Filthy Gorgeous Lies: Book 1 (6 page)

He stops in front of me and brushes a thumb across my cheek. “You don’t have a lunch thing,” he says.

I lift a brow. “You don’t know that.”

The truth is, I don’t have lunch plans — I just need an excuse to cut and run. But there’s no way he knows I’m lying.

His thumb gently caresses my cheek. “You blush when you lie.” His hand falls to the base of my throat. “And your pulse races.”

I blink, shocked he would pick up on such minute details. He’s like a human lie detector. “Those are also classic signs of desire and with you standing naked in front of me, is it any wonder why my cheeks are flushed and my heart is racing?”

He flashes me a sexy half–smile, his hand never leaving my neck. “Will you return tonight?”

“I can’t,” I say. “I have plans.” And this time, I’m telling the truth. I told Michael I’d meet him tonight.

Cole’s hand falls to his side and his eyes narrow. “With who?”

I can’t keep the sharpness out of my tone. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” A tick starts in his jaw and his every muscle is pulled tight as he waits for my answer.

But what can I say? I release a heavy breath and move to push past him. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back around so I’m facing him.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t share, Lexi. Who are you meeting tonight?”

“A friend.” Which is true. Semi–true, anyway.

“Your ex,” he counters.

I twist my wrist out of his grip and walk from the bedroom into the living room. Just as I open the door to walk out, he reaches over my shoulder and uses his weight to force the door closed.

“Come back tonight, Lexi,” he says.

It’s not a command. It’s a plea. And the truth is, I
want
to see him again. I’m drawn to this man in a way I’ve never been drawn to anyone before. Why, I don’t know. He’s dangerous — I can feel it — but I can’t stay away.

I worry my bottom lip and glance down at my feet. “I’ll try,” I say. “That’s all I can give you.”

His hand falls away from the door, and I wrench it open, stepping out into the empty hallway.

That afternoon, I’m sitting cross–legged on my living room floor, eating Chinese with Avery. The moment I got home, she’d demanded I tell her every sordid detail about my morning with Cole.

“It was so weird, though. The second I asked him what he did for a living, he clammed up.”

“What’d he say?”

“He gave me some vague answer and then pulled away.”

Avery holds up her fork as though she’s just had an epiphany. “Maybe he has a wife and a gaggle of kids or something and he stays at the hotel to, you know, pick up women?”

I glare at Avery. “There’s no way Cole has kids,” I say. “Or a wife, for that matter.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Actually, I’m not sure at all. There’s so much I don’t know about Cole, including his last name. Still, it annoys me when she’s right, so I just shrug. “It’s a gut feeling.”

“Just be careful, Lex. You don’t have the best track record with guys.”

I roll my eyes. “Michael is only
one
guy.”

She hits me with a side–glance. “And the guy at the gym with the balloon fetish?”

“Fine, two guys. But I never actually dated the balloon guy.”

Avery steals some of my Kung–Pow chicken. “So are you going to see Cole again?” she asks between mouthfuls.

“He asked me to go back and see him tonight.”

Avery winks and grins playfully. “For another epic fuck–a–thon?”

“It wasn’t a fuck–a–thon.” I pause when Avery lifts a brow. “Okay, maybe it was,” I admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not seeing him again.”

Cole is no good for me — I’m smart enough to realize that. He’s tall, gorgeous and clearly not the commitment type. Unfortunately, I am. Michael is the only guy I’ve been with, and we were together for years. Flings just aren’t my thing.

“You’re thinking about this too hard. So he doesn’t want to tell you what he does for a living, who cares? It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy. He’s a rebound. That’s it. And after dating that jerk Michael, God knows, you deserve a little casual fun. Just don’t get too attached…”

I lean back against the couch and narrow my eyes at her. “And what about you? You haven’t been out to a club since you broke up with what’s–his–name two months ago.”

“Sorin.”

“Oh, right! Roarin’ Sorin,” I laugh.

Nick gave Sorin the nickname due to his habit of roaring during sex. Our paper–thin walls made it impossible to tune out. So Nick and I did what anyone else would do — we sat in the living room while they went at it and mocked the guy mercilessly. It was our first real bonding experience as roomies.

Avery throws a fortune cookie at me. “Oh, my God. You are so bad.” She straightens. “And for your information, I’m going out tomorrow night — to a new fetish club.”

“What? Holy shit. A fetish club? Avery, I had no idea you were so kinky!”

“Yeah, okay, don’t get too excited. It’s for a new article I’m doing. The magazine wants edgier topics.”

“Edgier than ‘Ten Ways to Sexier Thighs?’” I laugh.

Avery recently scored a job as a writer at a hot glamour magazine. She’s at the bottom of the totem pole and desperate to prove herself as a serious writer. I guess that’s what four years at Columbia University will do to a girl.

“Yeah, yeah, real funny. You’re coming with me,” she says.

“What? Oh, no, no, no.”

She pushes out a pouty bottom lip. “Friends don’t let friends go to fetish clubs alone.”

Oy, God. I have to admit, she’s totally got me there.

Later that night when I walk into
the restaurant, I see Michael right away. He looks sharp in a crisp white shirt and a gray tailored suit, his blond hair neatly combed back away from his face in a posh GQ kind of way.

