Lie to Me (8 page)

She went back through the evening, looking for hints to some devious strategy. To her confusion, she found none. She couldn’t remember a single moment when he’d subtly steered the conversation toward her family. Oh, he’d asked about them.
Don’t you still have plenty of family in New Orleans?
But when she’d said that was why she didn’t miss living there, he’d let it drop.

Mostly, he’d seemed surprised by the scraps of her past she’d shared. Genuine surprise. Not the fake affront on her behalf that morphed into empathy intended to win a greater confidence. She’d developed a finely tuned meter for detecting that sort of user over the years.

Why would he be surprised to hear about her father’s neglect, though? All the kids at Newman knew the truth. All the cool kids, she amended.
 

Luc hadn’t been part of that group. Actually, he hadn’t been part of any group, she remembered with sudden clarity. Whenever she’d noticed him around campus, he’d always been alone and completely absorbed in whatever he was doing, usually sketching or scribbling in that notepad he carried with him everywhere. He’d seemed to exist in his own bubble, immune to all the drama that filled most people’s lives.
 

Could he have been so absorbed in whatever occupied his mind—which she now realized had been scripting his game—that he hadn’t paid attention to school gossip?
 

If that was true, his whole perspective of her had to be skewed.
 

Had he really seen her as the popular girl with the ultra-rich granddaddy living the charmed life, rather than the desperate kid battling to find safety in a world where no one seemed to care what happened to her? Uncle Scott, who’d walked away from the family to make his own way, even changing his last name to Lawrence to distance himself from the LeRoches, had been her one calm port throughout the upheaval of her youth.

Could Luc really not know that?

She glanced sideways, not sure what to think of him. They’d left downtown, casting the interior of the car into darkness. Only the lights from the dashboard showed the hard line of his mouth. That tempting mouth she’d wanted to kiss all evening. He looked so different now than he had back in school, she had trouble believing this attractive man with the sculpted face and killer body had been that pudgy boy with the too-short haircut and horn-rimmed glasses.
 

The things he’d said on the sidewalk after she’d recognized him came back to her.

Leaning forward, she turned down the stereo. “Did you honestly think I would have canceled our date if I remembered you based on nothing more than how you looked and your lack of popularity back in school?”

“Well, it killed your interest pretty danged quick, didn’t it?” He cranked the volume back up, louder this time.

“No, it didn’t.” She punched the music off completely. Staring at him, she realized the opposite was true. With her defenses lowering back to normal, curiosity snuck in. “If anything, I’m more interested.”
 

“Yeah, right.” He snorted.
 

“I’m more interested because look at what you’ve become.” She gestured toward him. “Not just how you look, but the fact that you’ve made something of your life without having it handed to you. How many of those stupid jerks who snubbed you can claim the same?”

“You mean your friends?” he sneered.

His bitterness stung. Did he lump her in with that self-absorbed crowd who thought not having a date to the homecoming game was a life crisis?
Try being twelve and fending for yourself because your mother dashed off to join her married lover on his “business trip,”
she’d wanted to tell those girls.
Or fourteen with budding breasts that draw a little too much attention from your mother’s newest husband.

“They weren’t my friends,” she said, looking away.
 

The softly spoken words caught Luc off guard. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She seemed somehow smaller, and oddly vulnerable. “Then… why are you so mad?”
 

 
“Because you misled me.” She turned to him. “Intentionally.”

“I was going to tell you.” He squirmed a bit. “I just couldn’t figure out when and how to do it without turning you off.”

“You’re that convinced I wouldn’t go out with a man because of how he’d dressed as a teenager? How shallow would that make me?”

“You’re not shallow.” He’d always sensed a complexity in her that other girls her age had lacked.

“How do you know?” she asked, with a challenging lift of her chin. “You don’t know me any more than I know you. Not really.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then ventured cautiously. “I’d like to.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe I’d like that, too.”

Neither of them spoke as he drove over the bridge to Pearl Island. By the time he parked before her cottage, hope had joined the less savory emotions churning in his stomach. Quiet descended when he shut off the engine.

“So…” He paused, building up his courage. “Are you saying you’d consider going out with me again?”

“I might.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Why don’t you walk me to my door and ask?”

His heart bumped against his ribs.
Holy cow, was she going to let him kiss her goodnight?
 

“I could do that.” Trying to look calm, he climbed out of the car, and nearly tripped. When she didn’t climb out as well, he realized she wanted him to open her car door. He hurried around the hood to do it.

“Thank you,” she said, extending her hand.

Pleasure raced through him as he helped her from the car. Her hand felt warm and slender in his. To his delight, she didn’t let go, so they walked hand in hand up the steps.

Anticipation and nerves built as they stopped in front of her door and stood facing each other. Was he supposed to say something? Do something? Wait for her to do something?

Amusement flirted with the edge of her mouth, as if she sensed his quandary. “In case you’re wondering,” she said with a hint of humor, “I had a good time this evening.”

Her comment made him feel like he’d landed in a game of
Jeopardy
, where the answer came before the question.
Idiot
, he told himself.
You were supposed to ask if she had a good time—despite the fact that you deceived her for most of the evening.
 

“I, um.” He cleared his throat. “Me too. Had a good time, that is.”

“I’m glad.” She tipped her face up and the porch light sparkled in her eyes as she laid her free hand on his cheek.

Just like that, his brain clicked off and he stopped thinking. He just did it. He kissed her.

