Crown of Lies

  “My place.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled, his face shrouded in darkness. “Why do you think?”

  My tummy clenched as his voice lost its decorum and slipped into sin.

  “To fuck you, of course.” His teeth flashed as he added, “I’ve waited for as long as I can. You haven’t told your father I was lying about our engagement, and you haven’t run back to your bodyguard. Therefore, I know you’re up for whatever I have planned, and you will not argue.” His jaw lowered. “Will you, Bell Button?”

  My mouth watered with how wrong but how right that sounded. Fantasies of what could happen tonight unraveled with lightning desire—

  Wait.

  He called me Bell Button.

  Anger took precedent. “That isn’t your nickname to use.”

  “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yet you let—what was her name? Chloe—call you Ding Dong Bell. Do you prefer that?”

  My teeth locked together. “I prefer neither. Elle is perfectly acceptable. So use it.”

  He laughed in a soft sigh. “So defensive.”

  “Not defensive. Protective.”

  His head shot up, his eyes sinking into me like barbs. “You feel the need to protect yourself around me?”

  “Constantly.”

  His shadow swallowed me. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “You know what. Answer the question and stop dancing around it.” The way he pushed for an answer hinted he had ulterior motives to know why I barricaded myself from him. Why I would never let myself feel more for him than just physical desire.

  We’d known each other a week or so. I was woman enough to admit I found him immensely attractive. I was girl enough to admit I liked the idea of instant true love. But I was realistic enough to know that would never happen for a business owner like me.

  Besides, he was ruthless in his own success. Webbed in lies and hidden in half-truths, he was not a man to trust with anything breakable—especially my heart.

  My body would bruise.

  But it would heal.

  It didn’t stop the fact that Penn wanted something from me.

  If it was just sex, then our motives were in line.

  But the more I spent in his company, the more I sensed that wasn’t his end game.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to see past his arrogant shields and read what he truly meant. But all he revealed was a man supreme in his ability and self-worth. A man as proud and as pompous as a peacock.

  Yet...he has a son.

  How could someone so cold and emotionally unavailable have a child dependent on him? Where was Stewie’s mother? Who was Larry? What the hell would happen between us once we’d slept together?

  The questions built on top of his in an unstable Jenga tower. One wrong answer and the entire foundation of our so-called relationship would crumble.

  Tonight was not the night to let it fall.

  Tomorrow it could.

  Because by tomorrow, I would’ve got what I wanted, he would’ve got what he wanted, and things would go back to the way they were. Penn and his lies would fade from my life before he caused any more damage.

  “You ask why, yet I could ask you the same question.” I pushed ahead, leaving the glow of a streetlight and stepping into a pool of night. “Why do you protect yourself from me?”

  He slammed to a stop. “I don’t.”

  “You do.”

  His jaw worked, his hands opening and closing by his sides. “I’m guarded; there’s a difference.”

  “Is there?” I cocked my head. “Funny, I would say protective and guarded were the same thing.”

  He stormed toward me, grabbing me by the throat and marching me backward until I hit the façade of an apartment building. The brick was hard. He was harder. I was the soft middle that didn’t stand a chance. “If you ever try to psychoanalyze me again, you’ll be sorry.”

  I swallowed, forcing fear past the cage of his hand around my neck. Even now, my body hummed beneath his grip. It seemed my cells had embraced the sensation of eroticism and found any grasp appropriate.

  “Why would I be sorry?” My voice barely registered audible. “What would you do? Kill me?”

  I meant it flippantly, casually. A phrase tossed around far too often and never meant. But instead of either ignoring the cliché dare or admitting he ran much darker than I thought, he smiled with all the sharpness of a butcher’s arsenal. “Perhaps.”

  My heart leaped out of my body, racing to borrow a telephone to call the police. But my insides burned with a different flavor than before. If lust was a color, I’d been bathed in reds and pinks for days. Now I swam in blacks and deep, deep purples, wanting nothing more than to let go and forget who I was and become who I dared never be.

  Straining against his fingers, I deliberately strangled myself in his hold. “What are you going to do to me if I accept I’ll never know you and admit I don’t want to? What will you do when I admit I’m using you like you’re using me? Fuck me?”

  He never looked away; never reduced the pressure on my throat. “I told you that was my intention.”

  He constantly had me at a disadvantage. I was sick of it. If I wanted to hold my ground, I had to start acting more myself and not a timid little girl. Gathering my courage, I murmured, “Stop threatening, and get it over with then.”

  His fingers spasmed. His body weight landed on mine. “Get it over with?”

  “Yes. I want you to fuck me then leave me alone.”

  A slight groan fell from his lips. “You can’t say things like that on an empty street.”

  “Why not? I would’ve thought empty would be preferable to busy. No one is here to watch.”

  He shook his head, dark hair dancing over his forehead. “Busy means I’m forced to keep my hands to myself.” He yanked me close, dropping his fingers from my neck to my breast while his left arm looped around my waist.

  The soft thud of the bag holding the sex toy samples landed on the sidewalk as his hand massaged my flesh, his thumb and finger pinching my nipple. “An empty street means I could turn you around, hoist up your skirt, and sink inside you without being seen.”

