She smiles. “Yeah, sounds good.”
“Ladies, am I interrupting something?” Ransom’s stern voice cuts through our quiet conversation. He’s stopped his lecture to single us out in front of the whole class. Standing behind his lectern, he eyes me with a critical air that makes me consider throwing up my middle finger.
“No, not at all,” Annie says, her face burning crimson.
“Are you sure? Because if it’s important, I’ll be happy to wait. In fact,” Ransom says, casting his arm out to encompass the room. “Why don’t you share with the rest of the class? Maybe we can offer some insight.”
I glare at him, irritated that Ransom would do this. He’s behaving like a total ass. Angry with me or not, he doesn’t have the right to punish Annie for it.
“Or you could just leave us alone and continue teaching instead of wasting everyone’s time and grant money,” I mouth back.
Several students roar with laughter. Ransom’s eyes narrow, his anger quick and palpable. They shut up instantly.
“Miss Hart, you’re free to leave.”
He’s trying to kick me out? “No, thanks. I’ll stay.”
Leaving his lectern, Ransom crosses the floor. Stopping before me, he slips his hands into his trouser pockets and regards me with cool, hard steel in his eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
I blink up at him, smiling demurely. “Are you sure? It sounded like one to me.” Why am I playing this game? It’s dangerous and stupid and could cost me big. But I can’t seem to help myself. Ransom brings out the brat in me.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Miss Hart. Pack your things and leave my classroom. Now. When you can show the proper respect, you’re welcome to return.”
Damn. How is it possible to be so attracted to someone and hate them at the same time? Slapping my book closed, I spill everything back into my bag and stand. Slinging the heavy weight over my shoulder, I raise an eyebrow at Ransom. He gives me the same infuriatingly cool look as before.
I almost regret leaving Annie behind, but I don’t want to bring any more attention to her than what’s already been given. She’s sensitive, and I know I’m going to hear an earful later anyway. She’ll want to know what’s going on. Why Ransom came down on me so hard. After leaving the room, I find a seat on one of the benches in the quad and use the time to come up with an acceptable answer.
***
I bite into my turkey on rye in hopes that having my mouth full will prevent me from having to answer Annie’s imposing questions. She is fully into investigation mode. On the walk over to the local diner located at the halfway point between our homes and campus, she must have thrown a dozen or more questions at me. Why did Ransom act that way? Why did he seem so mad? Was it just her imagination, or had he singled me out? Is there trouble in paradise, and if so, what happened?
So far, my answers have consisted mostly of one word and shoulder shrugs. It won’t save me from telling her the truth in the long run, but in the interim, it’s working just fine.
“I just don’t get it,” Annie repeats as she stirs her broccoli and cheese soup. “Mr. Scott always seemed so nice, but today he was just…rude.”
“Well, we were talking while he was teaching,” I reason, even though I’m not even close to accepting his treatment. His reaction was over the top, which sparked my over-the-top reaction, resulting in me being kicked out of class.
“How can you sit there and be so calm after the way he dismissed you in front of everyone? That must have been humiliating!”
I shrug. At this rate, my traps are going to be amazing. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“Are you kidding?” Annie’s eyes grow huge. “I was embarrassed for you. After you left, it took almost ten minutes for Mr. Scott to get everyone back under control.”
“Would you please stop calling him that? His name is Ransom.” Mr. Scott is what I used to call Rebel when we were in bed after Ransom told me he wanted to keep things between us strictly professional. Confused? So was I. From now on, it’s a first name basis until I can get everything sorted out.
“I don’t know him the same way you do.” Annie’s brows pull down in a frown. “It feels weird, too personal.”
Tossing the rest of my uneaten sandwich back on the plate, I sit back and sigh. “I guess I can see your point.” Toying with the straw submerged in my glass of pop, it takes me a moment to realize that Annie is watching me. Her eyes, a bright shade of green that shines in the afternoon sun cutting through one of the windows, are assessing me closely.
