Liar Liar

by Donna Alam

  ‘The bus?’ he replies, his brow creasing.

  ‘Four wheels? Takes multiple passengers, usually for a small charge? Maybe you know it better as the peasant wagon?’

  ‘I’m aware of what a bus is,’ he replies silkily, resisting my attempted tug. But as his thumb feathers the underside of my wrist, I find I’m not struggling anymore. How can such a small touch feel so calming, so intimate? ‘Your heart is beating so fast.’ His eyes rise from where we join, his expression almost provocative. ‘Why is that, do you think?’

  ‘Because I’m anxious I’m about to miss my bus.’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘You know, I have no idea how I came to get this job, but I’m pretty certain you’re going to explain it to me sometime.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yes, it is. But for now, I have a bus to catch. A bus I can’t afford to miss. For one thing, I’m not even sure exactly where I live.’

  ‘I’m sure I can help find you a place to stay.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ I find myself chuckling at the man’s audacity.

  ‘I could make a call. Find out where you live.’

  ‘Knowing where I live isn’t going to get me there.’ Though I’m no longer trying to tug away my hand, a tiny breath catches in my throat as he lifts it to his lips, pressing them to the back of my hand. It’s not a sweet gesture, not by any stretch of the imagination. Not the way he watches me.

  ‘I don’t want you to go, Rose.’

  My name is a temptation, and his lips so sure and so firm and little more than a breath away. I try not to stare as I wonder if Remy would kiss me differently in this alternate reality. Would his kiss be more, here in his natural habitat? Would it be harder? Commanding? Would he hold me tight against him? Would I let him?

  Like those are even serious questions.

  Liquid heat courses through my veins, answering the almost magnetic pull of him.

  ‘Do you know Emile Durrand?’ he asks, the question a dangerous sounding purr.

  ‘As in, Emile Durrand, the founder of Wolf Industries?’

  His thumb resumes its feather-light caress. ‘You’ve met him?’

  ‘Only between the covers of the company magazine.’ Emile Durrand founded Wolf Industries. He’s also Remy’s father, according to the articles. ‘I read the back catalogue while HR was deciding what to do with me. I guess you don’t offer many of your so-called conquests jobs, given how they struggled to keep me occupied. Should I be flattered? Because, honestly? I’m just confused.’

  ‘Conquests?’

  ‘So-called,’ I correct. ‘One night in my bed doesn’t mean you own me.’

  ‘What about one night in my bed.’ His fingers tighten around my wrist, his expression shuttering quite suddenly. ‘What do you think that would earn me?’

  Probably a stalker, I don’t answer.

  ‘You say you’ve never met him?’

  ‘I have not met your father,’ I reply imperiously. ‘And, according to those magazines, I’m not likely to now.’ Unless I’m living in a bad telenovela because Emile Durrand died over two years ago.

  ‘Non,’ Remy replies, this time making me roll my eyes. Sexy French accent be gone. ‘I didn’t think so. He liked them un peu docile.’ He holds his thumb and forefinger a pinch apart.

  ‘Whatever.’ I glance away. No way I’m touching that. And to hell with docile. ‘And now I’ve missed my bus.’

  ‘Do you know your eyes turn gold when you’re annoyed?’

  ‘It’s my special superpower.’

  ‘I disagree. Your talents lie elsewhere.’

  ‘I preferred it when I didn’t understand what you were saying.’

  ‘You don’t like my voice?’

  I don’t answer. I like his voice plenty, especially when it’s addressing me in that low, bedroom-y tone with the hint of his accent rounding the words.

  His hand trails up the inside of my arm, the pads of his fingers heating my skin. I find my nipples standing to attention under the thin layers of my dress and hope he doesn’t notice.

  ‘Rose.’ He elongates my name almost chidingly as he lifts my chin, turning me to face him. ‘We both know you appreciate the things my mouth can do.’

  Oh, my. He is relentless.