My heart skips a beat just seeing him, and I breeze past the hostess, heading straight for his table. As soon as he sees me, he stands up and pulls me into a hug.

“Hey,” I say, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

I’d asked him to meet me here at a restaurant two blocks from the St. Regis because there was no way I was going to chance running into Cole at the hotel. My resolve is weak enough as it is when it comes to him. The last thing I need is to tempt fate.

Michael holds the chair out for me and I slip into it. He unbuttons his jacket and lowers himself into the chair across from me.

“I ordered you some wine,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind. I know Merlot is your favorite.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip. It’s exquisite. “How have you been?”

He flashes me that charming smile. “Missing you. I’ve been watching the clock all day. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He reaches out and takes my hand. “Tell me one thing, Lex. Why did you leave Michigan?”

Guilt swamps me instantly. It’s true I’d left without telling anyone, not even my parents — not that they would have noticed my leaving anyway. They moved to Belize three years ago to “live their authentic lives,” whatever the hell that means.

But what I regret most is that I hadn’t even given Michael a chance to explain. Just two days after the woman had called me to tell me she was having an affair with him, I’d left. I was too afraid to confront him — afraid he would tell me he was in love with someone else.

But now, months removed from the situation, I wonder if I’d made a mistake.

“I needed to sort some things out for myself,” I say.

He squeezes my hand, emotion filling his eyes. “When you left, I was devastated. No phone call, no email. Nothing. Why?”

“It really doesn’t matter anymore. The reason no longer exists.”

He nods slowly, as though he understands. I wonder if he actually does. I’d confronted him about the woman on the phone, and of course he’d denied it. For him, the incident had ended there. And for me, that’s where everything had begun.

For the next hour, we catch up on life back in Michigan. I ask him about mutual friends, and we laugh about old times. For the first time in months, I feel happy…completely relaxed.

Three glasses of wine later, the room is spinning. I’m not usually such a lightweight, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast so I chalk it up to that.

Michael takes my hand again, the warmth of his palm covering my cold fingertips. “Lexi, I didn’t just come here tonight to catch up,” he says. “I came here to ask you if you’d come back to Michigan…and marry me.”

I glance down at our hands and then back up at him, confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want you to be my wife, Lexi.”

My heart jumps into my throat. Three years together and he’d never once mentioned marriage. I’d hoped for it, of course. Prayed for it, actually. And I never pray. But all my friends from high school were getting married, having babies, and I wanted that with Michael.

Now… now, I don’t know. So much of what I was feeling back then seems like a lifetime ago. How is it possible to go from zero to full speed in the span of one evening? I don’t even know. My head is swimming, the room around me tilting and swaying.

“Excuse me,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll be right back.”

I stand up, a bit wobbly and go in search of the bathroom. The dark restaurant is a little difficult to navigate, but I manage to find a hallway that looks promising. Just as I round the corner, a strong hand reaches out from behind me and grabs my elbow. I stop and whip around to face the stranger.

Except, it’s no stranger.

“Cole,” I breathe. I blink several times, convinced I’m seeing things. I’d deliberately chosen this restaurant to
avoid
running into him and now here he is with his hand tightly gripping my elbow. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes narrow. “I was planning on asking you the same thing.”

I huff and yank my arm out of his grasp, nearly toppling backward. He catches me around the waist and pulls me against him. My head swims. The room is spinning. And Cole… smells delicious.

I place a hand on his chest to steady myself. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m on a date.”

Beneath my hands, I feel his muscles tighten. “How much have you had to drink?”

I search my memory. “Um… two glasses of wine. No wait, three.” I pull away from him, but he still has his arm around my waist. Either to keep me close or keep me from toppling over, I’m not sure which. “So thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”

A slew of expletives fall from his mouth in that sexy English accent. He’s so beautiful when he’s angry. I should tell him that, but for some reason, I don’t think he’ll appreciate the compliment. He seems kind of on edge.

“You make everything sound so sophisticated. Even cursing.” Now
that’s
a compliment I’m sure he’ll like, except he isn’t even paying attention. He’s holding me with one hand while he texts with the other. He looks concerned. Or deep in thought. “Can you please let me go? My date is probably wondering where I am.”

“I just texted your date. You’re not feeling well and you’re coming home with me.”

Annoyance spreads through me. I’m not ready to leave. Michael is waiting for my answer to his question — which… I can’t quite remember.

I blink at Cole for a few seconds before I realize the phone he’s holding is mine. I recognize the distinct Minnie Mouse case I’d spent months hunting down on eBay. Reaching up, I take a swipe at the phone several times before finally snatching it out of his hand — and only because he allows me to. I have a feeling nothing happens in Cole’s universe without his explicit permission. I am clearly no exception.

“Cole, is everything okay?” It’s a woman’s voice.

Cole turns his head toward her, giving me the opportunity to pull away. Without his support, though, I overcompensate and trip over my heels, falling backward into the wall. A queasy sensation coils in my stomach and suddenly I’m finding it difficult breathe.

I clutch my stomach — I think I’m going to be sick. “I really don’t feel well.”

Cole turns back to me, concern etched into his features. “I know, kitten. I’m going to get you home.”

“Cole, who the hell is she?” I hear the woman ask, her voice tight and high–pitched, like she’s on the brink of class five tantrum.