Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  "Um, did you call me a cow?" I ask, feigning offense.

  He backtracks so fast. "No, I meant—"

  "Because that's sharp coming from someone who's impersonating a camel about to spit." I giggle, giving up the act, and humored relief relaxes his features.

  When my filet arrives, it's almost tender enough to cut with my fork and no knife, and it practically melts like butter on my tongue. "You were right," I say, after swallowing and sipping. "The wine is awesome."

  "I'm usually right," he says, sipping his own wine.

  I roll my eyes. "Whatever you say, Mr. I Like Spinster Malady."

  "Rich, coming from Ms. I Like Demi Jade." He takes another bite. He might've looked funny trying to tie a stem earlier, but the way he chews for real is somehow incredibly sexy. "Let's meet in the middle. Do you like Villain Complex?"

  "Who?" I ask, though the name sounds familiar.

  "Rock band, kind of alternative, a little indie." He waits for recognition to sink in, and it's hovering right there on the edge, but not quite making it. "They were on The Sound."

  Oh. Right. Now I remember the name—and why I don't follow the band. "I don't watch reality TV."

  "Because of your mom?" He asks the question quietly, but its impact is almost deafening nonetheless.

  "What did you say?"

  He doesn't drop his eyes, just dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "I looked her up when I learned your real name."

  "That's… I mean, that's…" I sputter, unable to force my emotions to words.

  "I'm sorry if I crossed a line," he says.

  "A line? You crossed an entire ocean." I want to stab him with my fork. Not really, but I can't believe he went behind my back the way he did. "That's my information to share—or to keep."

  "When you left that morning, I was desperate to find you. Called the bar, offered to pay for your last name off of a credit card receipt. I went back that evening in case you were there—which I knew you wouldn't be because you hate pool—but you told me all these things about yourself and then left before I could tell you how much I wanted to see you again."

  "That doesn't mean—"

  "Seeing you again Monday morning was…indescribable. And the second I had the truth of your name, I was crazy for more grounding information on you, things to keep you real this time. So I did some digging and I looked her up." He shakes his head. "That logic is ridiculous. Hell, it's not even logic. But you made an impact on me. And I thought I lost my chance to know you."

  The sweet sound of a violin plays through the silence between us while he waits for me to respond, and the music tangles around me, tugging at a bitter nostalgia I thought I'd buried.

  Part of me feels so betrayed that I'm tempted to walk out of the restaurant, away from him. But… I also understand why he did it. Hell, even if he didn't want to know me, there's still a curiosity that comes with learning someone's mother is quasi-famous.

  The problem is, it's embarrassing. The things my mother's known for are…gross.

  "Social Climbing is only the show she's on right now," I say. "Before that there were others. Three of them. All about rising from nothing and digging for gold."

  His eyes never leave my face. "I gathered as much."

  "When she's interviewed, she says she doesn't have any family. That she's all alone in the world." I swish the wine in my glass, watching the burgundy liquid roll in circles. It matches the direction of my stomach.

  "I'm sorry." He's watching me, concerned. I don't even have to lift my eyes to him to hear his expression in his voice.

  "Don't be. I'm not." Anymore, at least. "The first show's producers did a little digging and discovered the existence of my grandparents and came snooping—where they also discovered me. And, in turn, I discovered who my mother was. I was sixteen." I take a sip of wine. "My grandparents threatened to sue the pants off the network if they exposed a minor, and so the show let her lies pass as truth." I take another sip. Then I gulp down the rest of my glass. "See? She's a liar. Like me. And she clings to people with money to get ahead. Aren't you worried I'll follow in those shoes as well?" I hate the acerbic edge to my tone, but something in me is cracking. What if I'm right? What if there's a part of me that's attracted to his wealth even if I'm not aware of it?

  "You won't follow in her shoes." He says it so simply.

  Yeah, because so far she hasn't managed to nab a rich guy, and it seems like I'm actually getting close.

  Oh my God.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  "I might already be following." My words are shaky.

  "You're nothing like her."

