirty talk. And now I need to go spend some alone time with my hand before I have to leave for dinner. ‘Kay, thanks.”

  I hung up and took another draw from my cigar before opening the door, thankful that the cold prevented me having to walk in with a tent in my trousers.

  “Aaron’s doing good?” Donovan asked, not bothering to open his eyes at my return.

  “Yes. Quite good. Excited for...for our plans this weekend.” I headed back to the warm burn of the bourbon and the comfort of the armchair.

  “Great to hear. I guess I won’t worry about how sore your cock is going to make his pussy then.”

  Donovan was listening, that bugger.

  Talking to Audrey had put me in such a good mood, however, I didn’t have the heart to respond with anything other than a sly grin.

  Ten

  Audrey

  I don’t know exactly why I didn’t tell Sabrina about Dylan beyond that kiss.

  There were a few reasons not to, sure. After she’d rode off that night with Donovan Kincaid, they’d put their relationship on hold until they could talk, which was to happen immediately after I left town. Even with the pause, I knew she was still completely consumed with him. She didn’t need to hear details of my affair. She’d fuss too much over me and neglect her own emotions like she always did. And my affair was silly compared to hers.

  Or I was afraid she’d think it was silly.

  Or maybe I was afraid she’d realize it really wasn’t—afraid she’d realize that this thing with Dylan was really important to me in ways I couldn’t explain, even to myself. Maybe I did have some daddy issues, but it was nothing I planned to discuss with my sister.

  Mostly, I was afraid she’d demand those explanations. Sure, I’d tell her what I told him—that I wanted the experience, that I needed a teacher. But would I also tell her that I wanted the experience exclusively with Dylan? That I was attracted to him from the first words that slipped across his tongue in that to-die-for British dialect? Attracted to his tall frame and his dark eyes and that frown that rested permanently on his lips.

  Would she have lectured me more about his cynicism, warning me that it was a situation that could only lead to heartache? She would have presumed I believed I could transform him.

  And, no matter how much I protested, she probably wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

  Most scary of all, I was afraid she would have been right. Because deep inside me there was a flicker of hope, that eternal flame that burns in hearts like mine, the same kind of light that allows zealots to proclaim tirelessly about their god. I believed, I believed that love fixed all. I believed in sharing that faith. Of course I wanted to convert everyone around me.

  Of course I hoped I could convert Dylan, too. And that was silly. I didn’t need Sabrina to tell me just how silly it was.

  So I didn’t say a word after telling her about that first kiss, and I didn’t tell her I’d changed my train ticket. I worried about it silently over our last breakfast together at a cute cafe down the street. She was planning to take me to Grand Central Station to see me off, and how was that going to work? What if she saw me to security, and they didn’t let me through because I was so early? What if they did let me through, but I couldn’t sneak back out to meet up with Dylan?

  “You seem distracted,” she said, as we rode the elevator to her apartment to get my luggage after breakfast. “Do you have a lot of homework waiting for you?”

  I did. But that wasn’t on my mind. “Yeah. Homework. Finals are coming up now too.”

  “I should have insisted you studied more.”

  I threw her a glare. “No. You shouldn’t have. Because you’re not my mom.”

  She twisted her lips as though trying not to say what she wanted to say. Then she lost the battle. “Feels like it sometimes.”

  My immediate instinct was to take her comment personally, but I didn’t want to argue with her when we were close to saying goodbye, and when I let myself think about her position, I totally understood why she’d feel she had to mother me.

  “I’m sure it’s a hard habit to break,” I said stepping out of the elevator ahead of her. I’d meant to let it go at that, but I turned back to her instead of walking on to her door. “I’m ready to have you just be my sister. I need you to be that more than my parent these days.”

  She wrapped her arms around her body and frowned a moment. But then the lines around her mouth relaxed and her lips turned into a small smile. “As long as you still need me.”

  “I’ll always need you, you psychopath.”

  We walked silently toward her apartment, both of us in our thoughts. Then, when she opened her door and held it open for me to go inside, she said, “I might be crazy, actually.”

