Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1

by Magnolia Smith

  I rested my chin on my hand. “He’s cute though, right?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “If you like that type.”

  “You mean the sun-kissed gorgeous type? Who wouldn’t?” I sighed dramatically. “Can’t you just see him walking along a beach with a surfboard in hand? I bet his body is amazing.”

  Rain finally smiled, tossing her banana peel into the trashcan from her seat. “You’re swooning, you know that? So tell me more about Gian-Carlo. All I know is that he’s Italian, likes art and dresses like he stepped off the cover of GQ Italia.”

  I turned to her, mouth open.

  She just laughed. “You think I didn’t notice? He’s very handsome.”

  I closed my mouth but couldn’t stop the silly grin spreading across my face. “I thought you only had eyes for Kael.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve got eyes and I can see you’re never here anymore. So it must be serious. Is it?”

  I leaned forward, excited to finally discuss my new beau with Rain. “I wanted to tell you, but there was never really a good time. We’re kind of on again, off again you know?”

  She responded with a noncommittal shrug, but I kept my smile in place. I really wanted us to get our friendship back on track. I told her about every date we’d gone on, every meal he’d prepared for me and every fancy bottle of wine he’d poured.

  Her face alternated between surprise and confusion. Finally she settled on an expression that was somewhere in between. “Well, you seem happy.”

  “I am. I really am.” I could barely contain my happiness and impulsively stood and opened my arms for a hug. “I think he’s the one, Rain.”

  She reluctantly stood and stepped into my embrace. “I guess we’ve both got great guys then.”

  She was a little stiff at first, but I hugged her tight and she relaxed a bit. The doorbell rang and she jumped. We broke our hug and both looked toward the door.

  “Expecting company?”

  I shook my head. “No.” I moved to the door. “But I’ll get it.” I grinned at her. “Maybe it’s Asa with another gift for you.”

  She laughed. “Right.” Then trailed me to the door.

  I checked the peephole first. It was a deliveryman holding a large flat, square package wrapped in plain brown paper.

  I turned to Rain. “Expecting a delivery?”

  She shook her head and I opened the door, signed for the package and brought it to the kitchen. I laid it on the table and stared at it for a moment. It was pretty large, about two by two feet.

  “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “Definitely not a bomb. If I’m not mistaken, it looks like a picture or maybe a large frame.”

  There was no card or note to indicate whom it was for or whom it was from.

  “Rip it open,” Rain finally said.

  I reached for a butter knife and gently tore into the package. When I was done removing the wrapping, my eyes fell on a painting. It was beautiful.

  It was a simple depiction of bright red sunflowers in a clear vase. A smile crept across my face. “Gian-Carlo.”

  I looked at Rain. She was also smiling, but her eyebrows dipped down as if she was puzzled.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Grinning, I bumped her on her shoulder with my own. “Let me guess, this doesn’t fit into your notion of art?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, not at all. It’s beautiful. I saw this piece at the gallery downtown the day I was late for coffee with you.” She reached for a small tag discreetly hanging off a corner. “Seven thousand five hundred dollars.” She nodded. “Yeah, same one.”

  I picked up the tag and stared at it. Holy-moly. Gian-Carlo was serious about us. My heart fluttered. Finally, a man who wasn’t afraid to show he cared.

  She looked at me. “You think this is a gift for you from Gian-Carlo?”

  “Of course.” My heart pounded against my chest. “He had a bouquet of red sunflowers on his table the other day. I told him how much I loved them. Obviously, he remembered.”

  “Turn the picture over. See if there’s a message.”

  Something in her voice compelled me to turn and look at her. She looked anxious, concerned. I picked up the picture and gently turned it over. There. There was his note. Scrawled in black ink, in perfect penmanship was a beautiful note:

  To my bella.

  Do not forget.

  Gian-Carlo

  “See?” I placed the picture back on the table. “I’m his bella. His beauty. He calls me that all the time.”

  She still looked perplexed. “And the message? Does it mean something to you?”

  “Of course. Do not forget. We discussed it over dinner. Talked about how life is beautiful, how it doesn’t last long so it’s important to appreciate it while you have it. I’ve finally hit the jackpot of men, huh?”

  The pinched expression on her face relaxed. “Yes, I would say so.” Then her face bloomed into a beautiful smile. “It’s about time. You deserve to be happy too. As happy as I am with Kael.” She picked up the painting. “Now, let’s find a place to hang this beautiful picture.”

  I happily followed after her, thinking of how exactly I could thank Gian-Carlo for his gift. First, I’d start with his lips, and then move down to his…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rain and I had developed a daily routine that worked for us both. We’d meet for coffee or breakfast in the morning part to take care of our business then meet up at the end of the day for dinner. A few times during the week, we’d go jogging on the track at NC State or around Lake Johnson, a local park with running trails wrapped around a large lake.

  It felt good, her and I together. It felt normal. I felt normal. I pretended like I had a normal job to tend to, while she worked on her grand opening during the day and she believed my fiction at night. In between my missions for The Group and tracking down Il Morte, I could make this work with her.

