Filthy Lies Read online

  I hadn't made it ten steps before she accosted me. She had something seriously wrong in the head and was so far off the rails I didn't think anything less than a straitjacket and a padded room would do her any good at this point. The girl was obsessed with Caleb. She'd called me a few times begging me to be messenger, because he wouldn't take her calls.

  Bitch, he's blocked your number, and so have I. I still hadn't forgotten how she'd shown up at my door and offered to blow me five minutes after breaking up with her boyfriend—who just happened to be my best friend. I even called him that night to let him know she'd stopped at my place. She sent Caleb a picture of herself with her lips around some random dude's cock five minutes after that. At the time, Caleb believed the picture was of me, but I set him straight. Janice Thorndike has never had access to my dick, and she certainly didn't get near it that night, so she had to have already taken the picture from her phone before Caleb broke it off with her. She probably had a whole album of porno selfies saved on the thing. God.

  I stared at my forearm where she'd sunk her claws in to stop me. I wanted to bust out in a fuckin' sprint to get away from her. She looked crazed. "James, I need to talk to Caleb alone. Go get him and bring him to me. You have to make him listen to—"

  "I am not his keeper."

  "Well, you're his best friend and he listens to you." Her eyes appeared strangely vacant, as if she was on something.

  "So? He's done. Even if you hadn't cheated, he'd be done."

  The crocodile tears started flowing in a desperate attempt to gain sympathy. "That was a mistake—a one-time thing," she cried, fisting handfuls of her hair and creating a mess. This girl had always been pure drama.

  "For Christ's sake, stop embarrassing yourself with this shit!"

  "But I can't help it, James. I'm so in love with him."

  "Right." She was fucking certifiable. Not happy with cracking him in the eye with her shoe, she ran to me hoping to make him jealous by fucking me. Who does that? "Because all the sick shit you did to Caleb just screamed love, didn't it?"

  "James, please, I didn't mean any of that. I was very upset."

  "Well, Caleb sure as fuck meant it when he broke up with you. And I was fucking pissed when I found out you sent him that stupid dick pic." I jerked my arm out of her grip.

  "You're not listening to me. James. I want him back and I'll do whatever I have to do—"

  "Don't you get it, Janice? My brother is with Brooke now and he's in love with her," Winter said angrily from over my left shoulder. I hadn't even noticed her approach I was so busy trying to detach myself from all the crazy I'd stumbled into headfirst. How the fuck did I get tangled in with this shitshow tonight? All I wanted was to spend a nice evening with Winter. It was time to leave.

  Jan's face twisted into an ugly mask of meanness as she directed her rage onto Winter. "Is James finally fucking you? It must be the trust fund he's after, because it's been years since you flashed him your baby tits in the pool."

  "They aren't baby tits anymore." Nope. Definitely not. Winter held her composure like a pro, spine straight, her confident posture setting her tantalizing cleavage off to perfection. Her tits were an undisputable, straight-up ten—to anybody who wasn't blind…or insane.

  Jan tilted her head to one side and rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, you mean he's never stuck his dick in you before now," she said, throwing her head back and laughing like a psychopath. "Better strap in, little girl, because he likes all the kinky, deviant shit from what I've heard—"

  "We're done here," I said, grabbing Winter's hand and pulling her with me. "Jan, take your crazy out on someone else, and leave us all the fuck alone."

  I didn't look back or wait for Jan to finish whatever she was going to say about me. I just moved us both away—and left the lunatic bitch standing in a roomful of Boston's high society mumbling some unintelligible bullshit about making everyone sorry.

  What I needed was to put as much distance between her and us as quickly as fucking possible. I wouldn't ponder how she knew about me. Although the knowledge of my kink could have come to her from anywhere, it didn't make me any less mental about Winter finding out.

  I forced myself to block out everything.

  Even to the point that I didn't realize that Winter wasn't following along with my plan. In fact, she was doing the opposite, pulling back, and trying to get away from me.