Before she gets started on another round of endless, probing questions, I turn the table on her. “So what’s going on with you? Earlier I got the impression you had something on your mind that you wanted to talk to me about.”
Thankfully, the change in subject is enough to distract her. Annie’s gaze drops to her soup. She stirs it a few more times, her mouth forming a pensive line.
“Last night I told Jason that I wanted you to be the baby’s godmother. You know, in case anything ever happens to us.”
My hand flies up to cover my chest. “Annie,” I breathe, touched that she thinks so much of me that she’d trust me to raise her kid.
“Yeah, well. Don’t get too excited.” Overwhelming sadness pours off her, and my elation seeps out of me faster than air from a ruptured balloon as I reach across the table to hold her hand. She gives me a grateful half-smile. “Jason kind of flew off the handle about it.”
“Did he hurt you?” My jaw clenches so hard I feel my teeth creak under the pressure.
“No! He’d never do that.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I ask the question, but I’ve already answered it in my head. The problem is me. It’s no secret that Jason and I don’t get along, but we’ve done well enough so far for Annie’s sake. I don’t see any reason for that to change now.
“He just…” She struggles with the answer. I give her hand a small squeeze of reassurance, and it’s enough to get her to continue. “Jason said you’re not the type of person he wants raising our child. He said...he said he doesn’t want you around it, period.”
My back hits the chair, the breath whooshing out of my lungs as I stare back at her in shock. I’m floored. I’m hurt. I’m incredibly pissed off. “What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t want to fight with him,” she says. Withdrawing her hand from mine, she begins picking at her nails. “I figure we still have time until the baby arrives to change his mind.”
Right, because Jason is such a reasonable guy. It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. “What if he doesn’t change his mind?” I ask. It’s a valid question. Annie has always deferred to him, and I have a sinking feeling that this time will be no different.
“I don’t think it will be a problem. He just needs time. But, Joe,” she says, her voice growing wary. “I keep trying to understand why you two hate each other so much, but I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“I never said I hated him.”
She huffs in exasperation. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over you anytime he walks into a room. Heck, even mentioning his name gets you all riled up. And Jason is no different. It’s like he’s on edge anytime you’re around.”
Swallowing, I shift in my seat, looking out the window to avoid her curious gaze. “I guess we just never gelled.”
“You can say that again,” she chuckles. “But really, it’s deeper than that. Everyone’s noticed it. So what gives? Do you two have some kind of history I don’t know about?”
My gaze jumps to hers, and I see more than just simple curiosity burning in their green depths. Annie is prodding because some part of her is suspicious, and she’s right to be.
Ah fuck. Fuckityfuckfuckfuck! I don’t like where this is leading and I don’t want to be the one to tell her. The past is the past and that’s exactly where it should stay.
“Joe?” Annie leans forward, and I can see that she’s read my silence as confirmation that there’s more to the
story. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
I have to get out of here.
“Damn,” I say, pulling my phone from my back pocket. I pretend to read the blank screen and shake my head. “I have to go. I’m late to my appointment.” Standing up, I toss some bills on the table to cover my half of the food, then round it to give her a brief hug.
“What appointment?” she questions, looking bewildered by my sudden harried state.
“Just a thing,” I say, waving my hand in the air. “Nothing important, but I have to run.”
Eyes narrowing, Annie tracks me as I rush for the door. “We’re not finished with this conversation, Joe!”
I know, and that’s what frightens me. Throwing my hand up, I wave goodbye and burst onto the sidewalk. Needing a quick getaway, I jump into the first cab I spot and I give the driver my address. I don’t take my first full breath until I’m safely ensconced in my apartment.
I guess it’s true what they say: A person can only run for so long before the past catches up with them.
SEVEN
Dancing helps me clear my head. It’s just too bad that Kota needed an extra body on the floor tonight. I need the release. I need that unhurried moment where I can just let my mind go blank, let my thoughts drift into nothing while I move my body.
