Dirtiest Lie (7 page)

“A hint would be appreciated,” I say as he slides back to where he was sitting before he kissed me.

“Ok. The first two words are ‘I’m falling.’ The last two words are ‘with you.’ Can you guess the middle two words?”

My eyes go wide. Slade pushes his dark hair away from his forehead, but wet strands immediately fall forward again. Drops of water cling to his eyelashes.

“Seriously?” I ask. Because he seems so casual about it that I’m sure I’ve misunderstood.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he says. “That can’t be a surprise, especially after all the talk of running away together.”

“You think it’s the same thing?”

“Isn’t it, Lindsay?” he asks, but it’s not really a question.

He seems so certain, so unafraid.

I slide down until the water reaches my chin. The bubbles spray my face, drenching me. In the obsessive loop playing in my head, Slade’s words have displaced my fears about being abducted.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve had to do?” he finally asks.

“That’s a weird question.”

“Maybe this is my training, and tomorrow morning you can go right to Romeo. He’s better at this sort of thing anyway.” His perfect lips lift in a confident smile, and I sigh.

“Worst? In what way?”

He shakes his head and settles against the edge of the hot tub. I can’t hear anything except for the splashing water, and I wonder if Hawthorne is enjoying his game with Karen. I wonder what the rest of that story is.

I sigh. So not only does Slade want an answer, he refuses to allow me to trap him into a narrow definition of the question, one that would allow me to squirm and avoid telling the truth.

“There are lots of things that could qualify,” I say, thinking of the people I’ve had to lie to, the promises I’ve broken. I find myself chewing on my bottom lip.

“Impossible to say,” I conclude, and he shakes his head. His eyes are sad.

“We both know that’s not true,” he says. “And that’s why I couldn’t run away with you now. Before, I knew you had secrets, and I thought they were just… secrets. Now I know it’s so much deeper than that. If you stay here, we’ll fix the problem with your grandfather, and we’ll do our best to—”

“To fix me,” I add. My teeth bite into my lip, and I force myself to stop. It’s another bad habit, like twirling the ends of my hair, that I’ve picked up since Kidnapper Joe grabbed me.

“I don’t believe you need fixing,” he says, surprising me.

“Thank you.”

“I think you’re healed, but like a bone that was never properly set.”

I scowl, but I’m not really annoyed. Those exact words coming from Hawthorne and I’d be up in arms, but with Slade, I find I don’t have a problem making myself digest them.

“Broken bones heal stronger,” I say as I sit up.

He reaches out a hand and wipes water off my chin. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “You’ve done well, very well, on your own. But humans are social creatures. It would be more worrisome if you didn’t show signs of trauma.”

“Trauma.”

“You’ve been taking care of yourself since you were sixteen,” he says. “You don’t trust anyone.”

“I trust you,” I say, and I mean it.

He frowns. “I don’t think trust is what we have. Respect, maybe. I don’t lean on you. I don’t push you. That makes our relationship easy for you.”

“How is that bad?”

His sad smile only makes him more handsome. “You’re too smart to pretend not to understand,” he says. “I want you, Lindsay. All of you, not just the parts that you think are deserving of attention.”

“What if… What if I promise to see a therapist? Then we could run away together?” The smile I add onto the end is supposed to say that I’m only joking, but Slade isn’t fooled, and I’m not so crazy as to push the issue.

One of the doors to the locker room opens, and a moment later Romeo walks into view. “We need to get back to the office,” he says. He looks from Slade to me. “Well, I do, at least.”

“Don’t you get tired of working all the time?” I ask.

He squats next to me. “When you return, let Tamara know. My afternoon is semi-flexible, and I want the four of us to discuss how to handle your grandfather.”

“Wait,” I whisper. “You can spare ten minutes.”

“I have to shower.” But to my joy, he takes a lingering look. My breasts are buoyant in the water, and I arch my back so that my stiff nipples poke into the air.

“It’ll be a fast shower,” he says.

~

While Romeo is gone, Slade pulls me into his lap.

His cock is already hard, and even though we’re both naked, I don’t expect anything to happen.