  I know I should come up with a rebuttal, some kind of put down—and maybe I would if my head was on straight. I should resist the pull of him, deny his arms as they slide around my waist, but I find I can’t. Even if, at the last minute, I turn my head.

  ‘I’m not the kind of girl who kisses the boss.’ Even if as his lips brush my cheek, my body cries out with the memory of his.

  ‘I’m not your boss.’ His words are barely a whisper yet they still make me shiver.

  ‘I also don’t kiss my boss several times removed.’

  I feel the smile he presses against my cheek. ‘What if I promise I didn’t bring you to Monaco to fuck you?’

  ‘That’s not good enough. You need to tell me why I’m here.’

  ‘You’re here because I want to know who you are.’ His voice is suddenly rough, and I can feel the heat coming off him in waves.

  I make as though to push him away—I swear those are my intentions—because I won’t be played with a second time. Instead, his eyes dip to my mouth, and I have no idea who moves first. All I know is my fingers are pulling at him, wrapped in his shirt, and not for a little leverage to knee him where it hurts. And then I’m noticing how his lips are so soft against mine, not hard like I’d imagined and not at all tentative. His touch skates up my spine, clasping the back of my neck as though to hold me in place. I’ve little intention of moving, not as his mouth plunders, his kiss deepening and coaxing mine to return the change of pace. I need no encouragement, my hands questing and greedy, my will bent to his. Tongues tangle and teeth graze, his shirt not the only item of clothing between us gripped and tortured as his big hand cups my backside, his fingers as unforgiving as his lips.

  ‘I’ve dreamed of your mouth.’ Oh, God. His husky admission and the feel of him hot and hard pressed against me makes me ache. ‘Tell me you’ve dreamed of me.’

  ‘Only in my fantasies.’

  Breath catches in my throat as he twists my braid around his fist, his words growled into my neck.

  ‘Je veux te baiser.’

  ‘You know I don’t understand.’

  His response is a silky chuckle as he begins to gather my dress in small increments against my thigh. ‘I said I want to fuck you.’ His words bloom and burst in my belly. Is it his lips at my ear that make me shiver, or is it the way his accent thickens, his words sounding more promise than threat?

  ‘Not exactly subtle.’ Hell, was that a reprimand or a compliment? I can’t be sure, not as his fingers brush lightly between my legs.

  ‘I want to put my mouth here. Do those words work for you?’

  ‘They’re a little better.’ Not to mention a little knee weakening.

  ‘Good. Because I also plan on fucking you with my tongue.’

  Oh, my God. Where do I sign up?

  ‘Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?’ I manage to say instead.

  ‘Non.’ Remy spins, and suddenly, I’m the one resting against the desk, his mouth on mine and his hands everywhere. ‘This mouth is for kissing you. And I want to kiss you everywhere.’

  12

  Rose

  This mouth is for kissing you.

  I want to kiss you everywhere.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ I glance across the darkened car, managing to shoot Fee a tight yet grateful smile. ‘I’m fine. I suppose it’s just been a long day. Thank you so much for picking me up. I don’t know how I’d have made it back without you.’

  She waves away my thanks. ‘I don’t mind driving around town out of peak hours. It’s actually quite therapeutic.’

  I could be lying across a desk right now being kissed everywhere. But that would be wrong, no matter how much I wan
ted it.

  ‘Still, thank you. You should be at home with a glass of wine, not driving across the border to pick up stupid people.’

  Wine, yes. Thank God I picked up a couple of bottles over the weekend. I can’t afford to get shit-faced tonight, but I need a little something to take away the mortification.

  ‘You’re not stupid,’ Fee replies with a tinkling laugh. ‘You’re just new here, which is exactly why I’m surprised no one gave any thought to you getting back to the accommodation block on your first day.’ She follows her words with a disparaging click of teeth and tongue.

  ‘It’s not so surprising really. He didn’t even know there was a staff bus.’ The words are out of my mouth without thought. I fight to keep my eyes straight because I can’t afford for her to read my expression. In fact, there’s no way I’m ever telling anyone about the compromising situation I put myself in.

