Don't Lie

by Violet Paige

  “This is nice,” Sierra murmured.

  We swayed slowly, but it seemed as if the world had stopped.

  I nodded, not wanting to confirm the words out loud. I reached for her hair and closed my eyes as my fingers coiled along the strands. This was dangerous.

  She had always been able to do this to me. Make my cock ache. Make my thoughts turn to images of her under me. I had a strong visual of her lips wrapped around the base of my dick while I pumped in and out of her. And she always gave me what I wanted—she’d let me come deep in her throat. Her eyes misted with the intensity and the pleasure, but she never stopped until she had licked every drop from my head. She always made sure I was satisfied. And, how could I not be with those sweet lips sucking me? She had always been a good girl—a sweet girl—but the night she gave me her virginity it was as if she had given me the keys to an unopened box. A box that contained the most alluring intoxicating siren my cock and my heart had ever known.

  The music faded from the stage. The song ended and I backed up too quickly, knocking Sierra off balance.

  “Whoa.” I snaked an arm around her waist to steady her. “I told you those Long Island ice teas are no joke.”

  She giggled and looked up at me. Those blue eyes stopped me in my tracks. She was drunk. She never could handle those drinks. But that wasn’t the only thing I saw in her eyes. Thirst. Hunger. Lust.

  Fuck.

  “I’m getting you home.” I ushered her along the boardwalk.

  “So you do want to take me home?” she purred.

  She looked happier than I had seen her since we’d run into each other again. The drink must have had a way of softening her. Maybe it was the drinks or maybe she was starting to have fun with me. I wasn’t sure.

  “Already?” She pretended to pout.

  “Yes, now.”

  “I’m totally fine.” Sierra giggled.

  “You’re drunk. Time to go.”

  “But we just got here. One dance and you’re done?”

  “Something like that.”

  I hauled her down the boardwalk and lifted her into the skiff.

  I sat her in the seat next to me so I could keep an eye on her. The last thing I wanted was for her to tip overboard. I kept one hand firmly planted on her hip. She sighed at my touch.

  I shook my head and cranked the engine.

  She was either making this way too easy or way too hard. With her nuzzled into my chest, I couldn’t decide which.

  I didn’t say a fucking word the entire ride home from the boat.

  I parked just off Lindy’s back porch and carried Sierra inside. I deposited her onto the couch in the living room.

  She moaned lightly and smiled. “I had fun. I think I feel another dance coming on.” She tried to stand.

  “Whoa darlin’. You’re going to take a nose dive if you do that.”

  It was hard not to laugh at her. She was blitzed from only one drink.

  “Me too. Get some sleep.”

  Her hand flew out and latched on to my leg when I tried to turn. “Are you leaving?” she asked.

  I thought about how Sierra’s hair had felt. How she’d melted into my chest. How she’d wrapped her hot little body around me when we’d danced. Damn it.

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Why?” Her eyes had a way of pulling me in.

  “You’re drunk.” I pointed at her.

  “So?”

  “So. Even if I was thinking about taking you to bed again, it wouldn’t be like this.”

  Because that’s what she was thinking. One drink. One slow dance. One cruise alone and she’d have me back where she wanted. In her bed. That she would be the one to fucking seduce me.

  That wasn’t how this was going down.

  “Didn’t we used to have amazing sex?” Her words were slow.

  My cock twitched slightly. “Yeah. We did.”

  My head flashed with an image of her tits. They were fucking incredible. I used to suck and bite them until she screamed my name in the back of my truck and my ears echoed with her voice.

  That was when we had to sneak around. Sex in my truck. Sex behind a hidden sand dune. Sex on the boat if we could get out for the day.

  But never this. Never in a house when we were the only two home. It was what I’d always wanted—to fuck her epically. To take her on her knees. To fuck her every which way I had invented and some I hadn’t yet. Alone, where she could suck my cock all night and I could bury myself inside her over and over again until the sun rose over the water. I’d had it so bad for this girl.

  Her eyes lifted to mine. “Have you thought about what it would be like now?”

  I knelt next to her, close enough my lips almost touched her ear. I brushed her silky hair to the side.

  “It would be so fucking epic you’d never want another man inside you.”

  She whimpered.

  I stood, her eyes following me.

  “Good night, Sierra.”

  I walked out, letting the screen door creak behind me. I tried to rub the throbbing ache out of my cock as I strolled to the truck. I was so fucking hard I didn’t know how I managed to put one foot in front of the other. That girl was killing me.

  11

  Sierra

  The next morning, I brushed my teeth with a tightly wrapped towel around my body. The hot shower hadn’t exactly washed away the humiliation or the hangover. I was pretty sure I had thrown myself at Blake last night.

  I spit into the sink and rested the toothbrush in the holder. What in the hell was I thinking? I was mortified. And part of me was still turned on. Did he want me? Was it possible that he still wanted me after all this time?

  His words still buzzed in my ear.

  I retrieved a pair of tweezers from my cosmetic bag and critically studied my brow line. I had let my time in Aunt Lindy’s house get to me. When was the last time I had a facial or a wax?

