by Gemma Weir
Exhaling sharply, I close the door and turn to see Arlo sprawled naked in my bed, his head resting on his elbow as he watches me intently.
“Good morning, Tally,” he says, his eyes smoldering, his hair sexily rumpled.
“Hey, err, I need to shower. The journalist from the New York Times will be here soon and I need the makeup artist to make me look less bruised,” I say, motioning to my face.
“Come here,” he says, not moving, just staring at me with his dark, intense eyes.
“I can’t, I need to get ready,” I deflect, padding a few steps away from the door. “You should go get ready too.”
“After you come here,” he says, his tone steely.
Sighing, I glance toward the bathroom, then back to him again. “You’re making this weird, Arlo.”
“How?”
“We had sex,” I say shrugging. “I’m sure you weren’t a virgin before last night, so you know how this goes. The sleepover was whatever it was, but if we carry on like normal and just go do what we need to do, it doesn’t have to be weird. Right now, you’re making it weird.”
“Come here and then I’ll go,” he coaxes and I roll my eyes, tying the belt on my robe tightly as I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed.
Strong arms lift me, laying me down next to him as he quickly unknots my robe and pushes it open leaving my naked body on display for him. “Are you sore?” he asks, sliding his hands between my legs and cupping my sex.
I’m torn between spreading my legs wide and clamping them closed, as my body and my brain war. “A little,” I croak out, as my body wins and my knees fall to the side.
His lips widen into a small smile as his gaze locks with mine, while his fingers stroke and caress my folds.
“Today I’m going to touch you and kiss you like you’re mine and I won’t be faking it. I won’t be pretending and neither will you,” he whispers, a second before his lips take mine, kissing me sweetly, softly, possessively.
His lips, fingers, and body all leave me at once and I have to fight to swallow down my words of protest as he climbs off the bed and walks out of my room, not looking back. Closing my eyes, I huff out a breath, my body excited and sore, my head a confused mess. Today is going to be a long day.
It’s after three when the journalist finally leaves. Apparently interviewing five people takes hours, even though she basically asked us all the same questions just phrased slightly differently each time.
Arlo followed through on his threat, and his hands have rarely been out of reaching distance of me all day, as he took every opportunity to kiss me, knowing that even if I’d have wanted to push him away, I wouldn’t have while the journalist was watching. But by the time she’d left, I was pretty sure we’d convinced her that our engagement was real.
Slumping down onto one of the chairs on the terrace, I pull the band that’s holding my hair in a braid out, and tease the hair loose, sighing at the relief of it falling to my shoulders after it’s been tied up all day.
I’m wearing one of the outfits Fitzy brought here for me on Saturday. A pair of black high-waisted, wide leg pants and a simple white t-shirt. My feet are bare again and a series of long chains hang around my neck, resting between my breasts. It’s the most conservative of all the things he picked for me, but that felt appropriate considering this was an interview and no matter how rich we all are, first impressions matter.
Sighing audibly, I lift my feet up and curl them beneath me, looking up in surprise when Olly hands me a glass. Eying the liquid speculatively for a moment, I lift it to my lips and take a tentative sip. “What is it?” I ask, taking a second sip.
“Long island ice tea,” he says, perching on the coffee table in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say holding my cocktail in one hand and resting my cheek on the arm of the chair with the other.
“You did really well today; that reporter was eating out of your hand.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be my sister. I know how to play the part well enough,” I tell him, a hint of anger slipping into my tone. Maybe I would have been better just running. I could have been in England by now, and I doubt my family would have come looking for me. Today was a familiar torture. I wasn’t myself. I pretended to be Carrigan, and Olly’s right, the journalist lapped it up.
I take another sip of my drink, but all I can taste is bitterness rolling over my tongue.
“What’s the matter? We should be celebrating,” he says, nudging my knee.
“Today didn’t feel like a victory, and honestly, I’m starting to wonder if I should have just left while I had the chance,” I say, sighing.
“Why would you say that?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. “This article will cement your engagement. Plus, it’ll really piss off your family. I thought this was what you wanted?”
Lifting my gaze to Olly’s, I try to smile, but it falls flat. “I don’t know anymore. It’s just one lie on top of another. Sure, it’ll piss my family off, but it won’t make them sorry. It won’t really make any difference at all.”
Olly shuffles forward and reaches out to cup my cheek with his hand. “It’s all going to be okay you know?”
“Is it?”
He nods. “Yeah, it really is. This article will be published, Carrigan will fail and your family will lose the inheritance. Then you’ll be free.”
“Free,” I laugh. “Alone sure, but I’ll always be an Archibald and they’ll hate me forever if I’m the reason they don’t get this money.”
“You won’t be the reason,” Arlo growls from behind us.
Olly’s hand falls from my cheek and he immediately stands and moves away from me, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Turning my head, I look up at Arlo, tilting my head to the side as I watch him close the distance between us. “No, I suppose I won’t be the only reason. You’ll be to blame too,” I say with a smirk.
