Black Lies

“Sounds…” He finished his typing, picking his hands up and swiveling his chair to face my approach, his hands reaching out and pulling me into his lap. “Interesting. Where are we going for this kidnapping?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’m not telling you that. That’d ruin the fun. How much time do you need before we can go?” I glanced at his computer screens, three side-by-side monitors that each displayed file download progresses.

  “I’m yours. Steal me away before Jillian reminds me about the budget meeting that starts in fourteen minutes.”

  “Shoot.” I hopped off his lap, snagging my purse off the floor. “Then let me get you out of here.”

  “You make me so bad,” he murmured, his eyes dark as he snagged me back for one last kiss.

  “Oh yeah,” I giggled. “Skipping budget meetings. You can get fitted for your leather vest now. Stick with me and you’ll be going to bed without flossing. Getting really crazy.”

  I pulled him around the desk, peeking out of his door with an exaggerated gesture before turning back and putting a finger to my lips. “Run on three,” I whispered. “One…two…” I opened the door and sprinted.

  “Here?” Brant looked out the window at the homes before us, my car settling into a spot out front. “I’ve been here before.”

  “At the ribbon cutting. I know. I was there too. That didn’t count. Get out.” I opened my door and stepped out, taking a few steps back and snagging a stuffed unicorn off the lawn.

  Brant’s door shut and I looked over to see him, his posture awkward, his eyes sweeping over the compound, five brick homes, a fenced yard connecting them, three kids clustered in the shade of an oak, a dog sniffing the edge of the fence and eyeing us as if wondering whether to attack. Brown eyes hit me and his tail started to wag. I stepped toward the gate and flipped the latch. Squeezed through and squatted, running my hands over the collie. “Hey Buster.” I ran him through his three tricks: sit, shake, and down, glancing over when Brant entered the yard and crouched to our level.

  “Buster, huh?” He reached out a hand and tousled the collie’s head.

  “Yep. Meet the most loved dog in the Greater Bay area.”

  I heard the soft sound of steps seconds before a small body flung through the air, knocking my squatting self back into soft grass.

  “Miz Lana!” Hannah, a six-year-old bundle of trouble, squealed as she squeezed my neck tightly enough to restrict air flow.

  “Hey sweetie,” I gasped. “Let me up a minute so I can introduce you to someone.” I put a hand on the grass and hoisted us both to standing, flashing a smile at the two other kids, ones I’d never seen but would guess to be a few years older than Hannah, the close press of their bodies indicating a sibling familiarity verified by the twin shocks of red hair both possessed. I readjusted Hannah’s weight until she rested on my hip. “Hannah, this is my friend Mr. Brant.”

  “Hi Mister Brant.” She reached a solemn hand out, a hand Brant shook with equal seriousness.

  “Nice to meet you Hannah.” Brant’s eyes flipped to mine. Dark and intelligent.

  I turned to the others. “You guys must be new. I’m Lana, and this is my friend Brant.”

  “I told them all about you,” Hannah said with importance, her dark arms tight around my neck.

  “Well… tell me about them then, since you know everything,” I teased.

  “This is Samuel and Ann. They’re from Boatland.”

  “Oakland,” the boy corrected, glancing at his sister.

  I smiled. “Welcome to the house, guys. Which one are you staying in?” The houses were named after states, HYA’s goal to have fifty in the next five years. At the moment, our three-acre estate contained five. We were looking at a lot in Sacramento for more homes, as well as spots in San Jose and Los Angeles.

  “Georgia. Though they said we have to split up next month.” Worried glances shot between two faces that were too young to have any concerns other than spilled milk.

  “Don’t worry about that.” I readjusted Hannah on my hip, her weight tiring. “By next month you guys will have so many friends here you’ll be begging for time away from each other. And the separation will only be at night. Days and meals are all free-for-alls between homes, so you guys will have lots of time together, should you want it.” I glanced at Brant. “I’ve got to take Mr. Brant inside, but I’ll see you guys again before we leave.” I gently set Hannah down, giving each newbie a big smile before looping my arm through Brant’s and pulling him toward the main house aka HQ, a six thousand square foot structure on the back of the property, where meals were served, sleepovers and movie nights held, and general bedlam occurred all day every day.

