Lies & Secrets (Boston Latte Book 1)

by Fiona Keane

“You don’t wish it,” I mocked, still counting knots. “You’re demanding it. I’m not a prisoner. I’m not a criminal. You’re clearly mentally unstable if you think you can tie me up, torture me, all in hopes of getting something from me that I don’t even have.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Julian approached, leaning against the table at my side. “It’s never my goal to torture you. I’d never hurt you.”

  “Liar.”

  “When have I hurt you?” His tone was serious, almost genuinely inquisitive.

  “It’s not when, but the fact you want to.”

  Julian knelt beneath me on the floor, his hands wrapped around my bound ankles, adding to the weight of the rope while anchoring me to the chair.

  “I don’t want to,” he said defensively. “You really find me that terrifying, don’t you?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  He scanned my face, his blue eyes darkening against mine. “Yes.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You should be,” he clarified, “but I know you’re not really frightened of me. You may spit on me all you’d like, throw me a few nasty words, whatever it is your darling lips enjoy doing to me. But I know that it’s a front, all of it. Your body speaks more loudly than you realize.”

  “I’d like to tell you to screw yourself, but I’m sure you do that all the time anyway.”

  “What are you hiding?” He squinted, avoiding my rough, irresponsible remark. Thankfully. I’m sure that would’ve had his gun out quicker than a heartbeat if someone else said it. Someone else. Why was I so important?

  “What are you hiding?” I questioned, my voice quiet.

  “She speaks!” Julian winked at me before his eyes fell to my ankles, the lines of humor erasing as he examined my bondage.

  “I’ll take off the rope,” he sighed, his tone calm and subdued, “but you need to talk to me. You need to answer whatever it is I ask of you.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

  “No.” A light chuckle erupted from his mouth while his head shook. “I imagine it’d be simply a bitch to clean that mess from this floor.” Oh, shit. I felt individual blood cells leaving my face, pooling in my heart with fear. He noticed my face pale, his palms quick to steady my cheeks.

  “I was kidding.” His laugh was authoritative, powerful. “I wouldn’t kill you in my own house. I wouldn’t kill you anyway.”

  “But you’ve killed before?”

  “I’m asking the questions, Miss Leary.”

  “Aideen.”

  “Yes.” Julian roughly rubbed his face, clearing his admission from his mind. “I have killed before, Aideen. Now may I kindly undo this rope and trust you won’t run?” I nodded, keeping my mouth still and silent.

  “Very well.” Julian removed the shackles from my ankles and looked up at me, his face inches beneath mine while he untied my wrists.

  “Before I let go of your wrists, which are lovely by the way, I need to hear you say it once more, Aideen.” His mouth was so close to mine that I felt his words against my lips. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’m…I’m not running,” I mumbled. “You’d probably kill me before I got the chance.”

  “Stop saying that.” He laughed, a genuinely humored, boyish chuckle that transformed his face. “I’m not going to kill you, Aideen. I promise.”

  “That’s a heavy thing to promise when we don’t even know each other.” My eyes lifted to his, paralyzed by how close he was. Julian’s gaze flickered away, his jaw tight as he cleared his throat and released me. I tentatively pulled my arms into my lap and rubbed my wrists once Julian returned to his sink, reaching for something in a cabinet above the stove.

  “Would you mind?” He nodded to the silver Bialetti in his right hand. “I have honey in the cabinet behind you.”

  Is he seriously asking me to make his coffee after he kidnapped me, tried to blindfold me, and tied me to a chair in his kitchen? He is delusional. A smile twitched along his lips while I shook my head. “Why the honey?”

  “I’m exhausted.” He shrugged. “I was with my family until three this morning. I haven’t slept. We need to talk. First, I need coffee. Your coffee.” He was probably up until three killing people. Killing people like me. I couldn’t trust him. Nope.

  “Can I get up?”

  “I’d hope so.” Julian placed the Bialetti on the granite countertop and pulled two mugs from another cabinet. “Everything you need. Coffee’s right there. It’s from last week’s purchase. I stole it from Maureen. I can’t get enough of it.”

  “So you said.” I eyed him suspiciously. Can’t get enough of it? Right.

