Tell Me a Story (The Story Series Book 1)

by Tamara Lush

  “No, don’t be.” He squeezed my legs. “I have nothing to hide with you. I trust you. I wouldn’t have cared if you’d looked through my drawers or closets or wherever. I’m transparent for you.”

  I traced his cheekbone, then the side of his face, then his jaw. Why was he so damned good?

  “Emma, I didn’t tell you the whole story about my wife.”

  Now my eyes were wide open.

  He let out a long sigh. “After nine years of marriage, Tara and I had grown apart. We were both thirty-two. She wanted children—I wasn’t sure. We’d started living apart and we each had lawyers. It was amicable, though, there was no bitterness. And then she was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer.”

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, a chill going through me. That poor woman. “That’s horrible.”

  Caleb pushed out another breath. “Yep. It was. I couldn’t sign the divorce papers. Although we didn’t want to be married, we were friends, good friends. And I couldn’t let her fight alone. Couldn’t let her die alone. I wasn’t that kind of man. So I stayed with her until the end. She was gone within a year.”

  My stomach felt like it had been kicked, hard and swift. Caleb was not only a good man, he was practically a damned saint. I folded myself on top of him, my body soft and boneless.

  “So you see, Emma, I haven’t spent all of this time pining after my dead wife like you thought. It’s true that I loved her and will always love her, but she was like a sister. I keep her photo in the guest room because sometimes her brother comes to visit. That’s why it’s still here.”

  I nodded and kissed his chest, not knowing what to say.

  “I wanted to tell you the truth.”

  I scowled, trying to will away tears. I wasn’t even sure why I was ready to cry. “Thank you.”

  “And you can do the same with me. About whatever you want. I want us to be honest with each other. I sense you’ve been hesitant about some things, like sleeping over. You seem to hold back from me. I barely know anything about your childhood, other than that you grew up west of here. You know all about my upbringing. Hell, I even told you about that time in third grade when I brought a snake to school, got into a fight, and was suspended all in the same day.”

  I smiled, recalling the story. He had told me a lot about himself, probably because I’d asked him lots of questions to derail him from asking about me.

  “Emma, you don’t need to be so closed off. I’d like to…”

  “Like to what?”

  His hand went to the back of my neck and massaged my tense muscles. “See where this goes.”

  I sat up. “You would? This isn’t just a fling?”

  He shook his head. “We have more than a sexual connection. I can find sex anywhere. Don’t get me wrong—our sex is incredible.” He paused. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

  I reared back as if a blast of cold air had swept into the room. He was the best I’d ever had, but for some reason, his revelation shocked me. “Really?”

  “Why do you look so skeptical? Yes. It’s not like I slept around a lot before you. I was married and faithful for ten years, and then I didn’t date for a while after that. Sure, I’ve been with some women, but nothing serious. I guess I shut myself off emotionally. I don’t know. But I also haven’t had time for a relationship. I do work.”

  “You work too much,” I murmured and pressed my lips to his cheek.

  He sighed. “That’s what Tara used to say. It was one of the reasons why we grew apart. I think I’ve gotten better, though. I’m trying to be better about it. For you.”

  “Me?”

  He touched my nose with his fingertip and rubbed in a circular motion. “Yeah. You, silly. I’d like to explore with you.”

  I liked his words so much that I growled and bit his neck lightly. “Explore?”

  “Yeah, you know, go on dates, trips, get to know each other, have meaningful conversations? You’re special, you know that?”

  I kissed the spot where I’d bitten him. I’d learned to not fully trust men when they were that effusive. But I wanted to believe what Caleb was saying. God, how, I wanted to believe him. “Mmm,” I hummed against his skin. He’d given me no reason not to trust him…

  He wrapped his hand around the back of my head and pulled me to his lips, seizing my mouth with a scorching, languid kiss. “I’d also like to explore other things with you,” he murmured.

  “Other things?”

  “Mmm. Yeah. Like sexual things. You make me want to do things I’ve never done.”

  I sat up, grinning. “You’re full of surprises tonight. Like what?”