  “This place is amazing,” he said, glancing at the homes, the basketball court filled with moving bodies, a bevy of girls sprinting around the corner of a nearby house and flying past us.

  “It is.” I nodded. “All made possible by your donation.”

  “Maybe I should increase it.”

  I grinned. “That was, in part, my ulterior motive in bringing you here.”

  He paused, his firm hold on my hand bringing me to a stop. “You don’t ever need motives, Lana. Anything you want, anything that makes you happy… just ask.”

  “I know.” I tilted my head. “But I figure you might as well see the impact of your money.” I pulled him forward. “Come on. I want to show you the main house.”

  We stopped on the third floor deck, an open area scattered with outdoor furniture, a group of girls sunbathing to our right. From its height, you could see the entire campus. “How many kids live in this house?” he asked.

  “None. This is the social hub, where everyone eats, plays, and studies. The houses are set up for breakfast and sleeping, little else. That system seems to cut down on temper tantrums over who is in which house.”

  “I can’t imagine that the kids would ever want to leave. This place is like summer camp.”

  I looked away. “Every kid wants love. To have parents whose focus is on their happiness. We can’t do that for a hundred kids. We try, but we can’t. They’d all leave this in a heartbeat for a chance to feel wanted. Loved.”

  “You weren’t?”

  I laughed, pushed on his arm. “I was talking about homeless kids, not my parents. My parents gave me everything I ever wanted.”

  “Money and presents don’t equal love. I live in a huge house that doesn’t hold a bit of love. I know what empty feels like. It’s one of the reasons why I hate living alone.”

  “My parents loved me.” I know the words must be true. Parents love their child. They just choose to show it in different ways. Mine chose to love by expectation.

  “I love you.” He stepped closer, his hands settling on my waist. “You, Layana Fairmont, are impossible not to love.”

  I scoffed. “You don’t know me enough to love me.” I’ve never been loved. Thirty years old and no man had ever uttered those words. A sad truth. Made possible by the dark lines of my ability to push away every man other than the one who stood before me, pulling me closer, his eyes owning me. This man I pulled closer, had turned over my heart somewhere along the place where I made the valiant effort to try and escape the artificial life plan that was ingrained in my blue blood.

  “I love you. Every dark and light piece of you.” He lowered his mouth, but I stopped his kiss, pressing a hand on his chest.

  “There’s no kissing on campus,” I whispered. “HYA policy.”

  He frowned. “Don’t I hold an office of some sort in this organization?”

  “Board president.”

  He grinned. “I hereby, and for the next five minutes, strike that rule from the books.” He pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine, a soft sweet brush of commitment, one that changed, grew more passionate and possessive, his hand moving to cup the back of my head, his mouth sealing the deal, catching my heart as it jumped over the edge of forever.

  I loved this man back. Done. My heart was officially toast. When the kiss ended, I tol
d him as much, his mouth taking mine with a final touch that celebrated the occasion.

  I heard a gasp from our right and broke our connection. Turned to see Hannah, her brown eyes big as saucers, alarm on her face at our flagrant breach of the rules. She pressed a firm finger to her lips, then made a zipper motion, doing a solemn and careful pantomime of locking her lips and throwing away the key.

  Then, her face broke into a grin and she tore off into the house with a squeal.

  Chapter 13

  2 YEARS, 4 MONTHS AGO

  I pulled up to his house, the entrance lights glowing, illuminating the path as my car pulled forward, sensing the presence of a vehicle, more lights coming on, palm trees and stone coming to life in an orchestration that must have set Brant back a few hundred thousand. I pressed the garage door opener, my bay opening, and I parked. Waited for the door to shut, to stop the cold wind from whooshing in.

  I left my shoes just inside, Brant’s level of clean OCD ridiculous. I walked through the silent house, waiting at the base of the stairs; my head tilted, and I listened. No sounds. He was probably downstairs.