  I exhaled into the mirror as I wiped on a second layer of mascara.

  Had he taken any of it seriously? I doubted it. Women were always throwing themselves at him. I saw it after every game. He had websites dedicated to him, created by a hot female fan base. There was a reason he was one of the AFA’s most notorious bachelors—he refused to get serious with any one person, and was known for sleeping around.

  He wasn’t the sweet guy I had once known. I had to remember that.

  But, I had seen a glimmer of the man I’d once known last night while we’d been dancing. His fingers had wound through my hair. He smelled like the old Blake I’d known—like a mix of juniper and mint. I’d always thought he smelled that way because of working with the wood from the boats, but now I knew it was him. That heavenly mixture that made me lose all logic and rational thought. As my cheek pressed to his T-shirt it had all come rushing back—the way we used to be.

  He’d held me close, as if he cared. As if the past eight years weren’t a huge wedge between us. As if somewhere under his tough exterior he was still the first guy I’d ever loved. The one I’d given myself to.

  He had to be in there somewhere.

  I turned off the light and walked downstairs to make a pot of coffee. The house was a complete disaster. The beach charity foundation was supposed to be here before lunch to take the furniture in the front room. Aunt Lindy had one of those ridiculous church organs that weighed a thousand pounds. I had to get it out of here.

  There were a dozen other pieces I was going to send with them too. I started tagging the furniture that was mismatched. Some I didn’t recognize. She had added many things to the house over the years.

  It wasn’t as if there was a handbook to guide me through this process. I was overwhelmed with the house. My aunt had been a packrat. Only, I never realized it until I started opening cabinets and drawers. She had hidden her secret for years. I was only now realizing what a serious problem it was.

  But she wasn’t here to lecture. She wasn’t here to tell me what was valuable and what wasn’t. I couldn’t ask
her what I should keep. And maybe if I had been a better niece I would have known all these things.

  I would have known her wishes. I would know what to do with her rhinestone jewelry and the enormous collection of silk scarves that filled a trunk in the attic.

  Instead, I was the girl who had let Roger Wyatt scare me off this island. I had let that man keep me away. The fear he’d planted in my soul had separated me from the only woman who had cared enough to take me in and raise me.

  And he’d kept me from the only person I’d ever truly loved.

  I filled the coffee pot and poured the water into the tank in the back. Within minutes the kitchen smelled like fresh-brewed coffee. I inhaled a cup while I sat at the bay window, looking out over the sound.

  He had stolen so much from me that day. What was worse were the seeds of doubt he had sprouted in me about my family.

  I knew exactly what he had tried to imply. That Aunt Lindy wasn’t my biological aunt. That the entire story of how I ended up on this island was just that—a story—another ghost tale passed down to a scared child.

  He stole my courage that day. I had never asked Aunt Lindy the truth. I didn’t want to know, even though in some deep crevice of my heart I did. But it wasn’t any of his damn business. He had no right to throw that in my face, or undercut my aunt. All she had ever done was love me.

  I sat at her table, surrounded by her things. All I could think about was when she’d sat in the front row of church for the Christmas pageant. How she’d stitched my fairy Halloween costume together by hand. She had tried to teach me to bake and the art of making sun tea. She showed me the best times to find sand dollars on the Cape and how to coax a hermit crab out of its shell. During the summer, she helped me line the bookshelf in my room with fireflies in Mason jars. We would always let their sluggish bodies out in the morning.

  I felt the well of tears.

  Somewhere in this house I would find the answers. My history was here.

  But it was never up to Roger Wyatt to hand me those answers. Never.

  Things could have been so different if I hadn’t left. If I hadn’t been a scared little pregnant girl.

  But that man had scared the hell out of me.

  I put the mug down. Maybe it was time I paid him a visit.

  I grabbed my bag and keys and drove toward Roger Wyatt’s house.

  12

  Blake

  I heard wheels crunching over the gravel and stepped out onto the porch to see who was pulling up the drive. I had a hot cup of coffee in my hands.

  It was Sierra. I felt the jolt between my ribs.

  She stepped from the car. “Good morning.”

  “How’s your head?” I grinned. She looked fucking adorable. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders. She was wearing cut off shorts, so short that if she bent over I’d see my favorite slice of heaven. My dick hardened instantly. She was a damn she-devil that one. All she had to do was show up and instantly I wanted to kiss her until I had her stripped bare. I wanted to kiss her lips, her tits, her sweet skin and her legs all the way to that honey-soaked paradise.

  “Are you staying here?” she asked. “Is this where you are for the summer?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

  She looked confused. I saw her eye the boat barn.

  “I actually wasn’t expecting to see you. I came to talk to your dad, but maybe another time would be better.” She stepped back toward the driver side.

  “Hey, wait.” I jogged down the stairs. She stopped. “That’s going to be nearly impossible, darlin’.”

  “Why?”

  “My dad died three months ago.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “What? I hadn’t heard.”

