Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  40

  Will and I were alone in his car at the front of our small army as it flooded convoy-style into Old Town. There were fifteen of us, and five more young men—friends of Thomas and John—joined us after we arrived. Girlfriends of the Six were invited, though there were just three. It was time we gave consideration to the personal lives of those who fought for us, the esteemed lives belonging to those faces I’d studied the night before. If we were going to step out of the shadows, we would eliminate as many restrictions as possible.

  After we’d filled the private car park behind the pub, we walked down the busy cobbled streets to the beach and spent a quiet afternoon in the sunshine. The cool, salted breeze caressed our skin. The tide was high, the undercurrent strong, and the water cold, so we didn’t swim, but it was still comforting to be there. Waves clapped like thunder as they slapped the beach when they made it to shore.

  I couldn’t have been happier.

  Will tossed me playfully onto the blanket and lowered himself on top after chasing me through the edge of the water. He hovered above my lips with his. “What do you hear?”

  “Nothing. Only you.” My whispering messenger went silent that day. I’d filled its place in my soul with something else. As much as I loved the sea, I finally understood it had never been my home—it had been the beacon tasked with getting me home.

  “You’re home, baby,” he said as if he’d read my mind. Then he slanted his mouth over mine and claimed me with a devoted, relentless kiss.

  “Let’s go,” Thomas shouted at the troops. He and Kirsty made their way east along the shoreline and approached Will and me in our favorite spot beneath Eastridge. “Christ. I’m starving. Let’s go, you two.”

  Will softly kissed my lips. “Why is it you all have such shitty timing?” he asked his brother.

  “It’s not that. You can’t ever keep your greedy fucking hands off of her. Let’s get going. Information has been circulated.”

  The brick-paved street was filled with patrons dining and shopping and merchants selling their goods from the sidewalk. The energy of the community was intoxicating. Locals, government officials, business owners, and photographers flocked to the restaurant as we arrived. People behaved with respect and approached in a thoughtful manner, excited to see their new earl and curious about me. I recognized several city councilors from the night before at Eastridge, as well as some other faces—all were oddly blithe, as if they had erased the chaos of the night before from their minds.

  Will bought every bottle of the local winery’s VIP reserve from the restaurant. He shared that and the chef’s best hors d’oeuvres with everyone who stopped at the front patio while we waited for our dinner table. The chef came out twice and offered a private dining room, but Will declined both invitations.

  Will and Thomas flaunted our presence but remained cautious. Security detail was maintained around me at all times. A message had not only been sent but hand-delivered. Will wanted the town of Hastings, wanted it for the benefit of my freedom, and he was taking it. It was, after all, his namesake.

  The food and drink demands of our party filled the charming seafood house with complete chaos. I’d never seen as much food on a restaurant table before.

  “Go ahead and ring Jess tomorrow,” Will said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything is okay—in Stonington, I mean?”

  “The cop got what he needed, and his captain was satisfied with the commissioner’s interview. Closed the case.”

  I kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Will. The way you take care of everything, that I can talk to her again . . . you don’t know how much it all means to me.”

  Satisfaction danced in his eyes. He did know.

  The director of the art museum approached then and asked to speak with me. Will was unfriendly for the first time that day, grumbling with disapproval when I invited her to take the seat next to me.

  “I’m sure her purpose is harmless,” I whispered.

  She was sincere, resting her hand on my arm as she spoke. Her kind smile reminded me of my beloved professor of nineteenth-century art history. She stayed only long enough to take a few sips of wine, closing with a predictable request for my support of the museum association.

  Will threw his napkin onto the table and took another shot of whisky. He leaned back in his chair and pulled me into his side. “You look happy. You’re so beautiful.” He brushed his warm mouth against my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

  “It’s been a lovely day. Thanks.” I swept my fingers along his inked forearm and extorted a smile from him. “You don’t plan to cover this when you’re out?”

  “Why would I do that?” He lifted my hand from his arm and kissed it. “Thomas, go settle this bill, and let’s get out of here. Come, sit here, John.” He stood and waited for his youngest brother to take his chair and then headed for the restroom.

  Three men appeared from a dark corner table and stepped into Will’s path.

  The Green brothers.

  Ben flashed to his side in an instant. Wood scraped wood as the other guys in our party rose from their seats. Several headed that way until Will jerked his head and issued the single word command, sending the Six back to surround John and me in an impenetrable circle of guards. Thomas sprinted from the front and made his way to Will’s side.

  The thrashing of my heart reached my stomach and pitched up to my throat.

  John held my hand in his beneath the table. “Bet they’re trying to wring more money from him. He’s already paying for the funeral. Shouldn’t even do that. Bastard came into our house with a gun and threatened you. He deserved death. Looks like the rest want it too.”

  He went on to tell me that the Greens had agreed, after some harsh persuasion, to bury their dead brother quietly. Each claimed they didn’t know their youngest brother had carried the gun to Eastridge and apologized after being reminded that Will had tracked and punished the man who had beaten and raped their sister three years earlier.

