Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  And for a price — likely an extremely steep one — they could be purchased.

  I pictured Vera on that stage, ten pairs of lewd eyes glued to her chained body as money changed hands, and had to turn away.

  The room began to shake, as though an earthquake was rumbling the entire city and disturbing the building’s foundations. I pressed a hand to my stomach, hoping I wouldn’t wretch on the lushly carpeted floor. Belatedly, I realized the trembling wasn’t the room — it was me. I’d begun to shudder violently, and no amount of deep breathing would soothe me this time.

  It was too much. All of it.

  “Come on, I have enough.” Bash grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly. “Lux, we have to go. Pull it together.”

  I knew I was spiraling quickly into panic, and would soon be of no use to anyone. Looking up into Sebastian’s eyes, I tried to ground myself. The steadiness in their depths lent me strength enough to snap myself out of it.

  “I’m fine.” I swallowed roughly. “Let’s go.”

  He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me back toward the kitchen door. We flew down the pitch-black stairwell as fast my heeled feet would allow, emerging into the downstairs prep room breathless and fraught with tension. When Bash opened the door to the sitting room, we rushed inside so quickly we nearly plowed straight into the small man standing a few feet away, seemingly waiting for us.

  “Charles,” Bash said, coming to an abrupt halt and squeezing my hand a little tighter.

  “Sir.” Charles did not look happy. In fact, he looked downright peeved that we’d been caught outside his carefully laid boundaries. “Were you looking for something particular in the kitchen area?” he asked in a smoothly cultured voice that totally contradicted the vexed glare his eyes were shooting at us.

  “No, the door was left open and we wandered inside by mistake.” Bash forced a grin. “Sweet knife set — are those custom-made Shun blades?”

  Charles glare intensified. “I believe so, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Sebastian sidestepped and pulled me along with him, angling us closer to the exit. “Well, we’ve had about as much exploring as we can take for one night. You’ve been a great help, Charles.”

  “We hope to see you again in the future, Mr. Covington.” Charles seemed all too eager to be rid of us, practically escorting us toward the door and back into the atrium. “I’ll call for your car to be brought around.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  “Goodnight, sir.” The mysterious butler vanished in seconds, slipping into an alcove somewhere or perhaps simply fading into the wallpaper like a chameleon taught to camouflage itself in the presence of predators. Though I could no longer see him, I felt his watchful eyes still lingering on the back of my neck as we headed for the mammoth front doors and out into the night, leaving behind a well-moneyed, well-secluded auction room where business of the most deplorable kind was conducted — as well as a small piece of my soul.

  * * *

  Bash was pacing.

  He’d been pacing for an hour, and I was worried he’d soon begin to wear a tread mark into the lovely hardwood floors of his loft. I was curled up in a ball on the window seat, my borrowed heels discarded on the floor next to me. I didn’t know what to say to him — there was nothing I could say to make this right. When another twenty minutes ticked by in the dark, silent room and he showed no signs of stopping, I sighed and hopped down from my perch.

  I walked over and planted myself in his path, slipping my hands around the back of his neck and forcing him to still. His head was bowed, his breathing labored — it seemed the shock that had hit me in the auction room was only now catching up to him.

  “Bash,” I whispered. “Look at me.”

  He raised bleak eyes to meet mine. A moment of silence passed between us, and when he spoke his voice was haunted. “You were right.”

  I arched my brows in question.

  “I’d half convinced myself that you were delusional. I didn’t want to believe…” He trailed off.

  “I know.”

  “My father…” Bash’s lips twisted in revulsion and his eyes pressed closed. “If he’s involved in this…”

  I was quiet, my mind fully occupied by memories of a cold December night on the eve of Sebastian’s eighteenth birthday. Andrew Covington — his hands roaming the body of a defenseless young maid in his pantry. I knew, with unshakeable clarity, that the senator was capable — more than capable — of rape. Why shouldn’t he be capable of this as well?

  “You aren’t your father,” I said, cupping Bash’s face between my palms and drawing his gaze back to mine. “You cut him out of your life a long time ago.”

  “He’s my family.” Bash’s voice held both contempt and disgust. “His blood runs in my veins.”

  “You once told me that you believe family isn’t determined by the crib you’re born into — it’s the family you make with someone you love.” I held his gaze intently. “Blood isn’t always thicker than water, Bash. I believe things like friendship, things like love — the things you get to choose in this life — are the most important things we have. They’re what we have to hold on to. Don’t you still believe that?”

  Some of the ghosts cleared from his eyes as he stared back at me. “I should’ve fought for you,” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “Back then,” he said, swallowing hard. “I should’ve fought for you. Instead, I spent a long time blocking out every emotion I felt for you. And when I finally stopped being hurt and confused and headstrong, when I started to let feeling back in… six years had passed and I was alone, on the other side of the world, without the only person I’d ever wanted standing by my side.”

  I felt my breath catch.

