Liar Liar

by Donna Alam

  ‘I’m a big girl,’ she taunts, her breath hot brush against my flesh. Her mouth is so close, and I ache for her. ‘I can look after myself.’

  My second curse isn’t so quiet as she takes me to the back of her throat, holding me there. My back bucks from the wall, pleasure twisting my insides. I am stuck between a rock and a soft place, quite literally, as she works me between her fist and her lips, her tongue the epitome of wickedness.

  ‘Suce-moi. Suck me, Rose. Fais-moi jouir. Make me come.’

  My thoughts are wicked, my demands probably making very little sense as I tangle my fingers in her hair, plucking out the pins, desperate to own her from the ends of these strands to the rasp of her breath.

  ‘Are you looking at me now, Remy?’ Her mouth glistens and her eyes shine.

  ‘Je te vois.’ I swallow back my groan as she sweeps her thumb across my wet head. ‘I see you.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘The woman I love making me beg for mercy.’

  ‘Mercy you don’t deserve.’

  My moans are deeper, rougher, every inch of me burning, trembling, yearning as she bends to take me in her mouth once again. She sucks me with a breath-taking urgency, her moans rocking through me and disintegrating my brain.

  ‘Please, I need you.’ If I don’t do this now, I’ll be nothing but an impression burned into the wall. A flash of heat and I’ll be gone.

  Hands under her arms, I bring her mouth to mine in a kiss that’s hard and unforgiving. I suck on her tongue like she sucked me, run my teeth down her neck as I whisper my litany of dirty promises in French and in English and God only knows what else. Our positions reversed, I gather her dress, pushing it upwards. Tan legs, the very apex of her covered in a wisp of cream lace. I rest my hands in the dip of her waist as I press my face against her and inhale. Slowly, I slip her panties down her legs, her legs trembling as they travel. I pull down her zipper as I rise, the satin soft fabric at her chest beginning to gape, the reveal not quick enough for my senses. I bring my hands to the neckline.

  ‘If you rip this dress, so help me, I will never take you in my mouth again.’

  ‘Don’t make promises you have no wish to keep,’ I tease softly, pinching her nipple over the silk.

  ‘Conceited man.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a dozen dresses.’ I press my words to her neck. ‘A hundred. A thousand.’

  ‘But it won’t be this dress.’

  I find myself smiling, the picture of her already burned into my memory. ‘You always look so beautiful, ma Rose. In a pretty dress on the stairs, on your knees full of me. Pressed up against a wall, your mouth wet, and clothes half undone.’ She shivers as I run my tongue across the rise of her chest, peeling away the remains of her dress until the round fullness of her breasts are revealed.

  She is the picture of a modern-day Venus; no virtue and all want.

  Her breath hitches as my thumbs trace the soft undersides of her breasts, the pads sliding up those heavenly slopes. She rolls in her bottom lip as she turns her cheek to the wall, refusing to give in to her sigh. But as her nipples tighten, and I brush my mouth over them, our movements suddenly become desperate, frantic. Wild. My jacket hits the floor, my tie pulled open, my shirt half unbuttoned as my fingers slide between her satin thighs. As her legs widen to accept my touch, I fill her with my fingers, again and again, her pleasure in the tenor of her cries and the sweetness coating my fingertips.

  Without any real cognisance, I lift her from the floor, slam her down on my cock, and press my wet fingers into her mouth.

  ‘I want no one but you.’ I punctuate my words with my thrusts, desperate to fill her everywhere as her dark eyes silently beg. ‘You fill my thoughts. You fill my head. I have carved your name across my heart.’

  Her body begins to jerk against me, the hot clasp of her unravelling as I hold her between the wall and my cock. Her entire body trembles against mine, pulses around mine, her fingernails digging into my shoulders as though to prevent her fall. But fall she does, the pitch of her cries frantic as I follow her. A bolt of white heat lances through me, almost wiping the strength from my legs as it blesses me with a moment of clarity. I want to protect her. Keep her. Make her whole. But I can’t do any of that without her owning a part of my soul.