  Something about the faces and the body language of the Green brothers troubled me. Those men were not on board. Will’s fisted hands, his clenched jaw, and the way he moved with deliberate intent told me I was right.

  The circle of men around John and me parted as Will came through the center. “Let’s go, Elle.” He took my hand and led me out the door.

  Later that night, Will and Thomas went back into town alone.

  They hunted Greens.

  41

  It was almost noon, and Will still hadn’t come home. My mind was cluttered with angst, trepidation, and the persistence of those two head-wrecking words: what if. I called him again as I ran down the staircase, halting mid-stride when I heard his ringtone somewhere back on the first floor.

  He was in the house, but he hadn’t bothered to let me know he had returned.

  I darted back up the stairs.

  Thomas and Ben stood in front of one of the guest bedroom doors, their expressions similar to deer caught in the headlights of a car. Thomas held Will’s phone in his hand.

  “Why aren’t you with Will? And why do you have his phone?”

  Thomas stared at me. His mouth opened but he said nothing.

  My chest tightened. “Where is he, Thomas?” I whispered.

  “It’s not a good time, Ellie.”

  “What? Where is he? What happened last night?”

  “Listen—”

  “What happened?” I cried. Images of Will lying lifeless somewhere cold and dark assaulted my mind, my heart, sending a shock wave of pain through my body. I hugged my abdomen as if it would hold me together.

  “He’s going to be fine, I promise.” Thomas reached for me as he snapped at Ben, “Fuck this. He’s too deep in his head—he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

  Ben tried to reason. “Ellie, he’s just resting. Everything’s all right. His shoulder will be fine.”

  Oh, God. “Was he shot?”

  “Cut. It’s
not as bad as you think. He’s had worse.”

  This wasn’t about an injury, then. It was a glaring refusal to see me. Ben’s words from one of our talks in the gym knocked around inside my head: don’t let him get away with it . . . position of strength.

  I dropped my arms and straightened my back. “Let me in, Thomas.”

  “Do you want me to go in with you?” he asked.

  “No, we’ll be okay.”

  Thomas nodded, gestured to the door, and headed for the staircase. Ben followed.

  I stepped into the room and stared at Will. He lay propped against a stack of pillows, drinking from a lowball tumbler. One shoulder was bandaged, but otherwise he was physically whole. He turned his face from me and searched outside the window for something to hold his eyes.

  Tears welled, and a broken sob tried to rebuild in my throat, but I blocked it. Relief would have to wait. We had something to settle first. I drew a deep breath through my nose and drew back my shoulders. Will had underestimated me. There was no way I would allow such behavior. Because, like him, I would fight to protect what was mine.

  I snatched the whisky from his hand. “I will not be replaced with this.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” He fought to keep his eyes trained outside the window.

  “You don’t belong in here either.”

  “Leave.”

  “You know I won’t.” I touched his bandaged shoulder. “Tell me what happened, Will.”

  “Leave, Elle. Just go.”

  Anger consumed my emotions. I wouldn’t let him do that, wouldn’t allow him to shut me out. I threw the glass at the fireplace, and it shattered against the stone surround. His eyes finally met mine when he grabbed me and pulled me down on top of him. He held my wrists so tightly it stung. The muscles in his shoulders and arms quivered.

  I searched his eyes and found anger, roused by my own, but no rage lurked there. That anger was the beast that reared its head only when he believed something had hurt me. Knowing this, the reason behind his torment, I straddled his hips with confidence, determined not to back down.

  When I turned my wrists to relieve the stinging sensation, he quickly opened his fingers and released me. “Baby, don’t push me right now.” He was wrecked. The situation with the Greens had dragged him somewhere deep and caused him to question himself, to retreat emotionally.

  I took his face into my hands. “Why are you shutting me out? Taking a hit doesn’t change anything between us. It’s nothing. It changes nothing.”

  He pointed to his shoulder. “This is nothing.” Then he pulled my hands from his face and locked onto my wrists again. “But what I’ve done, that’s something. That’s the fucking nightmare you should be concerned about.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me, Will. What nightmare could be worse than those I already live with?”

  But he didn’t need to say anything more. I could see what messed with his head. He blamed himself for the Green brothers’ one-eighty, believed their rebellion was his creation. He worried others would follow.

  “You are persuasive and successful in all you do—a powerful man. But the decision the Greens made to come after us? You don’t get credit for that.”

  “I’ll fix it,” he snapped. His anger was still present but diminishing.

  “Just remember. Whatever happens—whatever must be fixed—neither of us is whole without the other.” I untied the string at the waist of his sweatpants. “Shall I remind you?”

  He filled his hands with my hair and pulled me to his mouth. His strength was overwhelming. “I need you. Christ, how I need you.” Will needed his pieces cemented back together—something I could fix.

  I pressed on his injured shoulder. It was the only way I could best him. He jerked and lost his grip. I moved my mouth from his and kissed my way down his neck, his chest, dragging my mouth over his skin until I reached that golden trail of fine hair, and then I tugged like a savage at his sweatpants.

