Lies We Keep

by Danielle Rose

  I swallowed. He was right. Keeping me safe was his job, and it was ten times harder to do in public—and without backup.

  I nodded my submission, my eyes dropping to his wide, lean chest. The restaurant’s air-conditioning was in full force, and the vent just above Blakely’s seat had his nipples peaked.

  I groaned. Damn him. I could’ve sworn he was doing that intentionally.

  “Should we hire a team?” I asked, letting my eyes trail the length of his toned arms. The stark contrast between his tanned skin and the white cotton of his shirt was oddly erotic.

  Holy fuck, I needed Mr. Dependable tonight.

  “Miss Tate.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Jez-e-bel,” I said. “Seriously, Blakely. We need to work on this.”

  He arched an eyebrow, a crooked grin forming across his perfectly sculpted face. “Let’s make a deal.”

  Intrigued, I folded my arms across the tabletop and leaned toward him, smiling.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll stop calling you Miss Tate—”

  “And ma’am,” I cut in.

  He grinned. “I’ll stop calling you Miss Tate and ma’am, if you stop giving me those come-fuck-me eyes.”

  I gasped, and I was sure my jaw slapped the floor before I yanked it shut. A wicked grin crossed my face, and I bit my lower lip.

  “Deal,” I said as I crossed my toes.

  Hell, even Cinderella herself would’ve lied.

  “Will you be staying in for the rest of the night?” Blakely asked as we filed into my apartment. He closed the door behind us as I tossed my bag onto the kitchen counter.

  “I was hoping we could,” I replied. “Did you have other plans?”

  “I’d like to get my things.” He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and pressed a button, and the screen lit up. “I should be back within an hour. Stay inside. Lock the door.”

  “I like it when you order me around,” I purred.

  He grasped the doorknob, yanking it open, and turned on his heel. “Good. Do as you’re told.” There was a devilish hint in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but play along.

  I bounced toward him, leaning against the doorframe. Only inches separated us, but within those inches, the air changed. The static charge between us was evident, and the darkness in his usually bright, sapphire-blue eyes told me he felt it, too.

  Christ, this man was going to be the best fuck of my life.

  I couldn’t wait to let go of what little reservations I had around him and let him take me all the way.

  In truth, I hadn’t had a good fuck—ever. Mr. Dependable was fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but my exes had no idea how to work a woman’s body—or a man’s, for that matter. They were no different than angsty, horny teens in a losing game.

  But James Blakely reeked of a sex god.

  He knew it. I knew it. Hell, anyone who looked at him knew it.

  From his lean, muscular frame to his commanding eyes, he took control.

  And a small part of me was willing to let go and give it to him.

  I’d hardly consider myself submissive, but the thought of releasing control to Blakely made my toes curl.

  He could tie me up and spank me any damn day.

  I angled my head back to meet his eyes. A small smile formed, but he quickly brushed it away. I dragged my teeth against the skin of my lower lip and relished in the sight of his eyes following that movement.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  The look that flashed across his face nearly brought me to my knees. There was power there, a strength I was sure he rarely delved into. A dominant man to his core, Blakely desperately needed to let loose.

  And it sure as hell was going to be with me.

  He closed the door, and I stood on my tiptoes to watch him through the peephole. His hand hadn’t yet left the doorknob when the other ran through his tussled brown hair. Soon, I’d be running my hands through it, too. He let out a long breath and then turned to face the door. He stared at the peephole, and even though the rational part of me told me there was no way he could see me, I convinced myself he could. He was staring straight back at me, taunting me, daring me to make the first move.

  Had his control faltered?

  I definitely didn’t want to sit around, asking myself what ifs.

  I grasped the doorknob and began turning the handle, but before I could get the door open, he turned and walked away.

  I groaned, locked the door, and stalked down the hallway.

  This game of cat and mouse was getting old.

  I walked to the bathroom, yanking off my clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor, and stepped into my glass shower. I let the water cascade down my frame and watched it swirled down the drain. It felt like an hour had passed before I finally decided to wash my hair.

  I finished my routine and stepped out of the glass enclosure, wrapping a towel around me. I ran my fingers through my dripping hair and jumped when a loud knock erupted through my silent, empty apartment.

  I tiptoed into the living room, leaving a trail of water in my wake.

  “It’s me,” a voice said. I unlocked the door and opened it to let him inside—bags and all.

  He took a step forward and came to a screeching halt. The sharp inhalation he took had no chance of escaping as his widened eyes trailed the length of my body. One hand on the doorknob, I used the other to hold the bunched towel at my breasts. I silently thanked God that I’d chosen one of the smaller towels to wrap myself in. I didn’t have to look down to know he was getting a good show. The hem of the towel rested against my upper thighs, only half-a-foot or so below my aching core. I hadn’t dried my hair, and I could feel the water droplets slide down my curves.

  He licked his lips, and I knew I had him right where I wanted him.

  I turned on my heel and sauntered down the hallway.

  “Remember to lock up,” I said over my shoulder.

