Exposed: Laid Bare: Volume 1

by S. R. Grey

  It was ridiculous of me to hold onto him like this. He’d moved on. There were photos of him out with models—dating, living his life. Never a clear shot of him, he didn’t allow that, but the paparazzi had caught him out a time or two.

  On a wintry March morning, with a thick carpet of snow still on the ground, I bundled up in a heavy sweater, high boots, and a bulky coat, and drove north of the city.

  “This is crazy,” I told myself as I pulled into a lot in a public park, a public park not far from Lucien’s estate. The park was empty, save for a flock of Canada geese out on the ice-covered lake.

  “I need to do this,” I whispered, glancing up at my reflection in the rearview mirror.

  I looked tired, with dark circles under my eyes. The past two months had been rough. No Lucien, no hits of whatever it was he gave to me.

  Well, I was here to get my fix, even if it was only from afar.

  I got out of the car and walked in the direction of Lucien’s estate, trudging through heavy drifts of snow like they were nothing. I was on a mission.

  I’d not felt Lucien’s presence in so long. This was my experiment to see if narrowing the geography between us would result in re-establishing his connection with me. I’d not felt him in my head since the morning he’d left me.

  We were still tethered, though, and I missed him.

  Continuing on through the heavy snow, I worked my way to the edge of the lake. With no leaves on the trees, I was hoping Lucien’s mansion would be visible up at the northernmost tip of the large body of water.

  So, I headed north.

  Unfortunately, it was slow going as there was lots of ice around the lake. I walked and walked, still, and as I made my way along the lake shore, the geese honked at me as if I were an intruder. I supposed in their iced-over world I was an unwelcome sight.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled when I passed an exceptionally noisy group.

  “Or would that be a gaggle?” I said to myself, smiling at my own random musings.

  Suddenly, to my utter shock and surprise, someone answered.

  “That would indeed be a gaggle, Miss Vaughn,” a smooth male voice replied.

  I spun to face whoever had snuck up on me. However, I knew before I turned around whom I’d find standing there. I knew not just from the voice, a voice I missed, but from the presence I felt.

  “Lucien,” I whispered, “you’re here.”

  I smiled, and he smiled back at me, as dashing as ever. He was bundled up in a long black overcoat and a gray wool scarf. His dark hair was a little mussed and slightly longer than usual, making him look wild and untamed.

  “Dahlia,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue deliciously, like the day he’d first uttered it.

  Oh, how I burned for this man. I longed to tell him how much I had missed him, but there was no need.

  “I missed you, too,” he quietly replied.

  “This is crazy,” I said as I stood there and simply stared at him.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed, it is.” He offered me his arm. “Come, Dahlia, walk with me.”

  When I touched him, looping my arm through his, it felt as if I’d come home. Relaxed in a way I’d not known in months, I leaned into him. “Are you mad I’m here?” I asked.

  “No,” was his simple reply.

  And then we walked in silence. We continued in the direction I’d been heading, to the north end of the lake. And as I’d anticipated, Lucien’s looming stone mansion was completely visible from that vantage point. What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the perfectly cleared trail leading to his home.

  “Is that where you came from?” I asked, looking up at Lucien as we came to a stop.

  His dark eyes met mine. “I came from behind you,” he reminded me. “If I’d taken the trail, you would have seen me heading in your direction.”

  I had no response other than, “Good point.”

  A beat passed, and then I asked, “Where do we go from here, Lucien?”

  My question was laden with double meaning.

  We resumed walking, and he chuckled. “That depends on you, Dahlia.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” His tone implied, now sit with that.

  As we neared the cleared trail, I asked, “So, where are we heading right now?”

  “To my house, if that’s okay with you.”

  Was he kidding? “Of course it’s okay with me,” I replied.

  Confused, however, I halted my steps. When Lucien did the same, I said, “Just one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  Shifting from foot to foot, I said softly, “I thought we were done, Lucien. I never heard from you after you got the picture back. I figured that was it. It’s been more than two months, and I know you’ve been with other women.” I gasped in a breath, the air a cold knife in my lungs. “There’s no use pretending. I know you’ve moved on.”

  Lucien touched my arm gently. “Dahlia, Dahlia,” he murmured.

  “What?” I looked up at him. “Did you even hear a single word I just said? You’ve given me every indication to think we are over and done.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have.”

  “Two months,” I stressed. “And not one word.”

  “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I suppose I view time differently. And maybe that part of us, those few days we shared, is over.” He smiled, as radiant as ever. “But no one ever said there can’t be a new beginning, right?”

  With that possibility out there, I smiled back at him.

  We resumed walking, walking toward his home, walking toward a new, undefined future. Where it would take us, I had no clue.

  But it didn’t matter.

  I was with Lucien now. And whether it was for an hour, a year, or an eternity, I was game for whatever length of time we might have together. Together—as we were meant to be.

  Or so I hoped.

  Read on for a preview of the next installment of the Laid Bare novellas, Unveiled: Laid Bare (Laid Bare Volume #2)

  Unveiled: Laid Bare

  Dahlia

  Lucien Chambers led me along the icy trail back to his mansion, a Tudor monstrosity that loomed like a ghostly specter on this cold March day. I shivered and quaked in my winter boots. I hoped Lucien couldn’t feel my uncertainty, my fear, as it was certainly possible with my arm looped through his.