  I shivered.

  It sounded so wrong.

  It sounded so good.

  Forcing myself to remain sane, I looked up at the buildings all around us. The faint glow of families and the shadows of activities moved subtly above. “We’d be seen, regardless if we saw them or not.”

  He followed my gaze, his throat exposed as his head tipped up. His fingers twitched on my breast. “You’re right.”

  His touch fell away as he took a step back. “Pity.”

  Collecting the bag again, he slipped back into a prowl, dragging me with him.

  * * * * *

  “You live here?”

  He nodded as he pulled a key from his pocket.

  “As in the whole building?” I looked up at the mini skyscraper with its high sash windows and faded duck-egg blue exterior.

  “It needs work, but that’s why I bought it.” He unlocked the ancient doorknob and pulled me into a foyer with art deco tiles, a square chandelier, and peeling wallpaper. The ceiling soared at least four stories above us with a double width staircase curling up in a spiral to multiple floors.

  “Wow.”

  He let me go, moving toward the wall where the flick of a bronze light switch magically graced the place with illumination. The soft click woke up countless light bulbs, glittering with dust and weathered with time.

  “Like I said, a work in progress.” Once again, he captured my wrist, carting me up the stairs. He didn’t give me a chance to marvel at the original craftsmanship or question how long he’d been the owner.

  It was as if the building didn’t exist to him. As if the only thing that mattered to him was me.

  I didn’t speak as we made our way up and up. He didn’t stop on floor two or three or four. He kept tugging me higher until we entered floor ten or eleven and unlocked y
et another door in the dingy moth-nibbled hallway.

  It was like stepping into a different world.

  We’d headed through a time capsule and entered a resplendent suite of art deco charm, 1930’s decoration, and immaculate presentation.

  My mouth fell open as I drifted forward. “This—this is incredible.”

  “Of course, it is. It’s mine.” He locked the door behind him then strode through the space. “Just like you.” His jaw tightened beneath his five o’clock shadow. “I only own incredible things.”

  My heart lurched rather than my body.

  Was that an odd compliment? A nod that he did care for me beyond physical gratification?

  Don’t be absurd. Your heart is wrong. It’s on a sabbatical, researching myths on love and finding no solid proof it exists.

  Penn was everything poems and fables promised. If it wasn’t for the brooding anger or taut protection he sheltered behind, of course.

  If only I could make him swallow a truth serum and tear out answers—reveal just how shallow or deep he ran.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I expected him to fit in with this space, to feel at home and move freely, yet something didn’t sit right. He kicked off his shoes and padded barefoot over polished mosaic wood floors, but something was missing. He wasn’t at ease. He moved as if this was as foreign and new to him as it was to me.

  Why is that?

  “How long ago did you move in?” I kicked off my heels, placing them by the kitchen island.

  Penn smiled. “You’re asking questions?”

  “Is that against the rules?”

  He paused; something flickered over his face that I couldn’t decipher. “Some aren’t. Others are.”

  The crypticness gave me a headache. “So you can’t tell me how long you’ve lived here?”

  “You overheard part of what I told your father at the Weeping Willow. I’ve moved back to town recently. So if you believe that, then you’ll believe that this is a new purchase.”

  “Why do I need to believe something if it’s true?”

  He didn’t reply.

  I pushed with another question. “You said your benefactor was sick. That you returned for him. Is he okay?”

  A softness flowed over him—something so unexpected and endearing to see. Whoever his benefactor was, he cared for him a lot more than he would admit. “He’s fine now. It was a rare form of blood cancer. They have it under control.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It is.”

  The conversation stalled. Awkwardness settled like a third wheel. I felt responsible. Before, our silence had been potent with desire. Now, it hung heavy with confusion.

  Why did I care about him, this building, and whoever his mystery benefactor was?

  I’m here for one thing only.

  Same thing as he was.

  Taking a deep breath, I marched across the room. His arms opened wide, knowing what I did—that the only way to delete the sudden weirdness between us was to return to the basics.

  The place where hate and like didn’t matter.

  His lips stopped my thoughts. His arms ceased my worry. He let whatever restraint he had left fray and stalked me backward, his mouth never leaving mine, his sheer power corralling me against a sideboard.

  His fingers grabbed my jaw as he kissed me hard.

  His taste of mint and darkness flooded my senses.

  I trembled in his hold.

  As quickly as the kiss began, it ended. His fingers stung my oversensitive skin as he tugged me forward, moving stealthily toward a door past the open plan kitchen, living room, and dining. All around, large picture windows allowed the city to entertain us with its electric vibrancies and pedestrians below.

  Opening a door, Penn let me go, allowing me to drift forward into his bedroom while he tossed the black bag onto his bed.

  I followed it as the silver glitter dildo called the Seahorse bounced out and lay accusingly on the dark gray coverlet.

  Penn didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t glance at it. I doubted he’d notice anything else now I was in his lair. I was his conquest, his trophy. I didn’t know why I got the feeling this was more about him than it was about me, but in an odd way, I was glad.

  I could take what I wanted without having to worry about emotions getting in the way. I could keep myself protected all while giving him every intimate part of myself.