  ‘Who didn’t know about the bus?’

  ‘The man I was shadowing this afternoon. I can’t remember his name.’

  I hope the same can be said for whoever interrupted us just as Remy’s hand was about to slip into my underwear. I’d stiffened at the sound of the door, Remy’s mouth rising slowly from where he’d been whispering in very explicit terms how much he wanted me. My wide eyes had shot to his, trying to convey my panic. My first day at work, and I’d been discovered under the boss—way to go, Rose.

  ‘Your timing, as always, is impeccable, Everett,’ he’d murmured. It wasn’t the response I was expecting as, still shielding me, his fingers had unhurriedly refastened the buttons he’d worked loose as he’d pressed a petal-soft kiss against my cheek.

  It was probably for the best that we were interrupted, but that doesn’t mean the asshole should’ve taken a seat on the sofa behind him.

  ‘You said six o’clock,’ the man replied. An English accent. The same guy who annoyed Remy’s secretary, maybe? Whoever he was, he was definitely amused.

  ‘Ta mère,’ Remy drawled without heat.

  ‘Sure,’ he’d drawled in reply. ‘But if you’ve the energy to fuck my mother after you’ve finished here, you’re doing something wrong.’

  Remy continued to shield my body and held out his hand to help me down from the desk. I couldn’t look at him, utterly mortified as I was. As I still am. When he’d turned to address the man fully, growling a catalogue of French insults, I’d taken the opportunity to tiptoe across the room before slipping out of the door.

  Fleeing the scene of the crime, so to speak. Head down, I was too ashamed to even glance at the woman at the desk outside his door, even as Remy’s footsteps followed me out, then again into the hallway as he’d called my name. But I didn’t wait, and I didn’t look back. I’m not ashamed to admit that I hustled, moving as fast as my spindly heels would allow, putting distance between me and that man, distance between me and my bad decisions, while also not moving so fast that it looked like I stole something.

  I don’t ever want to be that girl, the one who listens to her heart rather than her head. The girl who gives it up to her boss on his desk. And yet, not two hours ago, there I was, ready to give him anything he’d wanted.

  Any way he’d wanted.

  I’d managed to slip into the elevator before he could reach me, my heart beating frantically as I’d willed the doors to close. Then he was there quite suddenly, his long legs eating up the space between us, his expression piqued.

  Okay, pissed.

  He said my name, his delivery making it sound like a reprimand. I felt like my poor overworked heart was about to burst from overload because if he reached me, I wasn’t at all sure what would transpire. Would the security cameras record him kissing or killing me? Or would it be the other way around?

  He caught the doors with his hand as they began to close, a strange mixture of fear and elation taking over me. I’d pressed my back against the elevator walls, expecting him to step in.

  ‘You didn’t have to run.’ His tone was even, despite his frown, but he didn’t step any closer. I couldn’t discern whether I was relieved or disappointed about that.

  ‘That—that was wrong, Remy. What we did. I work for you now. My first day and I can’t keep on my underwear?’

  ‘You were still dressed. Mostly.’ He smiled quite suddenly, though tried to conceal it by rubbing his thumb across an unfairly lush bottom lip. The way his eyes drank me in felt like a remembrance.

  ‘That’s not the point. Who was that anyway?’ I threw out my arm in the rough direction of his office. My fingers were trembling.

  ‘Someone who won’t speak of this to anyone.’

  ‘Good.’ My gaze fell to my shoes, and the next words out of my mouth were the truth delivered without thought. Without grace. ‘I need you to leave me alone.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ The doors tried to close once more, but he held them back.

  ‘I have to.’ I couldn’t look at him. ‘Please let me go.’

  His arm dropped, the doors reacting. The last thing I registered was his forbidding expression as they slid fully closed.

  I’d escaped into the twilight and took refuge in a nearby café until Fee arrived. I’m so grateful she’d suggested I take her number this morning, or I don’t know what I’d have done. She offered to come and get me, which I’ll admit, was enough to make me tear up from sheer relief. I also feel like a total turd for lying to her, but she could do without being embroiled in this.