  I took the elevator, the doors quietly opening to an underground computer lab that rivaled Ironman’s in size and capabilities. His back hunched, bare under the fluorescents, pajama pants the only thing on his tall frame. Straddling a stool, he worked over a pile of wires, a loop on his head, his hands moving quickly, tools lined up beside him in neat order. I settled into the leather chair in the corner of the room. Tugged the blanket off the back of it and wrapped it around my body. Watched him work.

  “Hey baby.” He didn’t turn, the clink of tools the only sign of his activity.

  “Hey love.”

  “I’ll be done soon.”

  “Take your time. Mind if I put some music on?”

  “Please. I adjusted the play tracks. Let me know what you think.”

  I picked up the Laya, Brant’s latest prototype, a tablet that wouldn’t hit markets for another year. Opening the music center, I was instantly impressed. He had done more than adjust play tracks. The layout of the music center was completely different. I chose my mood: lazy. Drawing an abstract sketch with my finger, a lazy swirl with an occasional dot or skip of interest, I clicked play. It knew my touch, recognized fingerprints with the speed of a blink. And, within seconds, it was playing the exact song desired—a song I didn’t even know, but it was exactly what I wanted. Coldplay. The music flowed through speakers hidden along the walls, and I curled into the chair and watched the love of my life.

  Love. It was no longer a strong word for our relationship. It was now the perfect word for our relationship. I loved this man. I could not imagine a life without him. He was the complement to my fears, a man firmly set into the trappings I desired, but with the independence and confidence to turn a blind eye to all of it. Together, we avoided the public life, had started a simple life of elegance, exploring the nuances of each other while enjoying the pleasures of which he had been gifted with. With this man, I could see the possibility of a family. A genuine life. Married and happy, without myself in the dominance of a man who wanted a trophy wife.

  “Do you approve?” He didn’t turn, continued working.

  “I approve,” I said softly. “You are brilliant, baby.”

  “Thanks love.”

  I watched him, the flex of his back, the way his muscles yawned when he ran his hands through his hair. Listened to the soft mutter of his words as he spoke to himself. Smiled as the room went dark, crescendos played against my skin, and I fell asleep against the soft leather.

  I was woken by kisses. The drag of his hands across my skin as he pulled me down in the chair, my legs nudged open, the burn of his skin as my bare knees bounced against the hard muscle of his thighs. He shouldn’t be muscular. Shouldn’t have tan skin, cut arms, a defined chest. He should be pale. Scrawny. He spent twelve hours a day under fluorescents, before computers. But I didn’t question how God blessed him. Didn’t question how or why, especially not in moments like this.

  He pulled me farther, ‘til my back was flat against the seat of the chair, my butt hanging off of it, his hands soft, probing, lifting my legs to the sky and pulling the soft silk of my shorts, the scratchy tease of my thong’s lace coming along, moving up and then off my legs. And then I was bare before him, his hands pushing up the cotton of my tank, over my breasts, his body stilling when I was fully exposed before him.

  “Perfect,” he breathed. Ran his hands lightly, from breast to thigh, back and forth, side to side, just the skim of fingertips across skin, just light enough to make me arch into his touch, beg for more with my eyes. I waited. Breathed. Parted my legs before his eyes and lifted my knees, ‘til my feet rested on the edge of the chair and I was open before him, nothing he couldn’t see. His eyes dropped, focused on the place between my legs, a soft groan coming from his mouth, his fingertips dragging lower and running softly over the lips of my sex.

  “Perfect,” he repeated, his fingers brushing up and down over that spot, not pushing, not spreading, just a gentle caress that had me lifting my hips, his name whispering from my lips, wanting, needing more.

  Then he pushed a finger inside and everything changed.

  “God…” The curse, tumbling from his lips, as his mouth lowered to mine. Stretching his body forward, the hard muscles of his chest pressed against mine as he kissed me. I wrapped my legs around him, pinned his hand inside me, the gentle movement of that finger causing my breath to catch, mouth to freeze on his own.