  I was fearful while approaching Julian, our positions switching as he leaned against the fridge and watched me make his coffee. The absence of throbbing pain in my mind was perplexing. He was silent, observing me within his space, probably waiting for me to pull out a knife and take a slice of his handsome face. Oh, not again, Aideen.

  “I’ll get you the honey.” He stepped from the fridge. “Anything else that you need?”

  “Milk.”

  “Anything else?” His grin appeared at my side, leaning against the counter while he held the jar of honey in my face.

  “You could give me some space,” I whispered. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I know.”

  I held my breath while I looked into Julian’s eyes. They were sparkling with a smile echoing his mouth. I could’ve died right there, just looking at him was torture. I reached for the honey with shaking fingers, squeezing a few tablespoons in each mug, before grabbing a small iron pot from the rack above the stove, pouring in the milk.

  “Can you drink that?” he inquired, nodding to the carton while I poured it into the steaming pot.

  “No,” I muttered, “why’d you ask?”

  “I noticed you don’t use the same carton as everyone else at your shop.”

  “Why would you pay attention to that detail?”

  “I’m an observant man, Aideen. You have food allergies?”

  “Dairy.” I continued stirring the pot of milk, getting it to the hottest temperature to scald Julian’s perfectly puckered lips. Jesus, woman. The Bialetti began its volcanic eruption of coffee just as the milk warmed.

  “I’m afraid you’ll go hungry eating here then,” Julian sighed, turning to lean his back against the cabinet next to me while I poured the coffee into our mugs. “I’ll ask someone to run out for us.”

  “I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes while I processed his words. “Why am I going to be eating here, and why do you need someone to buy me food?”

  “Because,” he eyed me, “you’re not going anywhere.”

  The milk rippled inside the pot while my hand trembled. I tried to keep it still, hoping not to appear as uneasy and frightened as his last statement made me feel. I placed the pot back on the stove, stirring the coffee, milk, and honey in Julian’s mug. I kept my eyes away while handing him his steaming mug. It smelled heavenly—warm, robust coffee with the sweet scent of honey.

  “It’s delicious.” He sipped, licking his lips. “You’ll drink it black? Isn’t that too potent?” Potent? This dick just threatened me AGAIN, informing me I was officially his prisoner, and he is concerned with how I take my coffee? I turned away from Julian, examining the window along the opposite wall. The entire pane was white, sparkling with a sheet of ice that covered the glass. I’m really not going anywhere.

  I reluctantly turned toward Julian, not surprised he regarded me so intently. His posture was relaxed, but that shouldn’t have surprised me, as we were in his home, his element. Julian controlled this situation, however it ended. His eyes followed mine, and his laugh rattled my attention.

  “It’s not poisoned,” he stated. “I’m drinking it and you made it. Have some. It’ll make you feel better.” An eyebrow lifted as I watched him sip, his throat moving with each heavy swallow of the coffee.

  “Let’s go.” He nodded to the kitchen doorway, stepping o
ut before me. He’s leaving me in the kitchen? The room with all the knives. I could grab one, or three, and get out of here.

  “Aideen.” He returned to the doorway, leaning in the frame. “I’m quite agile. I work out twice per day. I know you’re thinking of where I keep my knives, but you also know I have greater, more destructive tools at my disposal.”

  “Jesus,” I snarled. “Stop threatening me!” His lips parted, revealing the deadly grin that blinded me.

  “You’re sick,” I sneered, my stomach twisting. “You find humor in this. This is some twisted game to you.” I dumped my coffee down the drain, not caring that the glass mug rattled against the ceramic sink when I tossed it in.

  “Get over here, Aideen.” No. “Putting me off only makes things worse. It only has made things worse.”

  “Putting you off? Like I owe you my life because you think you can control mine? Because you’re political royalty and therefore you believe you can kidnap and hurt whoever you want? Wait…made things worse?”

  Julian’s stare was lethal. I went too far, asking my questions, but I couldn’t back down. He lifted from the doorframe, holding his cup of coffee, eyes focused on me with his beautifully authoritative stare. It would’ve been enough to subdue me, but I had to get out of the kitchen. I needed to get closer to an exit. Oh. The blizzard.