  He traced a line up my thigh with his finger, leaving sparks in its wake. “I’d like to tie you up. Blindfold you. Spank you. Garden-variety kink. Have you try those things with me. Explore together.”

  “Ooo,” I squealed. “I like. I’ve never done those things. I might write erotica, but I’ve been pretty tame in real life.” Thrilled, I leaned to kiss him. I took a long inhale of his scent and sighed. I hadn’t been this happy with a man in a long time. And to think I’d thought this was only going to be a one-night stand…

  “There’s something more here, don’t you agree, Emma? Something worth exploring?” He sounded sleepy.

  I bobbed my head in agreement. “I’m a little scared, Caleb.”

  “Of what?”

  “I could fall hard for you.”

  “Fall?” he murmured.

  “Mmhmm.” I wrapped myself around him again and pressed my face into his neck, unable to look at him. “Fall.”

  “Sounds like an adventure,” he whispered, then kissed me.

  12

  The next evening, we powered through the throngs of tourists packed into Epcot. We were dressed formally—Caleb in a gorgeous, dark blue suit and me in a short black dress with a black lace overlay and long, lace sleeves—and we headed to a French restaurant, among the nicest in all of the parks. I’d tamed my hair by sweeping it up and off my neck, although some of the curls threatened to spring free with each step I took.

  “Are you sure I’m dressed appropriately?”

  “Of course. You’re gorgeous. I’m sorry I didn’t give you more time to prepare.”

  “I did the best I could with the time I had,” I muttered, swiftly dodging a slow-moving family, all clutching big, sticky orange popsicles.

  When we woke that morning, Caleb sprang the dinner plans and said he wanted me at his side. It was a semi-formal function for a state architect association, and because Caleb was so busy in Brazil, it had slipped his mind to ask me earlier. Initially, I’d demurred and pouted, not wanting to socialize outside of my comfort zone with people I didn’t know.

  “You can come over after the dinner,” I said.

  But he insisted, saying he didn’t want to attend alone. After many kisses, a trip to an expensive boutique for the dress, and more kisses under a steamy shower at his house, he’d convinced me—although I’d briefly wondered if I was becoming a rich man’s plaything. It was a thought that bothered me, and I was unusually silent as we drove to the park and as we walked.

  “I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” he said, slipping his arm around my waist. “You’re better at small talk than anyone I know.”

  Caleb had only seen me in action at my store, which was my element, or around my friends. He didn’t know that I could be socially anxious in certain situations.

  As we made our way into the French-themed area of the park, I drew in a breath. Several people were gathered at the entrance of the expensive restaurant, and I spotted a woman wearing a fur stole walking through the door. I rolled my eyes.

  Fur. In Orlando. It was February and all of seventy-two degrees.

  I reminded myself to be kind and followed Caleb inside. We were seated at a too-small table with two other couples in a packed private room. Caleb knew everyone and introduced me, and I unfurled my napkin and placed it in my lap so I could repeatedly wipe my sweaty palms without
anyone noticing.

  A glass of Cabernet and some Carla Bruni songs in French soothed my nerves, and the tension in my shoulders mostly dissolved as the minutes ticked away. Conversation was a little stilted at first, and I asked the women at the table about their children and complimented their jewelry. By the time the salad was served, we were all laughing like old friends. Everything was as smooth as chocolate mousse until one of the women at the table, a woman about Caleb’s age, tossed her tawny hair while looking our way.

  “Caleb, I’ve never forgotten what a wonderful time we had at your Super Bowl party that year. Tara made the best pork ribs I’ve ever eaten. How I miss her.”

  It was at that moment that the waiter appeared and plunked down my entrée. It was a plate of vegetables that the chef had prepared especially for me, since all of the other meals were meat-based. I stared at the green beans, artfully arranged around two tiny potatoes. No one else had their meals yet, and I felt my cheeks get hot.

  I didn’t eat meat, I hated football, and I didn’t belong here with any of these people. I didn’t think the tawny-haired woman was trying to be catty. No, her voice was sincere. Kind, even. Caleb’s wife was clearly her friend, and she was only recalling a sweet memory.