  Two minutes ago, I might've agreed with him. Now? Now my thoughts are traitors and I hate myself. "You don't know that."

  "My father's had at least four affairs, two of them long-term. My mother doesn't care." He drinks the rest of his wine, too. "And I can tell you here and now I'm not like either of them."

  "I'm sorry." I'm always envious of people whose parents love them, but I also always forget that they have Big Things that suck in their lives, too.

  "Do you think I'll have four affairs? Do you think I'll sit by idly if my wife cheats someday?"

  "You don't strike me as either type."

  "And you don't like me because of my money."

  In the back of my mind, my mother laughs. Hook him, sweetie, she whispers to me. I shudder.

  "Here's where you tell me I shouldn't be so sure that you like me." He flashes a grin and I try to follow suit, barely managing.

  "Life is fucking unfair," I say, instead.

  "And…" Something makes him hesitate and he takes another bite of steak before he continues. "What about your father?"

  I study the cream-colored napkin in my lap for a moment, working to drown out the hint of self-pity that threatens to rise. "Don't know him either."

  "Did you ever want to?"

  "He didn't want to meet me. Laughed when my mother told him she was knocked up—and then disappeared exactly nine months before my mom did. Not a thing on Earth could make me search for that kind of man. I'd rather have no father than that."

  He waits, like he thinks I have more to say. Like he realizes it before I do, and suddenly the words come. "There's a part of me that doesn't believe what my grandparents told me. Maybe they lied, either out of spite, or because they didn't want to think about the guy my mom used to propel a disaster—aka me—into their lives. I thought about looking for him for a long time. But I'd rather live with the hope that they're liars and he's not a monster, than find out the truth. That they were honest."

  "You'd rather be afraid of the unknown than live with the possible depression of reality," he says. "I get it."

  And I think he actually does. "Anyway. Enough about me and my awesome home life. Tell me something about you."

  His smile this time is slow to grow, but full enough to meet his eyes. It's on the verge of pissing me off. "What?"

  "You're very strong," he says. "Stronger than anyone I've ever met."

  "I can't even do a push-up," I say, purposefully misunderstanding him. Then, I sigh. "Thank you, but I don't want your pity. I don't want anyone's pity. That's why I don't talk about this shit."

  I also don't want to get mad, but I'm still right on the cusp. I don't like feeling sorry for myself. I don't like anyone else feeling sorry for me. I stab a piece of meat, chewing it into nothingness.

  "I don't pity you," Alec says. "I admire you."

  It's the first time in my life anyone's ever said that to me—and, even more, he seems to mean it. My throat suddenly feels swollen and my eyes are prickling. I can barely swallow my next bite.

  There are too many emotions; there isn't enough me to take them all in. I pour myself some more wine, taking a healthy swallow before answering. "And I admire…your ass."

  I top off his glass of wine, too, and he takes it, swirling the liquid for a moment. "You don't have to do that with me, you know. Deflect."

  "I al
so don't have to be thinking about how much I can't wait to get back to your place," I say. "But here I am, doing that very thing." It's the truth, now that I've said it. Enough talking. I'm ready for some action.

  Annoyingly, Alec takes a bite of asparagus. "Tell me about meeting Norris Marshal."

  I take a second to transition my line of thinking. "I met him last summer when Cassidy worked at Backbar Amphitheater and Gold Rush Standard came through on tour."

  I pause, memories flooding my mind. Cassidy's summer was bananas. Mine was more like a circle. An endless loop of trying not to seem sadder than I should about Jason, and keeping the nasty black hole of anger in check (which rarely worked), and picking up as much overtime as I was able at the salon. But somehow, at the center of that circle, I found Norris Marshal. The one spot that shined brighter for me than anything else, regardless of how short my time of knowing him lasted.

  "Norris is this…person-shaped being filled with endless amounts of sunshine." I blush, but it's impossible not to feel a little bubbly thinking about Norris. "That's stupid, I know. But I'm not sure how else to describe him. His wife, too. Like, somehow with one look he got to the center of who I am and wanted to break me free."