  “Yes, Brant. Oh my God, yes.”

  “I love you so much,” he whispered, his mouth leaving mine, dropping to my neck, a hand pulling my legs apart as he moved down my body, his mouth soft on my skin, a delicious journey down as his finger continued its perfect tease inside my body. It’s amazing what a finger can do. Such a small digit, but able to go exactly right there. My back came off the leather, my breath arrested as he touched some place that made my world go dark. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Oh my God, don’t stop.”

  I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but I wanted to. Wanted to see the look on his face, the dark intensity that stole over his face when he watched me. Wanted to see the moment he pulled out his cock, wanted to see the firm head of it, his hand wrapped around the base, the stroke of his fingers as he yanked at it.

  This was his favorite moment—watching me come. It made the skin on his cock stretch as he hardened to a level past belief. It caused his eyes to darken, his breath to hitch. The muscles in his chest tightened, his hands quickened, my name a quick moan on his lips. And I knew what was coming. What would happen as the shudders ceased, as I tumbled down the delicious hill that was my orgasm. At that moment, the most perfect moment my body would ever know? That was when he would thrust. Remove his fingers and shove inside. Fill me to breaking before starting a rhythm that would trump whatever ecstasy I just experienced.

  And the knowing, the expectation… opening my eyes and seeing him prepare himself, his own excited anticipation at what was about to happen… The heavy lids and pants of his breath as his finger continued its lazy brush inside of me. I bucked against his hand and came so hard I broke.

  Waves upon waves, the sounds from my mouth senseless, unmeaning. I arched against his hand, humped it like an animal in heat, my body exploding around his finger, the perfect flick of his fingers making my feet kick, the glimpse of his face, dark intensity, his cock, hard and ready, and I couldn’t stop it, it stretched, continued, beautiful insanity that turned my world into stars and my body into a constellation. And then, before I fell from the sky, at the moment when my breath began to catch and my eyes flicked open, he shoved inside of me and I lost it again.

  Hard, fast. He fucked me as if he hated me, but the words spilling out were nothing but love. He bent over me, dug his hands into my hips and held me tightly in place. Pounded away, my name repeating on his tongue, the urgency in his movements carrying me higher, spurring my pleasure. This was for him, and that made i
t for me, knowing that the loss of his control was a gift, a rarity that I was one of the few to see. I wrapped my legs, dug my heels into him, and raked my nails across his skin.

  When he came, it was Brant Sharp intense, one hand tight to my neck, the other squeezing the meat of my ass, pulling me tighter, as if he would never get enough—be deep enough, be one enough—of me. He thrust fully in, moaned my name, and shuddered through the final fucks of his orgasm.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered, lifting me, his hands tucking underneath my body, picking me up in a way that his cock stayed in, spinning with me until he was below and I was on top, stretched out over his body, my chest against his chest, the quick beat of our hearts off sync.

  “I love you too, baby.”

  Outside, I heard the roll of thunder. A storm was coming.

  Chapter 14

  Brant

  “When’s the event?” I took a sip of ice water, my eyes catching the waiter’s, the man scurrying to my side with the bill.

  “Next Tuesday. I’ll call you that afternoon and remind you.” Jillian set down her fork, relaxing back in her chair, her hands smoothing the napkin on her lap.

  “I’m not sixteen. I can remember a dinner. Though, if you let me have an assistant, you could stop worrying entirely. She could tie my shoes and get me to work on time.”

  Jillian’s eyes softened. “You know you’re forgetful.”

  “You don’t have time to keep me organized. You’re a busy woman. The company needs you more than I do.” I pulled a credit card from my wallet and dropped it on the bill, pushing it to the edge of the table before returning my stare to her.

  “You’re not busy enough to need an assistant. And I don’t want some stranger thumbing through the details of our lives. You and I have looked after each other for twenty years. No need to change any of that now.”

  I watched her, my mind skipping, brought back to square one by her palm, hitting the linen tablecloth with enough force to cause me to jerk.