  But that didn’t make me feel any better.

  As if he could sense my unease, Caleb leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I’m going to order a cheese plate for you.”

  “No, I’m okay.” I squeezed his hand, tamping down my unease. “Thanks, though.”

  I ate in silence and tried to relax. We were halfway through a delicious flourless chocolate cake when a man stood at the podium at the front of the room. Caleb had warned of a presentation of sorts that we’d have to sit through. Apparently his father had founded this group decades ago.

  So I savored each small bite of my cake, and Caleb stretched his arm around the back of my chair. I zoned out, thinking about whether I could truly handle this kind of social life on the regular if we were really together for the long haul. Sipping my wine, I realized that I could, because being with Caleb was that wonderful. He was the perfect mix of respectful and assertive, attentive and alpha. Like Sarah said, I needed to be more genuine with Caleb. Be myself.

  Because maybe I’d found my real-life dream man. I smiled at him, and he stroked my back. I rested my hand on his knee and squeezed, thinking about how he’d woken me up that morning with the most sensual kisses on my neck.

  Yes, I could handle this. I took another sip of wine. Forget about that woman who’d brought up his wife. She obviously didn’t know the truth, and I did. No matter.

  Just then, the man at the front of the room said he was going to give an award to the developer who had done the most for Florida in the past year. He said Caleb’s name, and I beamed.

  “I had no idea,” I said proudly, kissing him on the cheek. He brushed his lips against mine and rose. I grinned as he walked to the podium. He was easily the most handsome man in the room and the most self-assured. And he was mine.

  The presenter, an older man with white hair and preternaturally orange skin, talked about Caleb’s father, then about the family’s contributions to Florida architecture. It was impressive, his family’s history. I’d no idea the family was so influential. The man mentioned the Miami high-rise that Caleb was always talking about, the one that would soon be the tallest structure in that city. I caught Caleb’s eye and grinned. He winked at me.

  “And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one other project that Caleb’s company is working on,” the man said. “Hell, Caleb, you probably barely know about this because it’s small potatoes—you’re handling Miami and Brazil. But that decrepit building in downtown Orlando? The one that’s half-empty, with all those weird little stores on the first floor? the King Group is going to knock it down and turn it into a brand-spanking new building. It’s brilliant. I saw the plans the other day.”

  My breath caught in the top of my chest, and I held it there, tense. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. Historic building downtown? Decrepit? Weird little stores?

  Caleb tilted his head, a puzzled look on his face, and the man roared. “Gotcha! I knew it!” He clapped his hand on Caleb’s back. “I know your brother’s in charge of that one. 436 West Orange Street. The old bank building. It’s going to change the whole look of downtown when you put up that new steel-and-glass beauty. So you see, from Miami to Orlando, the King Group is remaking Florida one building at a time.”

  I must have gasped out loud because the tawny-haired woman shot me a scowl.

  436 West Orange. My building. My bookstore. My life.

  The man at the podium said something about donating a check to Caleb’s favorite charity and people clapped. I didn’t. I couldn’t look at Caleb. Grabbing my purse, I fled, flying out the door and smack into the crowd of tourists.

  * * *

  “Sarah? Can you come get me? I’m in Norway.” I took another mouthful of aquavit, a Norwegian liqueur that tasted like caraway, dill, and misery. I was on my second foul-tasting shot.

  “What the hell? Did your rich boyfriend whisk you away to see the Northern Lights?”

  I squirmed on the barstool and nearly fell off. “No. I’m at Epcot. And I’m drunk and don’t have my car. And I’m in Norway. You know—Anna? Elsa? Frozen? Like my heart right now? You still have your annual park pass, right? Come on down and get me and we can head to Canada. Or Mexico.”

  “Wow. You’re not making sense. Yeah, I’ve got my pass. Don’t move. Don’t talk to anyone. Stop fucking drinking. Be there as soon as I can.”