  I shivered as he stalked toward me, crowding me against the wall. He seemed to prefer me locked in place, unable to go anywhere.

  He hadn’t offered me a drink or something to eat.

  He’d brought me here to fuck me.

  That was all.

  I knew I might be hurt by that later. That for all my bravado and belief I could keep this about sex, I might still over-analyze and read into every moment. But right now...right now all I wanted was him. All I needed was him, and I was prepared to be cold-hearted to do that.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Elle,” he murmured, planting one hand on the wall by my head, imprisoning me. The pulse in his neck was visible as his gaze slipped from warm sable to brutal black. His other hand landed on my cheek, his thumb grazing my jaw to the corner of my mouth.

  He paused, holding his thumb there. “You don’t have a clue what you’re doing to me, do you?” He pressed his erection against my belly. “And I’m not going to tell you.”

  What? What am I doing to you?

  The way he said it ached with tenderness. For the briefest second, he wasn’t some rich tycoon about to strip and devour me but a sweet seducer drowning beneath his own untruths.

  That was the problem with being guarded.

  People with lies could never make friends. But people with trust could never make enemies.

  Both were weak.

  I sucked in a breath, parting my lips, allowing him to insert his thumb into my mouth.

  The intrusion was sexy and hot, and his skin tasted of salt.

  I wanted to ask why he wouldn’t tell me. That I wanted to know what crazy power I had over him when I felt so helpless in his presence. But he leaned forward, licking my bottom lip as he held my mouth open with his thumb. “I’m not going to tell you because I'm going to show you.”

  He leaned against me, chest to chest, hips to hips. He trapped me just as he had in my office and the alley and the street and my department store.

  He trapped me, and it dredged up yet more memories of three years ago when a hooded man freed me from robbers and awoke my teenage soul. The differences were startling. One man had unlocked my world. This one did his best to imprison me.

  Neither would be successful.

  Only I held that power, and it was my prerogative to lend it to another or deny it.

  A faint hint of anger and untapped desire siphoned from him to me, yet beneath that, there was something else. Something I hadn’t felt from him before.

  Softness wrapped in barbwire.

  It didn’t diminish the intensity of how he watched me, touched me, controlled me with the multiple facets within him. His facial scruff scraped my cheek as he bent his neck and kissed my throat. My eyes slammed closed as his teeth bit my collarbone. His aftershave shot up my nose as his hands landed on my sides, swooping up to rub my nipples with his thumbs.

  His lips traced up my neck, kissing but not gently. Nothing about Penn was gentle. It all came from a place of violence mixed with pleasure. The slipperiness of his teeth added a thrilling dimension to his warm mouth, and I moaned as he once again captured my face in his strong, cool fingers and tipped me just the right way.

  His lips sealed over mine, sweet to start then vicious. My body slammed against the wall, harder and harder as he tried to consume me, his lips causing bruises that would never heal.

  I had no choice but to let go. To give up standing and breathing and thinking.

  If I didn’t, I’d scream with his possession.

  Giving in was the easiest and only option.

  Because t
hen I could stop thinking and just be. Be a woman, desire...me.

  He controlled every minute thing.

  He was right when he said he wouldn’t lie to me.

  The kiss told me things he no doubt wanted to keep hidden. Things like ‘this is me, this is who I am. I won’t apologize’. And beneath that...beneath those sexy messages of wanting to fuck me was a deeper, darker thread.

  A thread that dared me to argue, to probe deeper into who he was, to switch him from passionate stranger to someone I could perhaps call...not a friend, but at least an acquaintance.

  His other hand looped around my spine, jerking me from the wall, shoving his fingers down the back of my skirt. He fingered the lace of my G-string and the top of my ass, rocking his erection into my belly.

  I need air. I need sanity.

  But he scooped me into his arms, letting my legs dangle between his as he stalked toward his bed and threw me down, tossing the black bag onto the floor.

  His face contorted with lust. “We’ll use toys another time. Tonight, I just need you.” Grabbing my jacket, he forced me to wriggle free as he removed my arms from the sleeves.

  The minute I lay there in my blouse and skirt, he smirked. “I hope you’re not too attached to these.”

  With a furious yank, he ripped my blouse apart. The tiny seashell buttons pinged into all corners of his room while cool air kissed my naked belly, revealing my black lace bra.

  He groaned, bending over me to press a kiss on the swell of my breast.

  Without thinking, I held his head to my chest, breathing hard, panting quick, running my hands through his hair with affection I didn’t necessarily feel.

  He reared back, his gaze narrowed and full of rage.

  We stared at each other, silently waging, trying to figure out how lines had blurred already. Pulling back to stand by the edge of the bed, Penn left me speechless, breathless, wondering what the hell was happening, and just who he was beneath the surface.

  His hands landed on his belt, yanking the leather free and ripping it from the loops.

  My skin was needy and demanding. I wanted him close. I wanted him on me. Screw the tiny voice of fear that my first time would hurt.

  “Take off your clothes,” he growled thickly, his voice no longer entirely human as he shoved his jeans down his legs and stepped out of them.