  Her dress lies across a chair, her shoes abandoned to another room somewhere, my own clothing discarded in a heap. We’ve fucked. We’ve made love. We’ve whispered promises and chanted prayers. We should be sleeping, yet we aren’t.

  And I can’t get the image of Carson Hayes out of my head. His hand on her. It’s not just that he touched her. It’s the way he looked at her. The way he looked at me.

  ‘What did Hayes whisper to you in the bar?’ Though I keep my voice even as I ask, she still stiffens against me.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘You’re a very bad liar, ma Rose.’ I run my fingers through her hair, as much for my reassurance as for hers. She sighs, settling her hand between my chest and her chin.

  ‘He said you’re as fake as the watch you wear.’ Her eyes don’t meet mine, though she traces the contour of my wrist above the leather. ‘I didn’t want to tell you.’ Her chest expands against mine with a deep inhale. ‘But your grandfather’s watch is apparently a fake.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You do?’ She pushes up, her shock evident even through the tangle of her hair. She bats it away.

  ‘Of course.’ I bring her fingers to my lips, placing a kiss against her knuckles before smoothing the hair from her brow. ‘My mother’s family were successful merchants going back to when Monaco really began. But my grandfather wasn’t really motivated by money, so I’m told. Unlike me, I can hear you thinking.’ I pull a lock of her hair to accompany my teasing tone.

  ‘I didn’t say a word.’

  ‘Money isn’t a motivator for me, you know. Not really.’

  ‘That’s because you have lots of it. Money motivates the poor. Power motivates the rich. ‘Besides, what’s not to like about being rich? It’s like being Batman. You get the car and all the gadgets, the ear of Gotham City’s mayor. You get to do what you want, be who you want, and then there’s the really cool suit. Only yours is custom made, and you don’t look like a toy in it.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.’

  ‘You were telling me about your grandfather.’ Her smile is a cynical quirk; it’s time to move on.

  ‘Yes. I suppose he had a philosophy, though one that I didn’t really appreciate until I met you.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me he was a time traveller, are you?’

  ‘Non. He was a man of his time. One who believed the only luxury in life is time. Because time you cannot get back.’

  ‘Ah, so the fake watch was worth nothing.’

  ‘And time is worth everything.’

  ‘And that’s why you wear it? As a reminder?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ But I don’t need to be reminded anymore. Because now I have her.

  ‘I’m sure Carson will be very disappointed to find your fake watch has meaning?’

  ‘You’re on first name terms already?’

  ‘Calm your farm. I barely know the man.’

  ‘I know him better. Trust me when I say this is an acquaintance you don’t want to cultivate.’

  ‘You stay away from Amélie,’ she murmurs, ‘and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Rose, I’m being serious.’ I push up onto my elbow to better look at her. Dark hair splayed across the pillow; her eyes clear. ‘Stay away from him.’

  ‘What is it between you two?’ she says, settling back into the space between my shoulder.

  ‘It’s just business.’ And a small matter of blackmail that his grandfather brought on himself a long time ago. Though he is now old and wizened, I have no sympathy for him. Men who prey on the weak are the lowest of the low.’

  What is more personal than blackmail and perhaps attempted murder?

  ‘Spea
king of business, you missed my mother’s big announcement earlier.’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t mind. In fact, I’m sure she won’t even have noticed.’ Her body has begun to relax, her breathing to slow.

  ‘She’s donated her share of Wolf Industries to her charity.’

  ‘Really?’ At this, she rouses as she asks, ‘Did you know? Before the announcement, I mean?’

  I shake my head, my mind flipping to the standing ovation she received and the way she seemed to be almost lit from within. ‘I’m generally not kept in my mother’s confidence.’ Or she mine.

  ‘How do you feel about it? I mean, I guess that would’ve been your inheritance, right?’

  ‘I’m proud of her,’ I admit. ‘I already have enough.’ Enough for several lifetimes over. ‘Go to sleep, Rose.’ I press my lips to her head. ‘We can talk in the morning.’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ she says through a yawn.

  Ominous? No.