  "Impossible," Alec says. "You're a maze, filled with twists and turns and no entrance signs begging to be cut down." He drinks some wine, his eyes never leaving my face. "And I hope you know I'm up for the task."

  Don't blush.

  Do not blush.

  "It's easier for me to talk to people who don't really know me," I say, immediately regretting the words, certain he's finally going to look at me with pity. Like, poor broken girl who doesn't have anyone close enough to really talk to. Has to resort to strangers…

  Instead he says, "Makes sense. It's easier to unload on people who can't turn around and hurt you with what they know. And it helps that you already held him in high regard."

  "He told me the world was at my fingertips, if I'd reach out to take it," I say, swallowing the rest of my wine. "And that's what I want to do. With you." I reach toward him until his hand meets mine. "Take me home."

  He clears his throat. "Are you sure?"

  "I want to go to your place, Alec. Take me there."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ALEC PAYS THE bill, and I don't argue this time. It's probably higher than what I've got in my bank account—the menu didn't even have prices attached to the entrees. I try not to think about it as we take the elevator down and slip into the town car.

  Alec tells Miles to play Villain Complex, and as the first strands of music unfurl in the air, I recognize them. I do know some of their songs—and like them. Yet another thing I have in common with Alec. Which is weird, considering how different our lives have been.

  Before we take off, Miles sets up a tray for us with chocolate-dipped strawberries and glasses of chilled champagne. Alec thanks him, and I try to, too—but all I manage is a nod. I'm starting to get overwhelmed, and the echoes of my mother's laugh are still ringing in the distance.

  Alec nudges me with his knee. "We can scrap all this and go get McDonald's sundaes if you'd rather."

  His silly offer makes the entire situation easier. I sink my teeth into a strawberry, closing my eyes and moaning when the rich swirl of chocolate and berry plays against my tongue. "This is perfect."

  "Almost," he says, and when I look at him, he runs his thumb over my lower lip. "You have a little chocolate right here."

  "Did you get it?" I ask, pretty sure there wasn't any chocolate to begin with.

  "Not quite…" He moves the tray and leans toward me, pressing his mouth gently against mine, murmuring, "God, you're sweet."

  I part my mouth to give him a real taste, and he takes it, his tongue skimming the inside of my lips, teasing the roof of my mouth. I sigh into him, melting against him the best I can with a seat belt across my lap. I break away first, when the car stops at a light. "Let's—"

  He pulls me back to him, swallowing whatever else I was going to say. Can't even remember now. Not with the way his mouth is taking control of mine. Not with the way his fingers are tangled in my hair, tugging with that perfect sort of pressure. Not hard enough to jerk my neck back, but firm enough to make my scalp tingle, the sensations shooting down my neck, across my chest, deep into my belly.

  Fuck the seat belt.

  I unbuckle it, clumsy in my haste, and climb into Alec's lap, my knees at his hips. My dress so high on my thighs it may as well not be there. He slides his palms against my bare skin, his finger grazing under the hem, his tongue forceful in my mouth.

  I kiss him harder, taking all he'll give. His mouth is sweet like strawberries, and it makes me giddy that he scooped the flavor out of my own mouth. His palms inch higher, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  Higher, until they're tracing the lines of my panties between my legs.

  "Lace as you promised," he murmurs, dipping one thumb below the fabric.

  "Mm hmm." It's the best I can manage because he's tracing places with the pad of his finger that have me unable to do anything other than moan while the most delicious sensation flows along his path.

  Miles clears his throat, loudly. "Accident up ahead. Cop cars everywhere. Might want to, um, buckle your seat belts again."

  "Oh my God." I fly off Alec's lap so fast it's a wonder I don't hurt myself. I forgot about Miles. Blue and white flash ahead of us in the distance, followed by sirens. I flash a panicked glance at Alec, wondering if he's as mortified as I am, but all he does is grin a wicked little grin—and then lick the pad of his thumb.

  Oh my God.