  "Let go of me."

  I tightened my grip on her hand and then panicked for a second that maybe I was hurting her injured one.

  I wasn't.

  "What's wrong?"

  She tried tugging her hand out of mine again, but I wasn't having it.

  "I'm leaving. I'm going home," she said, flashing me an angry glare.

  "Correction, sweetheart. We are leaving, and we are going home."

  Her anger hadn't lessened since I'd bustled her out of the goddamn ball and into Enzo's heated limousine, where she now sat as far away from me as possible. I studied her fuming quietly in the seat, arms folded beneath luscious breasts as she stared moodily out the window. In profile, she made a stunning picture against the city lights reflecting off the tiny raindrops currently drifting from the night sky.

  It had taken a few minutes to get away without arousing the suspicions of the eagle-eyed gossips, who lived for the soap-opera drama like what had unfolded inside with Jan Thorndike. It spiced up their otherwise very boring lives. But was "boring" such a terrible thing? Sometimes I wished for my own life to be a lot more boring than it was at present.

  After placing my bid in the silent auction, I'd gone and made excuses to my mother. I lied and told her Winter had a bad headache. Mom didn't blink an eye at my lame explanation. She just offered her cheek for me to kiss and told me to take good care of her, and that she hoped Winter felt better soon.

  I fished out my phone and took a picture of her staring out the window. She might be angry, but it was still a beautiful image I selfishly wanted to keep for myself.

  "What the hell, James," she shouted when she noticed the flash.

  "It's just a picture of you looking furiously beautiful. I wanted to capture the moment."

  "Instead of stealing pictures and dropping compliments, you might start by being honest."

  "I am always honest with you, Win."

  She scoffed angrily toward the window but said nothing.

  "Are you planning on explaining what you mean?"

  She shook her head, still staring out the window.

  "Okay, then tell me what the fuck I did tonight that was so wrong." No response. "How about you look at me when we are talking," I bit out, my frustration growing with each passing second of this stupid motherfucking argument.

  She turned to face me, eyes blazing across the distance between us. "I know, James."

  "What do you know?"

  "I know what happened between us after you brought me back from the ER. I know what you did. I know what I said to you." Her eyes welled up. "I remembered…everything…today while I…I…was getting ready for the ball."

  A single tear spilled down her cheek and made me want to lick it away, even as my heart pounded out erratic beats.

  "Sweetheart, no. I wanted to help you, that's all I was trying—"

  "Just…how…could you keep that from me? For all these days without saying something…anything," she hissed. "Why would you use me like that, James?"

  Fuck.

  No.

  Chapter Fourteen

  WINTER

  Four hours earlier.

  Since The Autumn Ball was one of the better attended charity events of the year, and because the funds raised went to a variety of good causes, I couldn't fault the intent, and truly hoped each of the beneficiaries came away from the event with generous checks.

  Working in the field of social work with the ludicrous trust fund I had must be an offensive irony to probably ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the population who wouldn't hesitate to call bullshit on it being true—even though it
was. The other point-one percent of the population—of which my mother was at the top of the list—knew it was true and thought me a stupid fool for wanting to use my money for something other than a Tesla or a rainbow of designer handbags in every hue anyone ever decided was a good idea.

  Please. Did anyone really need a purse in pumpkin-orange leopard with purple croc embellishments? Even if the whole bag were environmentally constructed from top to bottom, I'd still say no.

  I had more important, long-term things on my mind.

  Like being nervous as hell about going out with James tonight. Our friendship had definitely changed, but his hot and cold mixed messages had really started to mess with my head. I hadn't heard a peep out of him since his text on Thanksgiving telling me I was in trouble for not messaging him. Over the last weeks, he'd made gestures and said things that gave me hope he actually might see me as more than a friend. And then, even going so far as to offer to marry me to benefit the both of us, but I already knew that a "pretend" marriage wasn't in the cards for me.

  I was unable to pretend anything with James.

  Therefore, my decision was made.