  “Because you’re going to give Donovan a chance to win back your heart?”

  She kept holding it while I tugged my suitcase into the hall. I’d left it just inside the apartment so we could just grab it and go.

  “Maybe.” But I could tell it was more than a maybe. That she was already back in his arms in her mind. That their impending talk was just a matter of procedure.

  She was agonizing over it, though. And that’s when I realized my opportunity. “Hey, you don’t really need to go with me to the train station. I’ll be okay getting there by myself.”

  “But, I want to come!”

  “That’s stupid and out of your way. We can say goodbye here just as easily, and then you can get to Donovan sooner.”

  She finished locking up and then, out of character, she pulled me into a tight hug. “I love you,” she whispered, and I knew it wasn’t just her way of saying thank you for letting her get to her man, but that she really meant for me to hear it.

  “I love you, too.” I did. More than I could ever say. She was the reason I’d made it as far as I had. She was why I hadn’t turned out grim and grumpy. I’d been an orphan, and she’d upended her whole life to take care of me. She made fun of me at times, but she’d been the one who’d taught me that love wins. She’d never let me know any other way.

  Downstairs, we each summoned an Uber and after another hug, we drove our separate ways. My eyes got teary, but I didn’t cry like I usually did when we parted. I’d see her again in a month for Christmas, and I had a date with Dylan to distract me from how much I’d miss her.

  Because I didn’t have to deal with Sabrina at the train station like I’d thought I’d have to, I ended up at Dylan’s building earlier than I’d planned to. I bustled into the lobby, humming “Carol of the Bells” and pulling my suitcase behind me with one hand while I wrestled with my phone’s screen lock with the other. I’d just send him a text, let him know I was there already.

  Obviously, I was preoccupied, which was why I wasn’t paying attention and smacked right into an older guy who was coming off of the elevator. He had a solid body. Toned muscles were definitely hidden under the brick-red pullover sweater. His smelled of cinnamon and aftershave, and my belly began fluttering with butterflies before I even looked up and confirmed that the body belonged to Dylan.

  His hands came up to steady me, grasping my elbows firmly. Sparks shot through my veins, and though we were about to go upstairs and get busy touching in so many other ways, I didn’t want him to let me go long enough to move at all.

  “Hi.” I sounded shy and awkward. Not my usual self at all, which I blamed mostly on the col
lision, but the way he was looking at me with those liquid brown eyes didn’t help.

  “Hi.” He gave the slightest of smiles.

  Then quickly it disappeared. “Pardon me. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay now? Steady enough? You aren’t hurt?”

  “Dad, she’s fine,” a thin voice grumbled.

  My eyes flew to Dylan’s side and collided with a teenage boy who could only be Aaron Locke. Even if he hadn’t just referred to him as Dad, it was apparent the two were related. The boy had his father’s height, his dimpled chin, his puppy dog eyes, his floppy brown hair.

  Immediately, I stepped back, not sure how to act or what to say. I stammered through some version of, “I’m fine, thank you.” Then stood, jaw slack, as I tried to figure out what to do next. Should I zoom away without another word? Pretend we’d never met before?

  Yes. That was exactly what I should do.

  Instead, I stood there frozen.

  Dylan wore the same panicked expression, but fortunately he seemed able to string together coherent thoughts. “Audrey, this is my son, Aaron. Aaron, this is Audrey, my…my…”

  Okay, so maybe he was just as flustered as I was.

  I pulled myself together and stepped in. “Your dad is my sister’s boss,” I explained directly to Aaron. “We somehow all ended up at dinner together the other night, and we met then.”

  “Weston was there as well,” Dylan hurried to add, as though that might legitimize the innocence of it all.

  “Right. And Donovan too,” I said. Just because Donovan had shown up after the meal didn’t make it a lie.

  Of course, none of that explained what I was doing in Dylan’s apartment building at the moment. I pasted on a grin and prayed silently that the kid didn’t ask.

  He didn’t. All he said was, “Oh,” barely glancing at me before throwing his gaze to the top of his shoes.

  “I was just walking Aaron home,” Dylan said.