  Swallowing my pride, I followed his command and approached Julian. He waited for me to be within a close enough distance before guiding me into his living room. Once inside the dark space, he pulled open the curtains, allowing blindingly bright white light to pour in. I shivered, just imagining how cold it was outside.

  “Have a seat.” His command was friendlier than previously, his voice a deep murmur as he reached for a remote and sorted through a small cedar chest below the windows. I hesitantly settled into one of the leather couches, my fingers distracted by the soft, luxurious hide beneath me.

  “You’re shivering, Aideen.” Julian towered over me, handing me a blanket. My eyes went to his forearms, drawn like magnets to the tattoos I noticed earlier.

  “What is that one for?” My index finger pointed to a small cursive D along the inside of his wrist. Julian’s skin was warm and forgiving when my finger accidentally grazed it, pulling away when the shiver continued to ripple through my body.

  My brows met as I looked up at Julian, watching him hold the blanket in one hand. His eyes rolled while inhaling a stuffy breath, unfolding the fabric and gently placing it over my lap. He had an entire room of options but nestled onto the cushion next to me, with only a foot or two separating killer and captive.

  Julian sighed, his right ankle lifting to rest on his left knee as his posture altered. He raised a remote, turning on a pair of ceiling fans that instantly filled the room with warm air. If I hadn’t already begun sweating from my proximity to Julian on his couch, next to him, then the warm swirls of wind cascading from the ceiling would have surely melted me.

  “That should help you warm rather quickly,” he commented. “Now, food? You should eat something.”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “The D is for my mother. Diana,” he murmured. “She died when I was a teen.”

  “How old are you now?”

  His brows met ruefully. “Why?”

  “Never mind.” I looked away. “I guess I don’t really need to know.”

  “Thirty-two.” His response was quick. “It’s public record. You’d find that out eventually.”

  “It’s the other stuff, right? That’s what I can’t know?”

  Julian’s legs shifted, and he turned toward me, studying every speck in my eyes.

  “I’ll order Italian,” he whispered, “no dairy. Are you comfortable yet? Warm enough?”

  “Why are you being so…”

  “So…?”

  I glanced at him, watching his nostrils twitch while resisting a laugh, before I replied. “Kind?”

  He leaned forward, the taste of honey and coffee leaving his breath as he inched closer to my face. I was drawn to his mouth; the pout was moist from his tongue as he quickly licked his soft lips.

  “Because I’m not evil.”

  I wished to differ, laughing at the hypocrisy of his statement while reflecting on the rope, the gun, the secrecy, the intimidation, everything. Don’t forget the fact you are sitting in his house, where nobody will hear you scream or know you went missing.

  Julian’s phone buzzed from the confines of his pocket, and he stood to remove it, placing the small black cell to his right ear.

  “What,” he demanded, his eyes precisely glued to me while I shivered beneath the blanket, despite the heat. Those were chills from my nerves, shivering to maintain composure, my body beginning to tremble with angst.

  “Who? How many? Well,” he paused to listen to his caller, “get someone on it. Make it stop. She is. We are. Handle it?”

  His phone dropped onto the couch, bouncing between the leather cushions, and for the first time, I noticed Julian’s demeanor alter. Both hands were pressed against his hips while his brow furrowed above his dark, twisted glare. Um…do I look away? Shit. I can’t. She is. We are. Handle it. Julian swallowed, his head dropping below his shoulders before his confidence returned and his back straightened.

  “The press I warned you about outside,” he seethed, his tone harder than moments ago when he offered to buy me dairy-free Italian food or handed me a blanket, or even described one of his tattoos.

  Julian sat on the coffee table across from me, reaching for my knee beneath the pashmina blanket. I felt every line of his fingerprints beneath the fabric, each swirl burning through layers and into my skin. My gaze followed his hold, along his arms, and to his face, confused by the searing expression he pressed into me.

  “Dammit,” he groaned, my heart echoing his sentiment as its beating quickened, “my brother is coming over.”