  I'd thank him again for offering, but there was no way I'd take him up on it. I'd find a different pathway to making my career dreams materialize. I belonged to a very generous family who were charitably minded. Maybe I would go to work for BGE and head up their philanthropic development as Caleb had suggested to me before. There were other roads I could take than torturing myself with a fake marriage to James. I hope I don't lose his friendship in the process.

  And I still couldn't get over the fact that an offer of marriage was a major thing to just give away to a friend. Why on earth would James do that for me? But as soon as I started to believe he felt something more than friendship, his walls would go up and he'd back away again, putting a distance between us that left me frustrated and confused as to whether I'd dreamed up the whole thing in the first place. But that kiss he gave you in the elevator says different.

  My point exactly.

  Even Brooke had noticed. Earlier, when the two of us were getting hair and makeup ready for tonight, she'd asked if James and I were seeing each other. I lied and told her we were just very good friends, but I'm not sure if she believed me. She's an intuitive one, that girl. She's also the best thing to ever happen to my big brother. I hope when Caleb and Brooke are married someday, that they'll have lots of nephews and nieces for me to spoil. Caleb will be such a great father. He was so much like our own father it was scary. Caleb was pretty much our dad's clone.

  It hurt my heart to be reminded again that he was gone. I missed my father so much, and I knew the rest of my family did too. He would've been here tonight, supporting the charities and enjoying himself immensely. My dad was altruistic to his core. When I announced I'd be majoring in social work, my mother said I'd been bitten by the same bug. Dad was proud of my choice, and he told me on his deathbed to follow my heart and never compromise my dreams for anyone. He made me promise to trust my instincts and not be influenced by any disapproval I might encounter from others. In particular, my mother. To be fair, she wasn't disapproving so much as unenthusiastic. Her reaction was half-hearted, and I could tell she believed I'd be wasting my life on public service when I could just support a few chosen charitable endeavors with a fat check while still spending the bulk of my time shopping and lunching with other girls who'd also inherited excessive trust funds.

  But that sort of life was not me.

  I wanted more—for myself, and for my life's work. I was grateful my brothers and my sister felt the same way I did. Just sitting around spending our father's money and wasting time wasn't how any of us rolled. Willow was a super successful author, and my brothers had each found their niches in different areas of business. We were all making our way in the world, as we should be.

  I sighed, thinking that all this ruminating was depressing as hell, and totally pointless. Only time would tell how things would turn out. I just needed to have some faith, and believe that James really meant it when he promised to never hurt me. And I trusted James completely.

  I really do.

  I dropped onto the bed to put on my shoes—coral-pink peep toes with ankle straps. The shoes were just a shade darker than the gloves from Vanessa Blakney, and luckily, already lived in my closet. I had not inherited the shopping gene from my mother, much to her great dismay. So, whenever I could manage to pull together an outfit without having to traipse through multiple shops to do it, was cause for a celebration. This year my gown was black, but its hi-low hem softened the look. Paired with the gloves and shoes, it came off feeling flirty and festive. It suited me. I felt a nervous shiver roll through my body at the thought of James and me spending the upcoming evening together. Like being out on a date "together." I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about what might happen after the ball was over. He'd said we would finally be able to talk about everything that had happened since my accident, and that made me a little nervous.

  But it's James, and I have no reason to ever be nervous with him. Aroused, most definitely.

  My mind wandered as I buckled up the straps, when I realized I was sitting precisely where James kissed me for the first time.

  The morning after my accident. I'd woken up to find him in my bedroom watching me. Hungrily watching.

  If I closed my eyes I could recall his lips touching mine. The perfect mixture of firm and soft. James definitely knew how to kiss—

  Suddenly another memory pushed to the front. I was kissing James, and not the other way around.

  Wait.

  Had I had kissed him first?

  In my bed?

  But that wasn't right. I shook my head as a flash of us lying in this bed together—we were kissing—and his fingers were—

  Inside me.