Mirage is hosting a party tonight. Some guy is getting married and this is where he’s decided to have his bachelor party. I wonder if his fiancée knows what he’s doing and what kind of place this is. The kind of services a man can pay for that go beyond a simple drink.
Not that I care. I’m here to make money, not solve personal problems. Lord knows I have enough of my own.
Navigating the congested floor, I hold a tray full of empties high and weave past the tables. The club is louder than usual tonight. The men have grown rowdier with each passing hour. I’ve never seen it like this before, and if it weren’t for Kota and the beefy guards positioned at every corner and exit, I might be scared. But this is the safest place I can be right now.
Reaching the back of the bar, I dispose of the empty bottles in the garbage and return the used glasses to the dish washer. Poor Bernice has already run the damn thing five times tonight and looks exhausted. However, she’s moving with a speed and agility the rest of us can only aspire to.
“If you need more glasses,” she says when she notices me standing behind her, “there’s a fresh stock under the bar. Be careful, though, they’re still hot.”
I tip my head in confirmation as I take a drink of water from a glass I’ve stashed beside the ice bin. I’m looking out over the club, scanning the patrons through the blanket of dark that’s occasionally broken up by colored strobe lights, when I see him.
Rebel sits at a two-top near the back, but much closer to the action than normal. I assume with the chaos, he wasn’t able to get his usual seat. He appears relaxed, in his element, and those dark, hawk-like eyes are fixed on me.
I wonder how long he’s been here, and how long he’s been watching me. When I survey his table, I don’t see his usual drink, so it must not have been long.
“He’s got it bad for you.”
My gaze switches to Bernice, who is busy filling drink orders. Still, she somehow has the time to keep track of my love life. I shake my head as I retrieve a clean tumbler and drop a couple cubes of ice into the bottom.
“He’s been here nearly every night this week, and he’s not here for the shows,” she continues.
I don’t like how observant she is, but I have to admit, I do like the thrill that rushes through me at her words. It feels good to know he wants me and that it isn’t just my imagination. I’m not putting more into it than there is. Rebel wouldn’t spend his evenings chasing after me if he wasn’t serious about catching me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Pouring two fingers of scotch, I return the bottle to the top shelf and retrieve the glass. “I guess we’ll find out,” I say, winking at her as I walk away.
My eyes fix on Rebel as I sashay my way toward him. I love how his dark eyes betray him. They skate over me, drinking me in, in a way that would be inappropriate if we were anywhere else. Ignoring the shiver of pleasure that traces down my spine, I set the glass down in front of him.
His mouth curves up in a slow smirk as he reaches for it, and even though I know I should, I can’t seem to make myself walk away. I watch, fascinated, as he brings the glass to his full lips and takes a drink. His throat is thick and covered in day-old scruff, and when he swallows, I imagine running my tongue down it, tasting the hint of salt and cologne on his skin.
“You remembered.” His voice is a deep husk that travels straight to my core. I could pretend to be unaffected, but we both know it would be a lie.
“How could I forget?” I say casually. “You’re a man of habit.”
He considers this, that sexy smile still in place. “What are you doing the rest of the evening, Josephine?”
“Work, home, bed, in that order,” I say, my mood shifting on a dime. I’m not interested in playing games tonight. I especially am not interested in dealing with Rebel and his dominate, overbearing attitude. As hot as I used to find that—and still do, if I’m being honest—I’m still sore over his behavior at his parents’ house over the weekend.
Rebel treated me like a pawn in a game of chess. He was so busy trying to outplay his brother he forgot that I am a human being with feelings. I know I can’t keep this side of my life a secret forever, but when it finally does come out, I want it to be on my terms. What I don’t want is for the information to be used as leverage, which is exactly what Rebel did.