  “I hated myself for getting lost in that anger, for all that time I’d wasted running away from the one thing that truly scared me.”

  “What was that?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “Whether or not you’d been honest that day,” Bash whispered. “I knew if I found you, if I saw you again, and you were indifferent to me — as cold and calculated as you’d been the day you broke my heart — I’d never survive it. So staying away became an act of self-preservation.”

  I skimmed my fingers against his close-shaved jawline, hoping to sooth him.

  “If there was even a possibility that you still loved me, I should’ve done everything it took to fight for you.” He closed his eyes tightly. “But I didn’t. Because it was easier to block you out, to shut out any possibility of finding you again and learning if my fears were right. I was afraid — a coward.”

  “Bash—” I interjected, but he spoke over me.

  “But after six long fucking years, I finally realized something.” His eyes opened and began to burn into mine. “I could love you, or I could hate you, or I could miss you from ten thousand miles away, but none of it did me a damn bit of good, because none of it gave me what I wanted.” He cleared his throat roughly. “None of it gave me you.”

  “Bash…” I whispered.

  “Just let me get this out.” He reached up and covered one of my hands with his. “You blame yourself for what happened to us — I get that. I see it on your face every time you look at me. But you weren’t the only one at fault.”

  I felt my heart skip.

  “I always said, when I found the love of my life, I’d fight for her. That I’d do whatever I had to do to earn my soulmate. I walked around, spouting Hannibal’s words…” His eyes dropped to my heart, their focus so intense I feared they might singe a hole through the neckline of my dress to where the ink lay beneath. “But when it came time to really live those words — I stumbled. I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t question it. I let my own pride and heartbreak cloud my judgment. I let you walk away. And then I hid, halfway across the world, unwilling to — What? Get my ego bruised a second time?” He blew out a huff of air in self-
deprecation.

  “Bash—” I tried again.

  “I love you.” He said simply, his eyes fierce. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I clapped eyes on you in Latin class. Since that day in the rain, when you climbed into my car and slipped my sweater over your head to get warm. Since the first time I watched you with Jamie, laughing and joking even though the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Since I saw you running in crazy, breathless circles around the circumference of my favorite tree, a look of absolute joy on your face.” He traced a finger down my cheek. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

  “Bash—” My voice was thready.

  “No, you don’t get to talk. No more telling me I’m crazy or running away from this.” His hands slipped around my shoulders and wound up into my hair. “I’ve been playing it your way, waiting patiently for you to come around. And, Freckles?”

  He leaned close and our lips brushed.

  “My patience has officially expired.”

  His lips landed on mine — consuming me, devastating me, stripping away my every defense. I didn’t try to fight it — I didn’t want to fight it. Instead, I kissed him back, just as hungrily. I met his kiss head on, my hands clinging tightly to his shoulders to steady myself. He broke away to curse under his breath as one of his hands worked at the tiny, stubborn zipper on the back of my dress. I worried he was about to tear it off me — which would probably get me, Fae, and Simon fired from Luster — but the jammed tread finally gave and slid open. The dress pooled by my feet, and I heard Bash growl at the sight of what lay beneath.

  Simon and Fae had insisted on the sheer black corset, instead of the plain strapless bra I’d wanted to wear. They’d argued that the bustier’s garter straps were necessary to hold up my stockings, tying me into the tightly-bound contraption before I could so much as mutter the words Why aren’t there any underwear? At the time, I hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea but now, as I watched a carnal, possessive look fill Sebastian’s eyes while he took in my ensemble, I was more than happy to have such overbearing friends.

  “Holy hell,” he muttered, his eyes locked on my body.

  His hands reached around to my back and worked at the bindings there as my fingers unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it upward, untucking it from his pants. My palms slid up his bare chest muscles and beneath the jacket on his shoulders. With a swift movement, I pushed the garment to the ground, followed soon after by his crisp white shirt. They landed in a heap next to my abandoned dress.

  I laughed as Bash struggled to untie the corset, and he glared at me. “I’m about to cut you out of this thing,” he threatened, the serious look in his eyes telling me his words were no idle threat.

  “Here,” I said, turning in his arms so he had better access to the laces at my back.

  His hands worked faster now, finally making some headway and loosening the ties enough to slide the corset off. As it fell to the floor, Bash’s hands skimmed from the small of my back, around my bare hips, and finally to my breasts. I pressed into his touch, my head resting against his shoulder blade and my eyes locked on his bed across the loft. Just above it, the photograph of our tree was visible even in the shadows — a perfect beacon of the past, its beauty immortalized forever on canvas.

  My breaths grew ragged and my focus went fuzzy as one of Bash’s hands worked its way down my body, his expert fingers quickly making my knees go weak. When he felt me beginning to lose control, he spun me around in his arms to face him. Leaning down, he gently pulled the gartered stockings from my feet, pressing a kiss to each kneecap as he did so. On his journey back upward, Bash kissed a path along my body, stopping at a few sensitive areas that made me gasp and weave my fingers into his hair, pressing him as close against me as I could manage.