His lips pressed hers in a ridiculously chaste kiss that nonetheless made his pulse spike. Then, oh yeah, she softened against him, tipping her head for a better angle. Their mouths brushed in a way that sent heat roaring through his whole system. He wanted more. He wanted to taste her. Needed to taste her. His tongue flicked out, touching her lips, questioning. Her lips parted in answer, and with the next breath his tongue was inside her mouth.

God, she tasted so good. He wanted to devour her. Letting himself go, his mouth and tongue played with hers. He felt her arms go around his neck. Her body moved forward so her breasts made light contact with his chest. It wasn’t enough. He wrapped his arms around the small of her back, and pulled her all the way against him. Her soft, full breasts molded against his hard chest. Her belly pressed against his groin. The instant it did, he went from semi-aroused to rock hard. Having her in his arms felt so freaking good, he lowered one of his hands to her bottom, and pressed her more tightly against him.
 

With a moan, her head tipped back, breaking the glorious contact of their mouths. Deprived of her lips, he trailed kisses down her delicious neck. Her pulse throbbed against his lips. He wanted to suckle her there, and leave his mark.

He nearly did.
 

Except, she laughed.
 

And he froze.

His brain clicked back on. Shock hit him like a bucket of cold water. He thought for one second she was laughing at him. Had this been a joke? Humiliation and anger started to rise, until the throaty satisfaction of her laugh registered. Followed by the realization of how tightly their bodies had tangled together.
 

Shit, how had this happened?
He’d wanted to kiss her goodnight, an appropriate end-of-a-first-date kiss. Not practically have standing sex with her on her porch.
 

Intending to apologize, he lifted his head, a move that took effort with her hands buried in his hair. One of her legs had come up so the inside of her thigh pressed against the outside of his. Apparently, that bucket of shock hadn’t been enough to douse his arousal, since his erection remained happily wedged between them. A little too happily to be ignored.
 

She laughed again, lowering her head, and he saw the most amazing look on her face. Her eyes blazed with desire from behind heavy lids.

“Wow,” she said, her sigh filled with awe. “That was really… wow.”

Embarrassment vanished as wonder filled him. She’d liked that out-of-control kiss. She liked
him
. “Does that mean you want to see me again?”

“I think you can take that as a yes.” She lowered her leg in a slow glide down his own.

He wanted to pull it back up, all the way to his waist, but he loosened his arms and let their bodies separate.
 

“When?” he asked. Resting his hands on her hips, he created space between them even as his body whimpered for him to pull her closer. Rub against her. Bury himself inside her.

“Tomorrow?” she asked with a smile that made his head spin.

“Tomorrow.” He nodded, taking a deep breath in an effort to slow his pounding heart. “What time?”

“That depends on what you want to do.” Suggestion gleamed in her eyes.

Ho, boy.
He took another deep breath, let it out. “Lunch?”

“Can’t.” Her shoulders sagged. “I have to work in the gift shop in the morning. Then Alli wants me to photograph some new inventory for the website.”

“Oh.” Disappointment cooled him down a fraction.

“But I’ll be free after that,” she said. “We could go back into Galveston, or hit the beach. Whatever you want.”

He rejected both ideas, since neither setting lent itself to what he needed to do, and that was tell her everything. “How about you give me a tour of the island.”

“You want a tour of Pearl Island?” Confusion drew her brows together.

“Sure. Why not?”

“It’s just not the type of thing single guys are usually interested in. Unless they’re coming to scuba dive around the shipwreck.”

“Except, I don’t swim.” He shrugged.

“Exactly.” Her puzzled expression turned wary, as if she were searching for some hidden reason behind his request for a tour.
 

He realized he needed to come up with something. Something honest. He looked around at the dark trees. Night breezes carried the sounds of crickets, the scent of the cove. Through the moving branches, the inn winked at him with yellowish light glowing from its windows. The majestic mansion with its hidden passages and ghosts gave him the answer. “I think this place might be perfect for a Vortal tournament.”

“You have tournaments?”

“Once a year,” he told her.
 

“That sounds fascinating.”

“It is.” His passion for gaming sprang back to life. “You see—”

Her hand slipped over his lips before he could launch into a full monologue, explaining all about how challenges and tournaments work.
 

“Tomorrow,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
 

“Ah.” He nodded, remembering they were standing on her front porch saying good night. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” She gave him a smile so bright, he stood in stupefied silence as she opened the screen, then pulled a key from her purse and unlocked the door. Turning back, she gave him one last, dazzling smile. “I’ll see you then.”

 
He just nodded as she went inside, closing the door behind her.

For the second time that day, he stood in dazed wonder, staring at a closed door. Had all of that really happened? That kiss? The entire evening? He’d had a date with Chloe? Had another one tomorrow?

Maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing, he thought as he walked back to his car. Getting in, he took hold of the steering wheel and stared into the darkness. His earlier dilemma about when to tell her why he’d come to Galveston came roaring back.

Except the question no longer seemed to be when, but if.

 
Maybe,
he thought.
Maybe not.
Because right then, he wasn’t sure he wanted this dream to end.
 

Chapter 6

Chloe danced about the gift shop the following day, dust cloth in hand. An apron the color of tropical water protected her white capri pants and peach shirt. Thanks to the phone she’d dropped in the apron’s pocket and a set of ear buds, a song about hot candy kisses entertained her with nonsensical lyrics. Kisses should be hot and sweet, she decided.