Rebel’s hand glides across my hip and around my back, drawing me closer until my stomach is flush with his thigh and he has to tilt his head back to look at me. “When you say bed, I assume you mean mine.”
A bitter laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “That’s not how this goes, remember? Complete anonymity?”
His eyes darken, turning into turbulent pools of night. “That was before,” he drawls. Behind me, his hand presses against my back, his thumb slipping beneath the tight fabric of my shirt to caress my heated flesh. “Before the names, before you showed up in my home. Before you fucked my brother.” That last bit is full of bitterness and hatred, and I step back, breaking our connection.
If Rebel is angry, I don’t want to be anywhere near him. He’s always struck me as the dark and dangerous type, and tonight, he’s playing the role well. If he goes off, I intend to be miles away from the detonation site.
Despite my uneasiness, I harden my voice. “If you intend to continue holding that over my head, don’t bother coming here anymore. I won’t be punished for something that was out of my control.”
His eyes narrow and, slowly, Rebel stands. He advances and for every step he takes, I take one back. There is a dark promise in his eyes, and even though warning bells are clanging in my head, my body is reacting. My blood simmers and my skin grows tighter as he closes in on me. We’re in a public place. Rebel won’t hurt me, but past experience dictates that he won’t be stopped from doing other things.
Spinning on my heel, I decide to get away from him as fast as I can. He may frequent Mirage, but I work here. I know this place better than him, and even if it’s not any kind of fortress, there are areas he’s not allowed.
I see Big John stationed at the opening to the hallway leading to the dressing room, and I make a beeline for him. If I can reach him, John will bar Rebel from following me.
I don’t reach him.
Rebel grabs hold of my wrists and pulls on it hard enough to make me lose my balance. I fall back against his chest, and his arms wrap around me, holding on tight. Lowering his head, his lips graze my ear as he speaks. “Don’t you know chasing my dinner only makes me want to devour it more?”
“Get off me, Rebel. I mean it.” I don’t. My voice is embarrassingly breathy. My blood is on fire. Having his hard body pressed up against mine, his heat scalding
my skin through our layers of clothing, the sound of his voice in my ear coupled with the words he says, makes my knees shake.
“Come now, you and I both know that’s not what you really want. Just look at you, Josephine,” he purrs into my ear. “Even from this angle, I can see how your skin has turned that pretty pink whenever you get aroused. And your nipples—they’ve grown hard. I can see them poking through your shirt. So tell me, if I put my hand between your legs, would you be wet for me?”
His words never cease to stir the sex-hungry, wanton woman inside me. I crave to let him touch me, to taste him in return. Then reality sets in. The pounding pulse of music floods my ears and I remember where we are: In the middle of the club, surrounded by people.
Wrenching away from him, I swing around and level Rebel with a hard look. “Leave.”
His eyes flash. I can see the exact moment he reaches his decision, and I hold my ground as he steps closer, his body so close to mine we touch from chest to thigh. He stares off somewhere over my head as he speaks. “I’m leaving, Josephine, but only because that bouncer looks like he’s ready to draw blood. But before I go, I want you to know one thing. This isn’t over. Not even close. I want you at my place tonight, in my bed.”
I scoff, ready to tell him where he can stick his commands, when his eyes cut to mine, shutting me up instantly. “You will be there,” he tells me softly, but the undercurrent of warning is there. “If you go against my wishes, you won’t like the results. Are we clear?”
I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. Rebel is a pushy bastard. Unlike his brother, who is somewhat malleable, Rebel is a dictator. What he says goes. If I allow it, without a doubt, he won’t hesitate to run over me. I don’t want to listen to him, but it’s impossible not to. A part of me is desperate to please him, to reap the rewards of making a man like him happy. Because, despite all the reasons I should be running from him, there’s something deep inside Rebel that makes me want to stay. He’s not the hard, cruel man he projects. I’ve caught hints of a softer side, and I’m game to draw it out of hiding.
Lie to You Page 5