  Brother? Maureen mentioned those things, potentially lethal genetic clones of these Irish-American gods. I turned my lips inward, pressing painfully between my teeth as I worried about just how many Molloys wandered the streets with their smiles and guns, both deadly weapons.

  “Oh,” I muttered. What else could I say? “Bummer. I’m so sad someone is interrupting this night of romance?” Hell no. I knew my eyes gave away a lot, but I wasn’t sure how to respond or behave. Sure, I wanted to be myself, the cynical, negative woman who couldn’t care less about Julian Molloy’s hands grasping my knees through the expensive and luxurious fabric of his pashmina throw, but Julian Molloy had his hands on my knees, and it took every particle of oxygen entering my lungs to keep me from passing out. Again.

  “You’re eager to talk,” he whispered, his hands pulling from my legs, leaving behind a trail of painful absence. “And we will.”

  “Your threats,” I stated, my eyes crawling up to his, “they’re getting old.”

  “Are they?” Julian’s blue eyes sparkled with humor as he stood, continuing to stare at me.

  “Do you just happen to keep rope in your kitchen, Mr. Molloy?” Eh, I’m dead meat anyway. I’d just about kill for a steak right now.

  “It served its purpose,” he replied, his lips spreading into a deadly grin. “You’re here, aren’t you? Cocooned in my blanket, curled onto my couch. Bound again, by me.” His right fist lifted to my face, sending waves of shock throughout my skin as his knuckles grazed my cheek, his hand then raised my chin in the air.

  Julian leaned forward, the sweet honey of his coffee invading my breath, his eyes scanning my face for an eternity before he watched my lips while the words slowly left his. “I will use something else next time, Aideen.” Noted.

  My gaze unfocused, blurring into the pools of sapphire that flashed across from me. They were terribly deep; I lost myself in the vast expanse of blue. They were damaged, polluted oceans that spoke so little while revealing so much to me. He hadn’t moved, his body unflinching as it threatened my space, invading my bubble. But it feels…safe. Safe? That’s not a word I would use to
describe this situation. None of it. But…

  Julian’s phone buzzed from its home on the couch, his eyes refusing to leave mine as he reached for the phone and placed it to his ear. While leaning over me, Julian pressed buttons on his phone and stuffed it into the front pocket of his slacks. He didn’t move from his boundary of intimidation until the sound of someone’s entrance interrupted his focus.

  “Julian,” a deep voice called from the foyer as tapping footsteps increased in volume and proximity. It was faintly familiar, a hum similar to Julian’s, but I recognized it from elsewhere.

  “There you…oh.” The guest stood in the doorway, resting against the panel while crossing his hands at his waist. “Miss Leary is here. Imagine my surprise.”

  Julian straightened, making me question if I should also stand and appear less comfortable. “This is my brother, Liam. Liam, Aideen Leary.”

  I swiftly slid from the sofa, carrying the soft blanket over my left arm as I approached Liam Molloy, just as lethally gorgeous as his brother and sister. There was something different about him; his smile wasn’t a grin, but a simple expression of manners, a formality. It wasn’t his tool of threat, whereas Julian’s smile could kill. I extended my hand to him, worried he might be as arrogant as other members of his family and refuse my gesture.

  “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you under different circumstances,” Liam said, taking my hand and gently kissing my knuckles. Julian cleared his throat, and I noticed his muscular arms cross in my periphery. Liam smiled, a beaming expression that reached his sparkling blue eyes, and released my hand. I stood between the brothers, looking at both, unsure of where I belonged or what I should do. Under different circumstances? Had we met before? I would have remembered that face. He was the spitting image of his brother, but Liam had the beginnings of stubble forming.

  “We were just about to order a meal,” Julian announced. “Have you eaten?”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Liam taunted, entering the living room. He dropped his black wool coat on a dark armchair between the doorway and a bookcase that consumed an entire wall. He wasn’t as finely dressed as Julian, although he was still wearing fancy slacks and a thin emerald cashmere sweater over a light green dress shirt. Watching Liam’s fingers dance and intertwine at his waist had my mind turning in dark ways just thinking of the number of people he killed. Killed? Shouldn’t political people not be killing other people? I think I’m going to be sick.