  We still hadn’t made love though. She was committed to going slow, and I was committed to hiding my true nature from her. As a result, I’d become a frequent visitor to the local MMA gym, where I could kick, jab and pommel my sexual frustrations away, sparring with guys who thought they were the shit on the mat.

  Normally, I would fuck instead of fight my aggressions away, however I couldn’t bring myself to return to The Crow to sate my lust, not with Rain back in my life. It didn’t feel right and besides, I didn’t want to touch another woman.

  But speaking of The Crow, I wondered what my old buddy Luke was up to. He hadn’t returned my texts. Though that was normal. He was probably busy on assignment.

  I was sitting at my kitchen table working on my laptop, while Rain stood at the stove, breaking up pieces of dark chocolate, allowing them to fall into a heated double boiler.

  I was actually reviewing the latest financial transactions of The Falcon in case they led to Il Morte but Rain didn’t know that. She thought I was poring over statistical information related to the unsuccessful implementation of golden rice in India as a viable food source.

  After Rain made us a simple dinner of roasted chicken breast with rosemary potatoes and a tomato, basil and mozzarella salad, she was now making dessert.

  I was really trying to work but it was difficult. She was a distraction standing there with her back to me in yellow yoga pants, a thin white camisole with spaghetti straps and her hair in a high cheerleader’s ponytail.

  She turned the burner down, drizzled in some organic, unrefined coconut oil and a few tablespoons of organic whole milk.

  “How much longer? Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”

  “You can’t rush perfection. Besides, I’m almost done.” Her face lit up. “Hey, my furniture is being delivered tomorrow at the shop.”

  “That’s great. Any issues with Haley’s ex?”

  S
he shook her head. “He’s great. Made several suggestions on how I could improve my blog and hooked me up with some media connections of his. Food editor at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, a contributor to the Taste of the South magazine.” She shrugged. “I know you were concerned, but he’s been nothing but helpful.”

  I knew guys. And this one might be a good one, but he was still working an angle. “He’s angling to get back with your sister is all.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “If things get ugly between those two, you’ll regret having him as a business partner. Let me talk to him, buy him out.”

  “No,” she said, rather emphatically, this time completely turning around. “I don’t want to mix business with…pleasure.”

  “You think things might not end well between us, is that it?”

  She softened her voice and smiled at me. “I just—I want us to focus on us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I gave her a mock salute. “Won’t bring it up again.” Smiling, she returned to her melted chocolate and I closed my laptop, gaze lingering on the soft curves of her body.

  “So, I’m pleasure?” I watched as her body stiffened for a moment and then she exhaled slowly. The wooden spoon in her hand moved slowly through the chocolate mixture as a heavy silence settled around us.

  “I’ve been thinking about…” she began, her voice soft and husky. She stopped stirring and turned to look at me. “I bought a book.”

  Something in her voice caused a thrill of excitement to run up and down my spine. “What kind of book?”

  She turned to face the stove again. “The Marquis de Sade wrote it.” She said it so softly, it was almost as if I’d imagined it.

  The Marquis de Sade? My cock moved. I had antique copies of his works in the library at my farmhouse. But she couldn’t know that. “Which one?” My mind raced. What was she doing reading him? He was as twisted as they came. “Which one did you read? He wrote several.”

  She didn’t answer and I could only stare at her, intrigued and confused. The word sadism, the act of finding pleasure from pain, was derived from his name. He was a French aristocrat known for his erotic yet violent writings. Eventually he was imprisoned and determined mentally insane because of his promotion of violent sex.

  Why would she read one of his books, unless…my heart thumped violently against my chest.

  “Justine,” she finally said. “Then Juliet. I suppose they are the tamest of his works.”

  I stood. I had to see her face. “Why would you buy those books, baby?”

  She removed the pot from the stove, placing it on a wooden cutting board. “I wanted to understand.” Her fingers still curled around the pot handle, and I saw that her hands trembled. “Pain as pleasure, pleasure as pain. I feel like you’re keeping something from me. I want to understand you, Kael. I want to know you.”

  She’d noticed. I’d thought I’d done such a good job. “What do you think I’m hiding?”

  She avoided my eyes, instead went to the refrigerator and pulled out a tray of fresh figs. Her back to me again, she turned on the cold water.

  She looked at me over her shoulder, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She shrugged, an expression of hopelessness on her face. “The book?”

  I moved closer to her. “What about it?”

  She gently washed each fig and placed it on the counter. “It was titillating.” She kept her gaze forward. “But I don’t understand it…in practical terms.”

  I swallowed hard. “What did you understand?”

  She selected the first plump fig, held it gently by its stem and looked at me. “That some people are turned on by other people’s pain.”

  I could feel the darkness welling in me. “And?”

  She dipped the fig into the chocolate, rolled it around in it until it was covered, dripping with thick brown sauce.

  “It’s sick,” she whispered. “Disgusting.” She placed the fig on a rectangular tray covered by a sheet of parchment and reached for the next fig.