  “Never shut me out again, Will.”

  “Never.” The rhythm of his rising and falling chest amplified as his breath accelerated. “Never,” he repeated, attempting to roll me onto my back.

  I pushed on his shoulder again.

  He fell flat on his back. “Goddammit, Elle!” His voice crashed against the floral-papered walls of the small guest room we occupied. He stilled and I stared at him. His handsome face. His leanly sculpted body. His enormous erection.

  “Fucking magnificent,” I whispered.

  His mood shifted fast, as it often did, and he smirked. “Did you just say fu—”

  I locked my mouth around his wide crown.

  He strangled the sound that climbed up the back of his throat but loosed a primal grunt as his hips bucked. He threaded his fingers through my hair and tried not to pull, tried not to thrust. His wild eyes met mine with burning white fire.

  The muscles in his chest rippled when he finally overthrew my rule and flung me onto my back across the width of the bed. “Be careful with that. You push me close to madness,” he panted against my lips. He kissed my mouth and then dragged that kiss down my quivering body as he slid off my jeans. Smooth kisses teased as he trailed them over my thighs.

  When he at last gave me what I wanted, I pulled his hair and arched, pressing hard against his mouth. A growl rumbled in his throat.

  He had mastered the precise rhythm and intensity that would take me over the edge. He could send me over within seconds or draw it out as long as he desired. He’d also mastered determining the exact moment of my orgasms so he could do with them as he pleased. He was the master of my universe.

  I shattered, screaming his name.

  He shot up and drove himself inside me with a sharp thrust and swallowed the cry it tore from me but then stopped moving to pull himself together. His breath was heavy as he apologized. “Only meant to spare you my dark mood. Should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”

  And with that my anger resurfaced. I leveraged his injury once more—squeezed his shoulder so that he’d roll onto his back again and I could reclaim my position on top.

  “Goddammit, Elle. I said I’m sorry.”

  I dropped my head, saying nothing.

  “Don’t be angry. Look at me.”

  I lifted my chin and found his eyes. “Give me all of you—everything,” I demanded, fighting against his hold on my hips.

  A sudden wave of anxiety flowed through me, and I collapsed onto his chest.

  He moved our bodies, reversing our positions until he hovered above me, and pressed his mouth to mine with tenderness. “I love you.” Another of his gentle kisses caressed my lips. “I’ll give you everything, my angel, always. But this . . . this we do my way when you’re no longer angry with me . . . and willing to yield.”

  We stared into each other. Tears ran down the sides of my face, wetting my temples and sliding into my hair. He’d been stabbed. I could have lost him.

  “You scared me.”

  “I’m an arsehole.”

  I nodded with enthusiasm. That was even better than an apology.

  He grinned. “You’re schooling me, baby. I used to be much worse.”

  “So I hear.” My heart smiled first before it spread to my face.

  The chuckles we shared against each other’s mouths became a passionate kiss, and then he moved inside me, filling me over and over, loving me his way. Will was back and in control, just as he needed to be. Just as I needed him to be. Giving myself over to him—yielding to his dominance when he was inside me—eased my soul, took me home.

  He controlled what went on in our bed and in our life together, but he gave me something in return that was more valuable. His key. It unlocked a power that was all mine. It was the power to push him until he was no longer the arrogant financier nor the cold-blooded mercenary nor the warrior born to protect me. I could turn that key until he was stripped down to the man behind it all. The man with a tender soul who loved me hard no matter the cost.

  42
>
  Will hauled his favorite worn leather sofa across the billiard room and placed it and his stack of newspapers close to the bank of windows where I’d begun to paint again. The room wasn’t ideal with the bar and its traffic, and I disliked being exposed on the ground level, but it had the most accessible north-facing windows in the house.

  We were focused on the rehab of Will’s shoulder and connecting the pieces of our life. We agreed it was one life and talked about how to move forward together. Will and I might never be free of the legacy of our ancestors, but we would change that for the following generations. We were committed to our fight to end an ancient war that somehow made its way to the twenty-first century. We would close the rabbit hole.

  Apart from my distinct American accent, living in England felt like a natural fit. Eastridge was my home. Will was my home.

  “Where’s John with his education?” I had no clue how to approach the education system in England.

  Will answered without looking up from The Wall Street Journal. “He’s indulging in a gap year before university. Many kids here do that, take a gap year to travel or sometimes gain work experience. Not sure John should’ve been granted the luxury. I’m worried his enthusiasm will be lost. He doesn’t show interest in anything other than football. Lissie needs to be enrolled in primary school. Mother can deal with that.”

  “Is he good?”

  “He is.”

  Newspapers rustled as he continued to work through the stack. The smell of fresh ink mingled with the spike lavender I used with my oils. I imagined it was how any home we shared would always smell. I loved that he preferred the paper medium to digital. Black-and-white, no shades of gray, no vibrant distractions.

  “Maybe that’s his way out. Isn’t that what you want for him—a way out of the mess you and Thomas are bound to?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think the community—oh, dammit!”

  “What’s the matter, baby?”