  Lifechanging? I do hope so. Because I’m coming to realise that man should desire his life to be blessed with few things. He should want health, comfort, and to arrive wizened and grey to his own death, his heart filled with love.

  47

  Rose

  The room is still dark when I wake, the silver drapes drawn closed. God knows what time it is. Well, God and my phone, but only one of them will tell me the exact time. If I knew where it was. Remy had watched the video file sometime last night, tossing my phone as though it had offended him, and not the bitch on the screen, as he’d muttered something unintelligible, his tone one of supreme disgust.

  I wonder where he is. I can’t hear the shower, or much of anything. Just the quiet hum of the central air circulating the room.

  Wherever he is, he won’t be long, I’m sure. And while we might be over last night, I also know it won’t be the last conversation we ever have about him hiding the truth from me. But it has to get better—maybe in time he can learn to open up? In the meantime, I guess I’ll always have making up to look forward to.

  I roll onto my back, pushing the bird’s nest of hair from my face; half unravelled braids and bits of professional backcombing, along with the knots from Remy’s fingers. It’s going to take me an age to straighten, not to mention give me a sore head. Problems not for now, I think, as I stretch out along the bed, my fingers pointed to the wall behind me, my toes towards the bottom of the bed as I savour the delicious aches last night have left me with. I was so angry. Angry at her, angry at him, and so sick and tired of feeling like a puppet on a string. But I got my payback, even if I was on my knees. I made him dance to my tune. And then, he made me dance to his. So I ache. It’s like I’ve had the best kind of workout, the only kind of work out, as I stare at the pale ceiling with a wide grin, studying a chink of light from a gap in the drapes as it dances off the glass light fixture.

  ‘A smile. You must’ve had pleasant dreams.’ His assertion is accompanied by a soft, husky laugh. Meanwhile, I commando roll across the bed, grabbing the sheet as I go.

  ‘One of these days you’ll give me a heart attack,’ I complain, curling my legs under me as I push myself up against the pillows. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Early still.’

  ‘Then why are you up? And dressed?’ I rub my palm against my eyes and take a second look at the tall, dark, handsome and infuriatingly sexy man sitting in the chair at the end of the bed. ‘Your shirt is all creased.’

  ‘It’s also missing a button,’ he says, dipping his chin and glancing down. The recollection of how it happened is a hitch in one corner of his mouth. ‘I was going to send it to the laundry overnight but then you fell asleep in my arms and I just didn’t want to be anywhere else.’

  My heart does a little leap. ‘Beautifully answered.’

  One hand slides over the flat planes of his stomach and I consider ruining a few more buttons before we’re through.

  ‘Thank you. And also true.’

  ‘So it’s to be a walk of shame through the hotel for us? Or are you going to smuggle us out in the service elevator? Or maybe send someone to fetch clothes?’ ‘

  ‘What? And risk someone coming across your purple friend? What was it, again? The pussy pounder?’

  I bury my face in my hands with a groan. ‘Never ever say that again.’

  ‘Pussy?’ he asks blandly. ‘Or pounder? Or was it the coming across it that you have a particular objection to.’

  ‘I have never . . .’ My words trail away as he begins to chuckle, and I crack my fingers to peer out at him. ‘Are you done?’ I ask, my tone very slightly piqued. ‘And like I’d even keep that thing in a drawer. It’s stowed away in my suitcase, thank you very much.’

  ‘I should think so. Weapons are supposed to be kept secured.’

  I launch a pillow at his head, which he bats easily away.

  ‘One more thing.’ He holds his forefinger in the air. ‘Would you care to explain why I’m listed under your phone as Monsieur Baguette?’ I notice in his other hand he holds my phone.

  ‘Have you been going through my contacts?’

  ‘No. Why, do you think I should?’ He glances at my phone then back again, his expression bland.

  ‘If you want to look, you should ask.’ Because if you’re thinking about Carson Hayes and getting all jealous again, I might just enjoy setting you on your ass. Again. ‘And if you do, you should also be prepared to hand over your own phone.’

  At this, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his own phone. It lands on the sheet next to my legs with a quiet slap.