  Caleb had already texted me at least ten times and called me five. I ignored everything and kept on doing shots by myself. By the time Sarah arrived, I was good and toasty.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen you like this. You normally don’t do shots.” Sarah held my arm as I slid off the barstool and stumbled as I tried to walk in my four-inch heels.

  “I normally don’t find out that my boyfriend’s a traitor.” I don’t think my words came out as snappy as I intended because Sarah scowled.

  She hooked her arm firmly into mine and steered me past a store with trolls and Norse gods. I started to speak, then caught a whiff of smoked salmon and gagged.

  Sarah held me tighter. “Let’s save the discussion for the car. You can barely form sentences. And you’re staying on my sofa tonight.”

  13

  I woke the next morning, my head stuffed between the cushion and the arm of Sarah’s couch. My eyes felt like they’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper. My mouth tasted like ass. And since I hadn’t washed my makeup off, my skin was slick and oily. I rubbed my cheeks and felt an emerging pimple. When I was stressed, my face broke out. I let out a long groan, which made my head throb even harder.

  “Morning, sunshine.” Sarah was at her kitchen table, drinking coffee. She looked perky in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a sleek ponytail. Somehow, I was in her yoga pants and a grey T-shirt but didn’t remember changing out of my dress, which was on the coffee table.

  I was too old for this kind of morning.

  “Fuuuuck,” I whispered.

  “Em, I haven’t seen you that drunk since junior year at college.”

  The entire night rushed back into my mind in hazy snippets. I swore softly again and rubbed my throbbing temples. “Did I tell you everything that happened?”

  “Yep. You did. And Caleb’s been blowing up your phone all night and all morning. I shut it off around two because you were threatening to call him and tell him off. Maybe you should give him a call now that you’re sober. If you’re sober, that is.”

  I sighed. “Dunno if I’m sober. But no. Not calling him today. And maybe not ever. Did I tell you that his company bought the building?”

  “Yep,” she replied.

  “He had to have known. The moment he walked into the bookstore, he must have known his company had bought the building.”

  “That’s not what his texts said.”

  “What the hell? You read my text
s?”

  She sipped her coffee. The quality that made me love her—the ability to be totally unflappable—annoyed me at that moment.

  “Had to. I needed to find out what you were crying about last night. I wanted to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.”

  “Well, he did. Hurt me, that is. Jerk.” I sat up and my entire body felt like it had been run over by a train. Repeatedly.

  Sarah grunted. “Maybe y’all should talk it out before you judge him. He owns a pretty big company, Emma. I looked it up last night. It’s one of the top five development companies in the entire US. It’s got assets in the billions.”

  “It does?” I squinted my eyes shut and felt the hot, smelly breath of Maggie, her dog, on my hand. I opened my eyes to pet her sleek brindle fur. Somehow I’d been so enamored with Caleb that I’d neglected to discover that he was some sort of mogul. I knew he was wealthy, but billions? He was so down to earth. And somehow I’d assumed that the developer who’d bought our building was some local yokel.

  I groaned again as Maggie licked my foot. Shit, I had to get home to feed Higgins. Thank God I’d bought him one of those water fountain things and an automatic feeder.

  “Yeah, it does. It’s enormous. And I did some more searching online. One of the King Group’s subsidiaries bought your building. The documents were filed Friday at City Hall. So that’s probably why he wasn’t briefed on the project. It’s still in the early stages. He’s at the top of a massive company. This project probably isn’t even a big deal to him.”

  “Well, it’s a big fucking deal to me.”

  I shuffled to the coffeemaker and poured myself a cup of bitter, black brew. Two sips were enough to make me retch and I dumped it into the sink.

  Sarah’s news didn’t make me feel any better. I didn’t want a rich man. I wasn’t interested in a billionaire.

  I didn’t want to talk to anyone, not Sarah and definitely not Caleb. I felt numb. Maybe he’d been keeping a secret from me, and even if he hadn’t, I didn’t want him to know how much trouble I’d be in financially if I lost the bookstore. Somehow, this situation was more painful than when I’d discovered Eric was married. It was my fault for trusting Caleb so soon and not finding out more about his business. I should have put two and two together.