  “And yet you found it titillating.”

  She nodded. “And yet.” She dipped the fig in chocolate and then selected another one. “You like it,” she said, almost accusatory. “I could tell.”

  “You think I’m sick?” The breath caught in my throat. “Disgusting?”

  “I don’t quite know what I think, Kael.”

  I felt the beast within me rearing its ugly head. It smelled blood and the sweet scent of her skin mixed with the intoxicating muskiness of her arousal. I stepped toward her. I didn’t mean to, I meant to stand still, so as not to threaten her. She froze where she was, eyes wide.

  What did she see when she looked at me? Why did she grab the tray of figs, place it between us and step backwards, once and then twice?

  I tried to choose my words carefully. “I might…like it. But that is neither here, nor there.”

  She almost smiled, her cheeks trembling with the effort. “What does that mean?”

  I couldn’t smile back, the darkness was starting to fill my head. Why had she started this conversation? I had almost no ability to fight this. I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath.

  She moved to the refrigerator and I opened the door for her. She bent down and placed the tray inside. I closed the door and she straightened, looking at me directly for the first time since the conversation began.

  Her eyes were bright, her cheeks red, her lips moist and pink. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes dropped to my genitals. I was rock hard. That much was clear through my pants, which was probably why she looked so alarmed. My interest in the subject matter was obvious.

  “Yeah, I like it.” I took a step backward, put space between us. I didn’t want to frighten her. “But it doesn’t have to be a part of our relationship.”

  “What do you want to do to me?” She took another step back.

  Her question hung in the air like a noxious black cloud. What could I say that wouldn’t scare her?

  “Kael?”

  My body was tense, poised as if something dark and dangerous was about to be released within me. The aching, pulsing sensation of anticipation would not dissipate. Fuck. The throbbing in my chest was only growing.

  I inhaled slowly, waiting for the feeling to subside. Hoping that when I spoke, it wasn’t the inarticulate, primitive feeling welling inside of me that I expressed but rather normal-sounding words that didn’t send her screaming bloody murder.

  “Kael?” she said softly, this time touching my forearm.

  Swallowing hard, I glanced down at her hand then swung my gaze back up to her amber gaze, gleaming with curiosity and something else.

  Longing.

  She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

  “I want to teach you about pleasure and pain.” I said the words I’d yearned to say to her from the first moment I laid eyes on her two years earlier in Jamaica.

  She looked around as if she were searching for an escape. “You said you loved me. Now you want to hurt me?”

  “It’s more complex than that. I’ll get you a glass of wine.” This time I was able to smile. “We’re done in the kitchen then?”

  She stared at me without speaking.

  “You’re shaking. Are you afraid?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “If you’re afraid, this isn’t going to work. In fact, this will not happen. I’m not into forcing women. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a rapist.” This absolutely has to be consensual.”

  She pressed a finger to my lips. “Shhh.” She moved her finger down my chin, across my throat and stopped at my chest where she drew lazy circles over my heart. Her touch set off sparks of desire that exploded throughout my body.

  “I read those books cover to cover,” she began, voice low. “And while a part of me was disgusted by what I saw, another p
art of me was very wet by the time I finished my reading.”

  My throat closed. “You were wet?” I breathed. I closed my eyes as all sorts of erotic images crossed my mind. Did she play with herself as she read? Did she think about me?

  She nodded slowly. “I’m ashamed to say it, but yeah. It was a turn on and I don’t understand why. The stuff I read was hard-core. Things were done that I didn’t think possible.” Her fingers made their way upward to my nipples, which were hard and she played with them through the fabric of my shirt.

  My cock wanted to leap out of my pants but I gritted my teeth and took deep breaths. Down, boy.

  A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “I did a lot of Googling after I finished the books.” Her fingers stilled on my chest and she gazed into my eyes. “Are you familiar with breath play?”

  Ironically, I stopped breathing. I could only nod but she had more to say.

  “It’s a thing, autoerotic asphyxia.” She said the words slowly and I thought I might ejaculate right then and there, watching her sexy mouth say the words. “Apparently cutting off the flow of blood to the brain causes arousal in other areas of the body.”

  I could only nod. I was too busy imagining her gasping for breath as I wrapped my hands around her throat while plunging my cock deep inside her. “I’ve heard it brings a woman to an intense orgasm.”

  Her mouth formed a silent “O” as her gaze locked with mine.

  “Did that turn you on as well, baby?”

  She nodded again, then smiled. “Hence the nerves. I’m afraid my body wants something that I haven’t quite wrapped my mind around yet.”

  I leaned forward, kissed her cool forehead and then trailed kisses to her ear. “How badly do you want it?” I whispered.

  “I’m wet right now,” she whispered back.

  I kissed her ear, allowing my teeth to catch on her earlobe, then I stepped back. “I’ve got an Argentinean Syrah airing. You’ll like it.” I went to the kitchen and poured wine for us both.

  I finished my wine and set the goblet down. I took her glass from her and kissed her. “You need a safe word.”

  “What’s that?”