  Somehow we make it to Alec's condo without me spontaneously combusting.

  Somehow we make it up the elevator—and he remembers to press the button this time.

  Somehow we make it through his front door.

  But where we don't make it is anywhere else.

  He tosses me up onto the foyer console table. The wood presses sharply into the backs of my legs. I part them to give him access and he takes it, sliding between my knees and pressing toward me until there's no space between our bodies. And his mouth…his mouth takes mine, teasing, tasting, biting. He slides kisses along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone. His hands are at my waist. Mine are in his hair. I yank his head back up, needing the strength of his kiss again.

  I will never not need this.

  It's a sobering thought—but it doesn't have enough time to really sink in, because Alec's hands wrap around to my ass and he pulls me toward him, lifting me off of the table. "Told you this was my favorite way to walk," he says, nipping my lower lip. He pauses, though, at the foot of his staircase.

  My pumps clatter to the ground. "If I'm too heavy you can—"

  "Shut your beautiful mouth." He kisses me to make sure I do, and his body rises and falls as he slips his own shoes off. "I'm having a struggle with my conscience. Do I offer you something to drink—or do I toss you on my bed and show you everything I've been fantasizing about doing this entire week?"

  "The second one."

  He laughs, maybe because there was not a single moment of hesitation before my answer.

  "Don't you dare laugh at me," I say, smiling. And then I kiss him to make sure he doesn't.

  He carries me up his stairs, down his hallway—and tosses me onto his bed. Without a chance to catch my breath, he's on top of me, his knees on either side of my hips, his lips trailing along my neck, up my jaw, finding my mouth. His hands drag mine above my head.

  I yank from his grasp, pulling them right back down.

  In one motion, he flips us so that I'm straddling him. "You want control?" he asks over my gasp. "Take it, by all means."

  I only wanted my hands free so I could strip him of his shirt. But I lean down and sink my teeth into his earlobe, whispering, "Good."

  I've never felt sexier. And when I lift his shirt, peeling it off of him, the feeling only grows. All because of him, this guy,
this sexy, sweet guy with a body harder than iron. Abs like they're carved from marble, and you better believe I let my fingers drift over every hill and valley, the warmth of his skin tingling against my palms.

  His hips flex beneath me, and I feel how hard he is, and I shiver because oh wow. I did this. I made him this rigid, this thick. It makes me grin. It makes me powerful. I lean forward to kiss his chest, flickering my tongue over his nipples. He groans, his hands tightening around me, his fingers squeezing my ass.

  I drag my lips up his neck and over his jaw, loving the texture of his stubble against my tongue. I hold his hands, this time, and pull them above his head. He lifts his chin, capturing my mouth with his, and the kiss is instantly intense. Lips pressing, tongues swirling, whispered breaths between our two bodies.

  He threads his fingers through mine and beneath me, his abs go rock solid as he sits up, cradling me in his lap and breaking the kiss a moment later. "I want you in nothing but your lace. And I want to strip it from your gorgeous body."

  My stomach jumps. My body is not gorgeous, I almost say. I'd give it a C at best. (And that's probably only because Bobby Fields gave it a D in high school. I mean, I kicked him in the balls so hard I'm pretty sure he still sings falsetto—but I'm not delusional enough to go higher. I'm a realist.) What I say instead is, "How about a little mood lighting?"

  He gives me one of his soul-grazing stares, but he doesn't press it. He slides out from under me, lowering the light to a dim glow with a dial on the wall. Needing to gain back some of my momentum, I add, "Lose your pants while you're over there."

  He snorts—and drops them to the ground.

  "Why," he says, sauntering toward me, "am I not surprised you're bossy in the bedroom?"

  I shrug and motion for him to join me, but he curves his own finger for me to go to him at the base of the bed. "Come here."

  "And you say I'm bossy?"

  He grins, his teeth gleaming in the low light, his dimples darkening into sexy shadows at the edges of his lips. "Teagan. Come here. Now." And something in his tone has more than my stomach jumping. My heart. My breath. The blood in my veins.