So when he shoves my knees apart and thrusts his hard length into my pussy, I’m surprised.

An unexpected orgasm sweeps through me just from the penetration. Whimpering, I arch on his lap, and he sucks on my nipple, then bites it hard. The orgasm draws out, and I spasm in his arms.

“That looks like fun,” he says, sounding amused.

“What does?” I gasp. Another shudder makes my pussy clench.

“That,” he says, and he pulses his cock inside me. This makes my pussy tighten again, an uncontrollable reflex on my part.

He begins to move slowly, rocking his hips underneath me. His large hands sit low on my waist, almost on my buttocks.

The door opens, and footsteps approach. I’m facing away, but I assume it’s Hawthorne. Slade slows his tempo.

“Nice of you to wait,” Hawthorne says, and he sounds miffed. “Maybe next time I’ll take Karen up on her offer.”

“Don’t deny yourself on my account,” I say.

“Let me guess… She suggested all five of us get together,” Slade says.

“I’d be up for that,” I say, turning to look at Hawthorne.

Irritation slides across his face. “No one likes a martyr. I’m going to shower.” Hawthorne walks away. He’s already dragging his shirt over his head.

Slade bucks his hips, and I face forward again and wrap my arms around him.

“The first time I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen,” he says.

“And now?” I ask, smiling.

“Now I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Prettier than Karen?”

“Without a doubt,” Romeo says moments before he moves into my peripheral vision.

He isn’t wearing a towel, and his skin and hair are dripping wet. I always knew his body was perfect, but I had no idea. Flawless bronze skin stretches over muscles so hard that he looks carved from stone. In the daylight coming in through the frosted windows, he’s every exquisite Renaissance sculpture, every gladiator, every perfect hero.

His cock thickens, broadens.

The size no longer shocks me, but as always, I feel guilty that I can’t suck him the way he deserves.

Slade slips down a little under me, and Romeo steps one foot into the hot tub, onto the top step so that his ankle is in the water. His heavy balls swing appealingly. Remembering the night when I was made to suck Hawthorne’s balls, I feel myself getting even wetter, the slippery, slick moisture between my legs easing Slade’s long, sure movements.

Fisting his cock, Romeo directs the head between my lips. He’s clearly in a hurry; he doesn’t try to push my limits. It’s a nice, easy blow job, designed to get him off quickly.

Footsteps approach.

“
Et tu
, Romeo?” Hawthorne asks. “No one can wait two minutes.” Hawthorne crowds in next to Romeo. They both smell like a pleasant but unfamiliar soap. They take turns with my mouth. Slade gives me a series of orgasms, and in the brief moments when my mouth is empty, I beg incoherently for more.

I’m the luckiest woman on the planet.

And after, instead of running back to work, Romeo waits for me to shower and change so that we can all return together.

Now I know something has shifted.

I fiddle with the dress’s modest neckline as we walk across the lobby of our office building. Because the garment’s cut is so perfect, the dress isn’t as unflattering as I feared. With sexier shoes, it might even be a keeper.

“Maybe I can work from home,” I say as I get onto the elevator with all six men—my bosses and the clones. It’s uncomfortable, having a small army going around with me. Yes, I feel protected, but I also feel weak and unable to take care of myself. Surely there’s a middle ground?

“If you work from home, I’d want to be with you,” Romeo says.

“She could work in the Tarraget skyscraper,” Hawthorne suggests. “Better security.”

“And I suppose you’ll decide to work there as well?” Slade asks. “No hogging our girlfriend.” He winks at me.

Girlfriend.
Obviously we’re beyond casual sex, but it’s still nice to hear.

“I don’t mind working from here,” I say, hoping no one notices the blush spreading across my cheeks.

My security detail sweeps the office.

“I want to work at my own desk,” I say. “It feels important for some reason.”

Romeo consults with the clones, then nods approval. I can’t imagine what the other employees are thinking as I walk to my workstation with Slade and a clone in tow.

Slade installs himself at the next desk over. “I’m here to keep an eye on you,” he says. “It’s part of your employee retraining program.”

Several of my coworkers glance over.

“Oh,” I murmur.