  I shoved my hands in my front pockets. “Yeah. Heart attack while he was running the sander. Uncle Billy found him.”

  Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Blake. Really I am.”

  “Thanks.”

  We walked to the porch and sat on the top step.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” she whispered.

  “It’s not like you’re around here. How would you have known?”

  “The news, maybe?” She looked at me and I saw the concern in her eyes. I didn’t want pity from her. I’d had my share of condolences.

  “Happened during the draft. It didn’t get any coverage. I wanted it that way. I hate it when the press follows me. And they aren’t welcome on the island. I didn’t need any damn reporters at the funeral. He wouldn’t have wanted that either.”

  “Right. I get that.”

  “It was simple.” I didn’t know why I started in on the details. “He wanted a plain juniper box. He’s in the family cemetery next to my mom.”

  Her eyes flashed with pain at the mention of my mother. I swore it was like one minefield after another between us. We couldn’t get away from the explosives before another one was set off. And we did it too each other, reminding the other of the pain from when she had left.

  “God, your mom, Blake…” She hung her head. “I always liked her. She was always so sweet to me.”

  “Probably because she needed another girl around here,” I joked, but I didn’t feel the lightness of it. My mom had loved Sierra. She had been crushed when Sierra had taken off and then we’d gotten her diagnosis.

  I cleared my throat. “You said you were here to see my dad?”

  She suddenly looked uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”

  “It had to be something for you to drive over this early.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to know what he thought about some of Aunt Lindy’s things. That’s all.”

  “Like what?”

  “I—uh—I don’t want to bother you with it. I had no idea you were dealing with all this.” She brushed off her legs and stood from the porch. “I’ll take care of it. The beach charity van is going to be at the house soon anyway.”

  “What are you doing with Lindy’s house?” I asked.

  I had struck a nerve. “Sell it I guess.”

  “You’re going to sell it? That house had been in her family for a hundred years.”

  “I know how old it is. Do you have an issue with it?”

  “It shouldn’t go to an outsider. That’s all I’m trying to fucking say,” I barked.

  “And just how do you categorize me?” she fumed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Me. Where do you think I fit in?”

  “You’re an islander, Sierra. At least you used to be.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “Used to be.”

  She walked to the car. “I’m sorry about your dad. Really.”

  The ignition started and I watched as she rolled down the windows before backing out of the driveway.

  I strolled over to her door. “Hey. What do you say we do something later?” I put my hand on the window edge.

  “What? This again? I think last night proved we are a colossal disaster.”

  “No Long Island ice teas this time.”

  She chewed her lip. “I don’t know.”

  “How about this? Let’s go to the Cape for the day. It’s hot. You shouldn’t be locked up inside cleaning up shit. Let’s take the boat out. Remind you that you really are an islander.”

  “But—the charity—”

  I shrugged. “Leave them a note. I’ll pick you up on the pier in an hour.”

  I saw the corners of her pink lips curl. Damn she was still gorgeous.

  “Ok. I can do that. And I’ll pack some sandwiches?”

  I slapped the side of her car. “You better. I eat a lot. See you in an hour.”

  I watched as she backed all the way out of the drive and realized I needed to get the cooler ready. I had a full day of drinking to do.

  13

  Sierra

  I placed the open slices of bread on the cutting board and furiously spread mayonnaise and mustard over them.

  I couldn’t believe Roger Wyatt was dead. The man I blamed for ruining my
life wasn’t here anymore. It was a lot to take in. What did that mean for Blake? He was dealing with the death of his father. I had missed so many events in his life.

  I hurried to wrap the turkey sandwiches and tuck them inside plastic sleeves. He would be here any minute. I couldn’t think about Blake’s dad or the past. Today was all about the future.

  I watched Blake anchor his boat on a secluded end of the bank where few tourists visited. I wondered if he tried to stay away from potential fans on purpose. I was constantly at odds trying to figure him out. He had to be feeling that way too. Was that what this was? An attempt to make me fall in love with the island again so I wouldn’t sell the house?

  Light bounced off the water and caught the glistening of a swimming school of fish. Sometimes wild ponies could be spotted on top of the dunes, playing a game of tag. I peered at the horizon, looking for the horses.

  It had been eight years since I had been to the Cape, but Aunt Lindy had taught me well how to pack for a day at the beach. I’d never forgotten her lessons. I had a cooler full of drinks, sandwiches, and suntan lotion. Blake smiled as he loaded the cooler and other bags onto his boat.

  “You know I usually just bring a six-pack of beer and sometimes a bag of chips.”

  “I wanted to make sure we had everything we needed.” Maybe three bags were too many for a day trip, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him.

  When we anchored, he helped me spread the blanket on a stretch of beach a few feet from where the waves were lapping against the shore.

  I sprawled out on the blanket with a book while Blake started on a beer. I kept reading the same page over and over again. I couldn’t get past the second paragraph. Every time I looked up at Blake, all I could focus on were the endless amounts of chiseled muscles. There was something mesmerizing about his bronze skin, and my imagination was taking over as I watched him rub more lotion on his arms and chest.