  ‘Feel free,’ he offers. ‘I wasn’t looking through your contacts, by the way. I was looking for your phone by calling it. Or at least, someone called Mr Baguette was.’

  I pull another pillow from behind me, this time to hide behind. ‘Let me know when you’re finished tormenting me.’

  ‘Mon hérisson épineux. You’re just too much fun not to.’

  ‘Calling me a prickly hedgehog is not endearing.’ I lift my head from the pillow, intending to repeat this for his hearing, when I squeal as his hand clamps around my ankle, pulling me flat against mattress.

  ‘I intend tormenting you until my very last breath.’ He climbs over me, his clothed body caging my semi-covered one. I notice he has his shoes on. ‘All this silken skin just begging to be kissed.’

  ‘Why do you have your shoes on?’ And why am I not just going with this?

  ‘How much do you love me, Rose?’ His face above mine is so close his features are blurry.

  ‘Enough to turn a walk through the damned hotel in last night’s clothes into a victory lap.’

  ‘Rose, I’ve already been out this morning. In these clothes. Without giving a damn for who saw me or what they thought.’

  ‘Where’d you go?’

  ‘First, tell me how much you love me.’ Though his mouth delivers the summons playfully, his gaze demands.

  ‘This sounds suspiciously like you’ve done something wrong,’ I counter, cupping his face as I narrow my own gaze. ‘Like you’re trying to get me to say I love you so when you tell me what you’ve done wrong, you can remind me of my earlier declarations.’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ he appeals to the ceiling. ‘I already know you love me. I’m asking you how much.’

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You’re trying to trick me.’

  ‘I might’ve done something a little crazy, yes. Something a little out of character. Something that requires your love and your encouragement.’ His lips play at smiling, not quite giving in.

  ‘I need you to move.’

  ‘Afterwards. First answer me.’

  ‘No, Remy. First I need to pee.’

  My heart pounds in the silence as he stares down at me, but ohmygodohmygod, I really need to pee. Like, now!

  He nods and flips over onto his back, blowing out a harsh breath as I roll from the bed, trying to drag the sheet with me but eventually giving up and making a dash for the door. I do my thing, brush my teeth and my hair, thanks t
o an excellent amenity kit . . . which I’d ordinarily pop in my case, along with all the miniatures. Except, I don’t have a case. Or clean underwear. Or even suitable daytime clothing. But what I do have is a hot hunk of man in the other room waiting to torture me some more. So, I slip on the white robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and step out into the bedroom.

  Light now floods the room. The bed is still a mess, though Remy isn’t in it. Instead, he’s kneeling on the floor. Kneeling on one knee, more specifically. I clasp my hand to my runaway heart as he curls his finger in a come-hither gesture.

  And I hither—I hither like a screw drawn to a magnet.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he begins, his mouth twisted in such a way that I feel like I’m waiting for the punchline. But he’s on his knees, right? In front of me. So, if this is a joke, he’d better be ready for a throwdown. When he takes my hand in his, I swear, I no longer need to breathe.

  ‘I tried to think of how I’d lived my life before you were part of it, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember how I filled my days and my nights without you. Then I knew. My days and nights going forward? I need you in them. Forever and always.’

  I’m smiling so wide right now, my insides set to dance mode.

  ‘Then I started to wonder how I could do this. How I could ask you this question. Should I take you out on the yacht, then on to the speedboat to a secluded cove. Get a ring and put it in a fancy shell and drop to my knee on a beach. Or should I drop it in a glass of champagne. Or maybe I could propose as we jet to Bora Bora. So many thoughts revolving around my head. How does a man choose? How does he know the woman he loves will say yes?’

  ‘Well, usually, it starts with a question.’

  ‘And I’m getting to it.’ His teeth gleam as he presses them over my knuckle in a silent threat. ‘So, I couldn’t sleep, and I’d glanced at my wristwatch wondering how long I’d lain there. And I remembered.’

  ‘The only luxury in life is time.’

  ‘Because you can’t get it back,’ he adds, echoing his earlier words.