  A moan slipped from my lips — a low, instinctual sound that reverberated in my throat — and at the noise, Bash abruptly stood, hiked his hands beneath my thighs, and lifted me against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed his neck as he strode toward the bed, carrying me with hurried impatience.

  It had been a long seven years, waiting for this moment.

  When he lowered me onto the bed, I fell back against plush down pillows and watched through half-closed eyes as one by one, he removed his shoes, undid his belt, and let what was left of his clothing drop to the floor.

  “I can’t believe you’re here, in my bed.” His voice was husky with lust, deeper than I’d ever heard it. “I’ve had this dream, over and over, so many nights I’ve lost count. I keep thinking any minute I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone, just another figment of my past I can’t get back.”

  I didn’t think about repercussions or consequences. I didn’t think about anything but Sebastian, and how desperately I needed to feel his bare skin on mine. I extended my hand up to him. “Touch me, Bash. I’m no dream — I’m real.” My voice was breathy. “Touch me. Please.”

  At my words, his restraint shredded completely. He was on me, in me, before he’d even settled fully on the bed, his thrust making us both gasp in unison at the feeling of being whole again, rejoined and connected, for the first time in so long I’d nearly forgotten what it could be like. Our eyes locked, the inferno of passion blazing so strongly between us I thought his gaze might burn me to ashes, but I couldn’t look away.

  My view was perfection — the man I loved hovering over me and, on the wall above us, a gorgeous backdrop of the most beautiful oak tree in the world. And, to me, it was somehow right, somehow perfect, that after all this time, our joining should happen once again beneath the shadows of our tree, sheltered under its sweeping boughs as we’d been one spring day a million afternoons ago… Back when we were two dumb kids, fumbling and stumbling upon the joys of one another for the first time. Young and in love and, for a brief time, full of infinite dreams for a bright future together.

  Those kids we’d been weren’t gone — they were still inside us, calling out in ecstasy at having found each other again after all this time. And as the grown man and woman we’d become reveled in the joy of rediscovering each other, so did the souls of our youth. They sang out, a hymn of passion and reunion, their joyous melody guiding me down the path to sheer oblivion, and I felt my chest swell with pressure.

  I felt a short, sharp sensation within the left side of my breast — a pang, as though my chest was overflowing with too much blood — followed by the most intense feeling of completeness, of utter wholeness I’d ever experienced. Pleasure built to a tipping point, crashing me down into release, and my last thought as I spun madly into euphoria was that after seven long years, it had finally happened.

  I had my heart back.

  * * *

  I used the illuminated screen from my cellphone to guide me around the loft. A glance back at the bed revealed that Bash was still fast asleep, sprawled across the down comforter with his limbs askew. I wanted nothing more than to climb back in bed with him, but that would have to wait for a while.

  I had something to do first.

  The familiar ping of my cellphone receiving a text message had woken me from a deep slumber. I’d opened my eyes to find my limbs completely entwined with Bash’s. His leg was wrapped around mine, one arm was thrown over my midsection, and his face was nestled into the hollow of my throat. I’d smiled as I slowly untangled myself from the knot of limbs and linens on the bed, moving cautiously so as not to wake him. There were deep shadows under his eyes from one too many sleepless nights of work and worry. It was easy to forget that in addition to everything we now knew about Labyrinth, the weight of the entire Centennial issue was on his shoulders as well.

  Bash stirred once as I worked myself free, but simply shifted and sighed before falling back into a deep sleep. When I managed to make my way to the edge of the bed, I turned back around to look at him with a small smile on my lips. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to survive so long without seeing his face every day, without hearing his laugh or being the subject of his jokes,
but I wasn’t going to do it anymore.

  Screw the honorable Senator Andrew Covington and his NDA. If he wanted to play hardball with me — threaten to take my parents’ house, come after me for repayment of Jamie’s medical bills, or demand restitution for breaking the terms of our contract — that was just fine. After what I’d learned tonight at Labyrinth, there was only one of us who should be worried about the fallout from their actions — and it wasn’t me.

  When I reached the center of the loft, I grabbed Bash’s discarded white button down and pulled it on. In the darkness, I stubbed my toe on his coffee table, letting out a subdued scream of pain as I hopped silently toward the countertop where I’d left my purse. I pulled my cellphone out just as another low ping sounded, alerting me to an incoming text. Sliding my finger across the screen, I saw I had three unanswered messages from Fae.

  Fae: Are you awake?

  Fae: Are you awake now?

  Fae: How are you possibly still asleep? If you don’t text back, I’m coming over.

  Lux: I’m here. Relax.

  Fae: Well, I was worried. You didn’t text me after your super secret mission.

  Lux: Long story — will explain in person.

  Fae: Perfect! Come downstairs.

  Lux: What?

  Fae: I’m here. Come to the parking garage — black limo waiting by the elevator.