As I take my seat, I get only the briefest flashback of the night I was abducted, and within a few minutes I’m immersed in the work.

I even manage to ignore the clone standing by the wall.

Not much has changed in my week away. There are a few reports to read, and I spend some time making sure that my own reports from the Food4Life acquisition are properly referenced.

Every ten minutes, Slade makes me explain what I’m doing, and why.

“This is really irritating,” I point out.

He treats me to a lazy smile. “I’m happy to let Hawthorne take over.”

“If you do that, you might as well have an ambulance waiting downstairs.”

There’s a new acquisition on the horizon. This one doesn’t seem nearly as fraught with potential to blow up—no greedy founders demanding extra money and ridiculous concessions before they’ll agree to sign.

It would only be my second case, though, so what do I know?

There are a few executives who just want to be bought out. As for the employees, of the fifteen who work for the company, almost all of them seem ready to move on.

Frowning, I consider that. Do the employees lack faith in their product? It’s an app that matches volunteers to open positions.

I pull out my phone and download the app. It loads just fine, and when I say that I’m available to volunteer for two hours, eight different opportunities pop up. The app itself seems solid, and it has good ratings in the store.

So why are the employees so anxious to leave? Bad management, maybe. Even though I’m sure my bosses have already considered that angle, I find myself picking up the phone.

The next few hours pass in a blur. Slade dials back his interruptions to every half hour, then he gets pulled away for a phone conference.

It feels good to be working again, to have something to occupy my mind. By the time I wrap things up, I think I’ve identified the problem with the employees. They’re being underpaid relative to how many hours they’re working.

I’m jotting down tomorrow’s to-do list when Slade walks up, looking sinfully sexy. His tie is missing and his white shirt is partially unbuttoned. He hasn’t removed his jacket yet, but it’s just a matter of time.

“You’re dedicated for your first day back,” he says.

I shut down my computer and relax in the chair. His hazel eyes are locked onto mine, and I think of our conversation at the country club.

Take me away
, I think, but it’s half-hearted. I don’t really want to go. What I want is this… but safe.

Maybe Slade knows that, too.

“The driver will be downstairs in a few minutes,” he says. “We’re going to my place to discuss things.”

Nodding, I stand and reach for my purse. Slade seems awfully tall, but right now I don’t feel small and insignificant without heels on. Maybe I’m standing a little straighter.

Or maybe I’m already resigned to not being in sky-high stilettos all the time.

Romeo and Hawthorne accompany us to the street, but only Slade and I, along with two of the assassin triplets, get into the limo.

As it pulls into traffic, I twist to look at my other two bosses, already heading back into the office building.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

“They’ll be along soon,” Slade says. He takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze.

Even though I know everything is fine, I can’t help feeling anxious.

Apparently it shows, because Slade asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “It’s like things are going too well. Too smoothly.”

“Everything is fine,” he says, his deep voice soothing, reassuring.

Of course he would think that. He hasn’t lived my life. He doesn’t have that sixth sense that tells him when everything is about to go to hell.

Something is wrong.

Or maybe I’m just not used to being happy.

Slade lives farther from the office than I would have imagined. I even drift off to sleep before we get there. When I wake, my head is in Slade’s lap.

Blinking away my disorientation, I push myself to sitting.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“No need to apologize,” he says.

It’s almost dark out. Looking through the window, I discover that we’re in a forested area. Lots of trees. A deer walks stiffly into the road, then leaps back into the bushes.

“Are we in a different state?” I ask. “Have you taken me across the Canadian border?”

“No, and no.”

The house, made of gray stone and plenty of wooden accents, fits perfectly into the landscape. It looks to be one level. What it lacks in height, it makes up for in sprawl.

We get out to a chorus of chirping crickets. The air is warm and smells of fresh pine. Not far away, the intermittent golden flashes of fireflies give me a thrill of pleasure.

“I never realized that you live in the middle of nowhere,” I say.

“I’ve got a two-story penthouse in the city,” Slade says. “This is where I come for weekends. And, apparently, to hide beautiful damsels in distress.” He heads for the door, and I follow.