  Kiss me.

  Orgasms. Intimate touches.

  Touch me.

  Words spoken.

  I love you, James. I love you…I love you…I love you.

  I remembered every mortifying thing I'd done and said to him that night. And now his comment made sense to me when he kissed me in the car after returning from Thanksgiving with his parents. "Well, I should hope it was good, because you begged me to do it," he'd said.

  Oh my God, no.

  "It was something you did actually…well, something you said to me last night that changed my mind."

  No, no, no, no, no…

  NO.

  I sat there stunned. Shocked. Of what we'd done together. Of what I'd revealed to James that night.

  I had no idea how much time passed before I was able to move my ass off the bed and finish getting ready for the ball. It could have been five seconds or five hours. I couldn't say. My mind was on a repeating loop of something too intimate and too important for me not to have known about it until right now.

  James knew, and he hadn't said anything.

  I felt humiliation to the depths of my soul. Beyond expressible words. Why he didn't tell me?

  He didn't tell you because he didn't want to tell you.

  The fact that James had pushed aside my request to know more made me wonder if he was incredibly embarrassed at how I'd virtually attacked him. He could be with any woman he wanted. Now I wondered if he was offering to marry me to give me access to my trust fund simply because he got me—but it wouldn't mean anything more than perhaps stolen kisses for him. He probably intended to keep the booty calls on the side too. God. I'm such a fool. No wonder…

  That James hadn't wanted to talk about the things we'd done and the things I'd said to him—once he realized I had no memory of it—crushed me terribly.

  Crushed. Me.

  But what do I do with that now?

  "Winter, sweetheart, I wasn't using you." He reached for me and dragged me against his chest. I was unable to resist him whenever he touched me, even now when I was seething with enough anger to inflict bodily harm. Upon his body. I stared at those sludgy-green eyes of his, immobile,
captured like a fly in a web. "I was letting you use me," he said clearly.

  "You were letting me use you?" I felt my eyes sting with more tears. It's even worse than I thought. Pity orgasms. Fuck. "What does that even mean?"

  He held my face in his palms and used his thumbs to brush my tears aside before he answered. "It means that I wanted to help you and give you whatever you needed to feel better."

  "Orgasms aren't included in the patient care handbook." I couldn't look anywhere but into his eyes since he held me like he wasn't planning to let me go anytime soon. I was burning with embarrassment, wishing I could look away, but he wouldn't allow it. I felt heat settle low between my legs.

  "They should be, because an orgasm was exactly what you needed at the time. You slept like a baby after the third one."

  Three orgasms? Jesus.

  "You're an evil bastard for not telling me what happened between us that night, James, and don't you even try to deny it."

  "I try very hard to never be bastardly with you." He had the nerve to smirk at me. "You're one of the few people on the planet I actually make a concerted effort of being polite."

  "Oh, you were definitely bastardly." I squirmed to pull out of his grip. "And trying to make light of it isn't helping your case, Mr. Slick Attorney."

  He laughed at my comment and held me firm, as if I my struggles were mere amusement for him.

  "The next morning when I was coherent, I even asked you if we could talk about the kissing and whatever went down after the ER visit. You said no."

  I feel sick. I can't believe this.

  I still hadn't given up on trying to free myself, because I knew if he got any closer to me I'd be doomed. I could barely think as the weight of his body pressed into me. The scent of spice with a swirl of his own unique flavor added into the mix of him crowding me onto the leather seat, and I was about done for.

  "Fuck. Would you stop fighting me for a goddamn minute," he snapped, giving me a small shake for emphasis. "I'm not letting you go." And he meant it, because he didn't loosen his hold. "If you had recalled it the next morning, we would have talked, but when you didn't remember anything from the previous night, I made the decision to wait things out. That's on me, yes, but I didn't do it to use you or to hurt you in any way, Win. I wanted us both to be on equal footing, and we weren't that night with you as high as a kite on meds. I never planned to seduce you and keep it a secret."