  Whether my sudden trepidation was brought on by anticipation of what would come next, or by outright terror, I couldn’t be sure. See, the problem was for as much as I longed to be with Lucien—and oh, did I ever—a part of me feared him. I feared the unknown surrounding him, I feared not knowing what he really was, and I feared just how insanely connected to him I felt.

  This might not end well. I had to accept that possibility.

  A shudder ran through me, prompting Lucien to ask, “Are you having second thoughts, Dahlia?”

  I shook my head firmly. “No,” I replied.

  Lucien slowed up. He spun me to him and cocked his head, assessing me. I smiled up at him. Damn, he was tall.

  I guess he saw through my forced ease…or maybe he read my mind, since he said, “We can always turn around, you know.”

  His voice was smooth and low and I couldn’t discern how serious he was.

  “I’ll walk you back to your car if you want,” he continued. “You can return to your apartment, continue on as you have. It will be as if we never came upon one another over by the lake. Whatever you want, Dahlia, I will do…for you.”

  He gestured to the frozen body of water now in the distance. We’d walked quite far already, closer and closer to the point of no return. “Do you want to go back?” he asked once more, this time only as a whisper.

  Lucien clearly wanted me to stay, continue on with him. Swallowing hard, I replied, “I can’t go back, Lucien. You know I can’t just turn around and leave.”

  He had this hold over me, and it felt stronger than ever now that we had reunited. He knew this, he had to.

  “I
do,” he replied softly, a response to my thoughts that he could hear when he so desired.

  I started to turn away, but I wasn’t sure which way to go—back to the car, or to Lucien’s.

  He grabbed my hand, making my decision for me. I was going nowhere until he’d said his piece.

  “Listen to me, Dahlia,” he implored. “I can do more than make it as if you never saw me out here today.” He lowered his voice and his slight British accent became more pronounced. “I can give you a memory that will leave you thinking you drove up to the park to get away for an afternoon. You’ll forget you ran into me, you’ll forget all of this. But more than that, I can remove every memory you have of me.”

  “What?” I was horrified. I wrenched my hand from his, and gasped, “Why would you offer to do such a thing, Lucien? Is that what you really want?”

  “No,” he said, his angry dark eyes meeting my own unhappy stare. “If I wanted that I would have left you be over at the lake.”

  “So, why are you giving me an out? You sought me out.”

  His eyes penetrating, he murmured. “Yes, I did seek you out. I sensed your presence, and I came to you. And that is precisely the reason why I am now giving you, as you so eloquently put it, an out.”

  I smiled, this time genuinely. But Lucien’s frown remained, furrowing his raven brows. He had no idea how unearthly beautiful he was, especially at times such as these, when he allowed me to see his vulnerability, his frustration. Usually Lucien was well-aware of his effect on the people around him, particularly me, but I could see how in this moment he had no idea just how incredibly appealing he was.

  “What?” he asked, head cocked slightly to the right.

  I reached up and swept back an unruly lock of raven-black hair that had fallen to his forehead. “You’re beautiful,” I said, smiling. “And your accent, it becomes more pronounced when you’re worked up over something.”

  Sighing, he said, “Well, you certainly have the ability to work me up, Dahlia. Don’t you?”

  Lucien’s momentary lapse of control, so unlike him, betrayed how frazzled he was. It was uncharacteristic of him, but so very endearing. His frailties, if you could call them that, made him more human-like. Quite a feat, considering I knew he was something far more than merely human.

  “I do work you up,” I teased, nudging him with my shoulder as I slid my hands into the pockets of my coat. “But I don’t do it on purpose.”

  Lucien had once told me I was his weakness. Now I clearly saw that was true. There was some part of him, like in me, that could not bear to let go.

  Knowing that made it easy to say, “I don’t want to go back to my car, Lucien. I don’t want you to make me forget about anything that happened today. And I definitely don’t want an out. I want to remember everything that has ever happened between us.”

  His brow shot up. “Everything, Dahlia?”

  His tone was light. Lucien Chambers was actually engaging in flirtatious banter. I knew then that we had a real chance at something special.

  “Yes. I wouldn’t give up a single memory, not one moment we’ve shared.”

  “Good,” he replied, shooting me a dashing smile. “Since I never had any intention of letting you go so easily, anyway.”

  “Oh, really?” I took a step back.

  He took a step forward, and retorted, “Yes, Dahlia, really.”

  I gestured to the trail. I was intrigued, I was thrilled. I threw caution to the wind. Living recklessly had never felt so good as I said, “Let’s get going then.”

  Lucien took my hand. “Wise choice,” he murmured.

  We began to walk again toward the mansion, and the craziest thing was I could have sworn I heard Lucien mutter under his breath, “Although a choice was never an option anyway.”

  What that meant, I couldn’t begin to imagine.

  But I couldn’t wait to find out.