A short sharp burst of laughter falls from his lips and he shrugs nonchalantly. When he reaches my chair, he holds out a hand for me to take and I stare at it warily. Wiggling his fingers at me, I cautiously lift my hand and place it in his. He wraps his fingers around mine, holding me tightly as he pulls me upright.
“What?” I ask, when he pulls the hand he’s still holding around my back so it’s twisted behind me, braced against the base of my spine. He holds it in place, pulling me into his body, until I’m plastered against his chest.
“Don’t feel bad for them, they don’t deserve your sympathy,” he rasps against my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
“I could have been thousands of miles away by now, that would have been the smart thing to do,” I say, hating that I love the way it feels to be this close to him.
“I would have found you.”
His lips press against mine and I wonder why he’s doing this. Is this just another way we’re using one another, more quid pro quo?
I kiss him back, because I’m an idiot and I just don’t seem to be able to help myself. I press myself against him, because even though this is going nowhere, right now he and the guys are the closest thing to friends I’ve ever had and even though it’s foolhardy, I’m allowing myself to cling to them.
When Arlo releases my hand to hold me tighter, his palm grabbing my butt, half lifting me so I can feel his hard dick against me, I don’t push him away. Instead, I slide my hand around the back of his neck and hold on, like he really is a lifeline.
Olly clears his throat. “Err, I’m still sitting over here,” he says, his tone half amused, half… annoyed?
Arlo reluctantly pulls away from my lips but keeps his hand on my ass as he chuckles. “I know you’re still there, dick. I was just hoping you’d take the hint and leave so I could play with my girl a little before we go out.”
“You’re going out?” I ask.
“We’re going out. All of us.”
“I can’t,” I instantly reply.
“Yeah, you can. The make-up artist is on her way back and Fitzy is bringing you some outfits to try. Tonight’s the opening night for the nightclub in the Marshall’s new hotel. The guest list is exclusive and we’re all on it. It’s time to stop hiding, little ghost,” he says, a satisfied smirk on his full lips and that mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I start.
“I do,” he says, silencing me with a kiss.
“I’m here,” Fitzy announces, appearing at the terrace doors, his hands clutching several garment bags.
“You’re not even showered yet,” he cries, marching over to us and shoving Arlo aside so he can grab my arm. I groan. I only had a shower this morning and now I need another so I can change my look again. “Upstairs, let’s go,” he orders, shaking his head dramatically as he pulls me from the terrace before I even have a chance to argue.
I shower quickly and emerge from the bathroom dressed only in a towel. My makeup and hair lady, Cathy, is already set up and I make my way toward her, pretending that I don’t hear Fitzy’s gasp when he sees the fading bruises on my face. Cathy has my hair dry and styled into beautiful mermaid waves and a full face of what she calls ‘showstopper makeup’ so quickly it feels like I barely blinked and it was done.
The whole time I was being pampered, Fitzy chatted along, pointedly avoiding asking the question I know he must be dying to ask. When Cathy removes the cape from around my shoulders, I stand up and turn to him. “My parents,” I say simply, lifting my eyebrows and shrugging.
The sympathy that is etched into every line on his face rankles me enough that I inhale sharply, and walk past him to the dressing screen that’s been set up in the far corner. From behind the screen, I hear him clear his throat. “I’ve left some underwear for you to put on, then I’ve brought a few different outfits for you to try,” he says, all business now.
The underwear is barely there, black lace; so fine it feels sensual against my skin. I take the first bag he hands me and unzip it to reveal a tight black bandage dress. It instantly reminds me of my sister and I quickly rezip the bag and step out from behind the screen, ignoring the fact that I’m only wearing underwear to hand it back to Fitzy. “That isn’t me, it’s my sister,” I say, feeling emotion bubble in my throat.
“Fuck, if that’s what you’re wearing, I think I want us to stay home,” Arlo says, from the doorway, his wet hair slicked back. He’s dressed in a crisp white button down, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and dark jeans.
Rolling my eyes at Arlo, I unzip the garment bag and pull the dress out to show him. He wrinkles his nose. “God no. That looks like something Carrigan would wear.”
Arching an eyebrow, I turn back to Fitzy, who purses his lips. “I’ve never met your sister, give me a break.” Throwing the dress to the floor, he grabs another garment bag and thrusts it into my hands. “Go,” he says shooing me back behind the screen.
This time when I unzip the bag, I can’t help but smile. Pulling the black satin, high waisted shorts free, I run my fingers over the fabric before sliding them on and fastening the zip. The top takes a little more time, but once I ditch the pretty bra and turn back to the mirror hung from the screen, I have to bite my lip to stop my smile from overtaking my face.
Three inches of my midriff is visible between the waist of the shorts and the hem of the fitted bralette style crop-top that wraps around my breasts, the straps sitting across my shoulders. The structured satin holds everything in place and I feel beautiful. This is something I would have picked for myself and as I slide my feet into simple black Dior pumps, I start to relax, my melancholy thoughts giving way to a happy glow that has me grinning from ear to ear.
“This is perfect,” I say to Fitzy.
“Here,” he says, clipping a thick silver bangle around my wrist. “Yes, perfect. Do you want to try the other things I brought?”
“No, I love this. Thank you, Fitzy,” I say, genuinely thankful for having met him.