  ‘What an arsehole,’ she mutters, glowering out of the driver’s window, and for a moment, I think she means the motorcyclist who’d just undertaken us instead of responding to my half-truths.

  ‘Yep, asshole,’ I agree. A sexy, maddening asshole who seems to have plans for me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  ‘Next time,’ she adds, ‘be sure to tell him you need to leave. Some people are just so bloody inconsiderate.’

  Inconsiderate isn’t the way I would’ve described him back in March. He was certainly a considerate lover. Considerate and gifted. But now, I just don’t know. He’s got that whole downtown vibe about him. You know the one; I’m master of everything I touch, of all I survey.

  But I don’t think he brought me here to get me into bed. I mean, it’s hardly like he fist-pumped the air when we passed in the hallway earlier. He looked more annoyed than delighted. And he didn’t behave like a man desperate to get into my panties when I walked into his office. At least, not until the end of our heated exchange.

  Something tells me he didn’t bring me to Monaco to screw.

  But did he bring me here to screw me over?

  The sweet man I met in March? I say no.

  The demanding business mogul from this afternoon? I really don’t know.

  13

  Remy

  Róisín Ryan. Rose Ryan.

  The same person.

  But more importantly, no relation to me.

  Let me go back to the beginning. To that night. I’d initiated an investigation into Róisín for some time after the reading of my father’s will. He’d left her a bequest, the kind sizeable enough to invite question. To invite investigation.

  Who was this woman he left provision for? A bequest with strings, the knowledge of which is at my discretion until she comes into her inheritance at the age of thirty. It will leave her a wealthy woman, eventually, as well as involve her in Wolf Industry affairs. It’s only natural I jumped to conclusions; conclusions cemented when I discovered he’d also sent her money two years prior while he was still alive.

  Gifting money was a little unorthodox for him. The women in his life, his mistresses, usually received much less liquid assets in exchange for fucking him. Art and property. Sometimes investments but never cash.

  Everything about it felt off. To leave such a substantial amount to someone not family? Why? Who was she? A little investigation into one Róisín Ryan revealed a girl who graduated from a no-name college and was waiting tables in a strip club.

  There were only two ways my mind coul
d go. She was either fucking him or was the result of his fucking. And back before I’d met her, I feared it was the latter. A long-lost sister could certainly complicate things for me and for Wolf Industries. The board had already suffered the shock of finding Emile’s so-called playboy son installed at the helm. A drawn-out court case and subsequent power struggle could return us to a position of precariousness. Harming our investors’ confidence so soon again could, quite simply, be disastrous.

  But as she is not the daughter of Emile, she has no claim to that other than the provision made for her in his will. Her shares in the company, once she inherits them, won’t be enough to harm us in any way. And as she is not the blood daughter of Emile, she’s no sister to me. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

  Which leaves the second hypothesis: she’s someone he’d fucked.

  After she’d sped out of my office, I’d spread the photographs out on my desk, along with the information gathered by a private investigator in the States, now even less convinced. Though capricious by nature, Emile had a definite type; early thirties, sophisticated, someone adept at the game, someone who knew not to make waves. A young girl from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t seem like his MO. My opinion was only strengthened now that she was no longer just a name, a collection of images and intrusive facts. As Róisín, she was too young, too unpredictable, and too blonde, or so I thought at that point. As Rose, she was too good for him to have ever laid his hands on.

  She isn’t to inherit as the result of a casual weekend fuck.

  And if I’m right, the question must be asked: then why is she?

  ‘I still say she might’ve been a little holiday strange.’ Rhett stares down at me, his face upside down as his tall form blocks out the light from above.

  ‘Because San Francisco is the kind of place Emile would’ve chosen for a vacation.’ Despite being thirty minutes into our workout, I’m still pissed at the way he’d interrupted earlier. Angry and biding my time for a little retribution from the cock-blocking imbécile.