  Unveiled: Laid Bare (Volume 2) ~ available June 2015. Unveiled will contain Dahlia’s point-of-view, and due to popular demand Lucien will be heard, as well.

  Read other books by S. R. GREY

  The biggest “thank you” goes out to the readers. Thank you for taking a chance on this departure for me. I am learning novellas are their own brand of special. It’s fun to dole out a little bit of a larger story one bit at a time. I hope you’ll be brave and stick with me throughout Lucien and Dahlia’s story. I think you’ll enjoy their journey.

  As always, thank you to family, friends, bloggers, and the most awesome street team ever. Much appreciation also goes out to Hot Tree Editing, Cover It! Designs, and the formatting team at E.M. Tippetts.

  Thank you!!!

  S.R. Grey is an Amazon Top 100 and Barnes & Noble Top #1 Bestselling author. She is the author of the popular Judge Me Not series, the Inevitability duology, A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy, and the new series of Laid Bare novellas. Ms. Grey’s works have appeared on Amazon Bestseller lists and Barnes & Noble Bestseller lists in multiple categories.

  Ms. Grey resides in Pennsylvania. When not writing, Ms. Grey can be found reading, traveling, running, or cheering for her hometown sports teams.

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  Read the first chapter of S.R. Grey’s newest New Adult/Romantic Suspense novel, Inevitable Detour

  Inevitable Detour

  Chapter One

  I stare at the computer screen. It’s my last exam of spring semester, and there are only five questions left on the Strategic Management final before me.

  My eyes are glued to words, forming a single question. I know the answer. Yes, I do. But then my vision blurs, and I think, ugh, whose idea was it for me to major in business?

  Not mine.

  The cursor on the screen blinks over answer choice B. Like I said, I know the correct answer, and it sure as hell isn’t B.

  What to do…what to do…

  With a sly grin, I choose B and hit next.

  I am feeling particularly defiant today. My parents left me a voice mail this morning, telling me in no uncertain terms that any thoughts of heading up to New York City this summer with my best friend and roommate, Haven Shaw, are best put to rest. So much for thinking it’d be fun to hang out in the Big Apple with Haven while she worked on finding an agent, making acting contacts, and generally just doing whatever it is a person needs to do when preparing to land a part in a play someday.

  And not just any play.

  “Broadway, here I come,” Haven said the other day when we were discussing her big-city dreams.

  She’s a bit theatrical, but that’s to be expected. She’s a theater major, after all. Her goal is to eventually make it as an actress on the Great White Way.

  Conversely, my dreams are much smaller. My primary longing lately is for something—anything—to happen in my mundane life. I thought New York would be a promising start. Guess not. Thanks to my parents and their aversion to anything fun for Essa, there will be no excitement in my life this summer. Nope. Just like the two previous summers, I’ll be lulling away the time here at Oakwood College. Excitement for me will consist of chilling in the coffee shop on the edge of the tiny Pennsylvania town my small college is located in. My after-class afternoons will include exciting activities like staring out at cows and farmland, sipping on a mocha, and wishing and hoping for something more.

  And that’s just not right.

  I’m a damn straight-A student, for God’s sake. I don’t need to spend the summer at Oakwood, taking stupid summer classes. Unfortunately, my parents don’t care about my wants and needs. They believe their only child should apply herself year-round. Forget that I’m already a model daughter.

  Well, more or less. But that’s neither here nor there.
r />   Bottom line is that my parents will not, as they put it in their terse message, have me “veering off course.”

  Oh, really? So they think…

  My defiance hits full throttle, and I purposely choose the wrong answers for the next four questions.

  I hit submit and think, take that, Mr. and Mrs. Brant.

  Despite my actions, I’ll still receive a solid A for the class. My GPA will not suffer in the slightest. Still, it feels kind of good to be bad.

  That’s sad, Essa, that choosing a few wrong answers on a final is the best defiant act you can come up with.

  Sighing, I click a button to indicate I am finished with the exam. I then grab my purse from the back of the chair and head for the door. “You’re pathetic,” I mumble to myself as I step out into a warm, stuffy hallway that smells of varnish and books.

  I kind of like the smell as it wraps around me. It’s the smell of students seeking knowledge; it’s the smell of youth. Despite all my protestations to the contrary, I do like college. I would just prefer to be studying something of my own choosing.

  I stand and ponder. Not only does the smell of school envelope me, but the heat of the day does as well. The second-floor hall I’m lingering in is about ten degrees warmer than the classroom was. Dropping my purse to the floor, I shrug out of my olive-green mock-army jacket. I’m down to two layered tanks, blue over white, but I am still roasting.

  “Blech,” I pant, fanning myself as I bend down to pick up my purse. The button on my pants threatens to pop, and I let out a curse. I really should have worn a pair of nice, loose shorts instead of squeezing my ass into overly stylish skinny jeans this morning.

  Maybe if the jeans were a little looser, I’d be more comfy.

  I do a funny little dance in the thankfully empty area outside the classroom. Sadly, the jeans don’t feel a single inch looser. Damn designers. Don’t they realize we’re not all model-perfect? When I exhale, the button squeezes once again at my middle, and I remind myself that I need to lay off the sweets.