His palms cup my cheeks in a very paternal way. “They don’t deserve you. But bruises will fade and you’ll be stronger once they do,” he whispers, smiling tightly.
I nod. “I already am.”
Releasing me, he steps back. “I’ll leave the other outfits here for you. My godson has informed me that you’ll be at every must attend event in the next few months, so I’ll drop by in a couple of days to bring you some formal options. Now I’ll leave you and go and stop Carson from getting near any pastels,” he says with a faux shudder.
Cathy takes his place in front of me as he slips from the room, pinning my hair over one shoulder and touching up my lipstick. “You look hot, girl, my work here is done. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Thank you,” I say warmly, watching as she collects her huge wheeled case and leaves.
Turning, I find Arlo lounging across the bed. I’d forgotten he was even in the room, but his eyes are hooded and watching me intently. “I have something for you,” he says, his voice smooth and polished, so unlike the way he normally sounds around me.
“Is it my old cell phone back? I know you took it,” I say with an arch of my eyebrow.
His lips break into a smile and he rolls off the bed and closes the distance between us. “I donated that thing to a museum. They were impressed. Said that they hadn’t seen such a well-maintained antique in years.”
“It was hardly an antique.”
“It was fifteen years old,” he says, his hand reaching for my neck and guiding me toward him.
Ducking out of his hold, I sidestep him. “What are you doing?”
“I was trying to kiss you.”
“We shouldn’t do that; not unless it’s for appearances,” I say, shrugging away from his reach again as I avoid making eye contact.
My back hits the wall as he grabs me, backing me up until I’m surrounded by him and unable to get away. “What the fuck is going on, Tally?” he growls.
“We need some boundaries. You can’t keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend.”
“Fiancée,” he immediately volleys back. “I’m treating you like my fiancée.”
“And that’s fine in public, when we need to perpetrate the lie, but there’s no one here to see,” I say, deliberately not looking him directly in the eye, knowing that if I do, I’ll be caught in his gaze and forget my solid, sensible argument.
His laugh is low and seductive, and I feel myself involuntarily shivering. “Is that how you want to play it, little ghost? Do you want to pretend that I didn’t fuck you last night? That you didn’t wake up naked and wrapped around my body? We can do that if you really want to. You can pretend that you don’t feel anything for me, and I can pretend that my dick isn’t rock-hard every time I’m near you. Or we can forget the lies, we can embrace this attraction, and enjoy each other. Not everything has to be complicated, Tally. Some things are just simple.”
At some point during his speech, my eyes lift to his and I feel myself wavering. When he touches me, kisses me, looks at me, I feel beautiful; and not because I look like Carrigan, but beautiful in spite of her. He hates my sister; he said awful, hateful things to me when he thought I was her; but he doesn’t look at me like that. When his eyes are on me, I feel special and desired, and that’s a heady feeling.
Simple. That’s what he’s offering me, but I don’t have any idea what that means. Does it mean that we’re just adding something else to the list of how we’re using each other? I don’t understand the rules of this world. I’ve spent too many years hidden in the shadows and now I’m being plunged into the light. I don’t know how to traverse the muddy waters of being a teenager.
I want to say yes.
The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. His scoff makes me feel nauseous, like I’ve disappointed him. “Here,” he says, stepping back from me and pulling a black velvet box from his back pocket.
I catch the box, blinking at him in confusion. Jewelry? Why woul
d he buy me jewelry?
“You’re supposed to open it,” he says mockingly.
Carefully, I lift the lid to find a fine yellow gold chain with a tiny ghost charm hanging from it, the eyes made from tiny bright red rubies.
“A little ghost, for my little ghost,” he says, taking the box from my hands and pulling the chain free. “It’s an anklet,” he whispers as he crouches down, running his fingers along the back of my calf before securing the adorable chain around my ankle, the tiny ghost hanging along my ankle bone.
“I love it,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
He looks up from his position by my feet, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I have a few suggestions on how you can thank me,” he growls seductively, his lips pressing a hot kiss against the inside of my thigh at the base of my shorts.
My eyes flutter closed and I curse my inability to hold my ground with him. The moment those talented lips of his touch me, I lose all rational thought.
“Come on, little ghost. You can think about all the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this while we’re out, then when we get back I’ll show you all the reasons why we should,” he says, grabbing me roughly and slamming a kiss against my mouth, before pulling away a second later, a shit-eating grin on his now lipstick marked lips.
I come up with a thousand insults and snappy retorts, but my lips won’t let me form any of them into words and I find myself just letting him pull me from my bedroom, barely having enough time to grab the clutch bag Fitzy has left for me. I’ll have to fix my lipstick in the car.
Twelve
Arlo
Climbing out of our limo, I immediately reach back in to help Tally get out. I’m kind of surprised when she takes my hand without arguing, letting me steady her as she gracefully emerges from the car. The guys all climb out after her and we move as a group, Tally gripped possessively beneath my arm. Olly and Carson are on her right-hand side, Wats on my left.
The line for the club is around the block, but I barely even spare them a glance as I move straight toward the red rope and the security guard with the guest list.