  I heard the door close, and just as I reached my bedroom door, I dropped the towel, giving him full view of one of my greatest assets. I turned toward my closet, stealing a peek down the hall, and he was exactly where I’d left him.

  We locked eyes until I’d disappeared into my closet, grinning.

  I listened for footsteps but heard none. I dressed quickly, opting for only a loose, thigh-length nightgown, and returned to the bathroom. I towel-dried my hair, finger-brushed it, and cleaned up my mess before joining Blakely in the living room. He hadn’t moved from the doorway, and I chuckled as I passed him.

  “You can come in, y’know,” I said. “This is your place, too.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” he said.

  I stopped and spun around. “Why?”

  He dropped his bags and stalked toward me, closing the space between us. He pushed me past the bar stools; the counter jabbed into my flesh, and I gasped. I lost control of myself, my hands having minds of their own. One reached behind his neck, running my fingers through his silky strands, tugging his lips down to meet mine, and the other reached for the hem of his shirt, riding up and scratching my nails against each defined ridge of his torso. He leaned down; his lips brushed against mine, and I thought, if anyone could orgasm from a kiss, it would be from this one—I knew this to be true, even though it hadn’t happened yet. I arched into him as his hands wrapped around my body and grabbed my ass. I gasped into his mouth, drunk on his scent.

  “This is why,” he said breathlessly.

  And then he pulled away.

  I grabbed the bar stools to balance my weight after he’d stepped back, and I fought to control my breathing.

  “What the fuck?” I shouted. “I like to play games, Blakely, don’t get me wrong. I can be a tease, and I can be teased, but I need to know I’ll get the prize at some point.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said calmly. “This”—he motioned between us—“can’t happen.”

  “Why the hell not?” I asked, finding the strength to step forward. Wit
h every step I took, he took two more back. Groaning, I stopped and crossed my arms over my chest, knowing perfectly well my breasts would perk up and pop out against the thin fabric of my nightgown. “And don’t you dare say you don’t want it. Because it’s obvious that you do.”

  I glanced down, my eyes lingering on his impressive erection.

  “Jezebel, you’re paying me to protect you.”

  Thank God, he got my name right this time.

  “Yeah, so? I don’t need your protection in bed,” I argued.

  “I can’t protect you if I’m fucking you.”

  “I don’t see the problem here.”

  “I won’t be thinking clearly. I need to think with my brain, not my dick. I need to focus on your surroundings. I need to think critically, not emotionally.”

  He stepped forward. His gaze dropped, darkening. The lust I saw there screamed back at me. With just the look in his eyes, he threatened to take me here, now, and even though that was everything I wanted, I still backed away until he had me pinned against a wall in the hallway. He caged me between his arms, the scruff of his chin brushing against my cheek. My palms were flat against the wall behind me, its coolness almost painful against my skin. Every fiber of my being was on fire.

  I desperately needed him to touch me.

  I didn’t want James Blakely to be gentle.

  I didn’t need him to love me.

  I needed him to fuck me. Hard.

  It took everything I had to strengthen my wobbly knees.

  I was getting desperate. It had been too long since I’d trusted someone with my body. It had been too long since I’d wanted someone to trust me with his.

  “And when I’m around you,” he said, his breath hot on my cheek, “the only thing I can think about is fucking you until your eyes roll back, your limbs stop working, and you can’t remember your own name.” He leaned closer, and his lips brushed against my ear. A shiver shot through me, and I scratched my nails against the wall behind me. My eyes rolled closed as several images flashed in my mind.

  Briefly, I fantasized about him ripping off my clothes as I worked his pants down. In an instant, he’d have me in his arms, shoving inside me. I’d cry out, the first of many screams. I’d yank his shirt over his head, relishing in the feeling of skin-on-skin contact—something I so desperately needed right now. He’d pound into me, a merciless style of fucking I’d never experienced before.

  I opened my eyes to find him watching me.

  “But I can assure you that your neighbors will know exactly who I am, because my name will be the only thing you’ll remember.”

  Holy fuck, this man would be the death of me.

  And I was perfectly okay with that.

  We turned toward each other in unison, and I watched as his eyes narrowed, focusing solely on the small space between his lips and mine.

  “I might surprise you. We can make this work.”

  I pushed off the wall and leaned against his frame. The hem of his shirt bunched beneath my fingers as I pulled him closer. He gasped, and it was by far the sexiest noise to have ever escaped a man’s mouth. If I went deaf in this very moment, I’d be okay with that sound being the last thing I ever heard.

  “Relationships like this never work.” He breathed against my lips. “Dating your boss never works.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me, Blakely. I’m just asking you to fuck me until my legs buckle, and I beg you to take me just a little bit harder.”

  His eyes widened as he dragged his teeth against his lower lip. He was hard; his length was pressed against my stomach, digging into my skin.

  He may not have approved of office romances…

  But he didn’t pull away. He let my hands linger as I explored his body through the fabric of his shirt. I slipped my hands beneath it and slowly worked my way up his chest. I reached around, sliding my fingers across the smooth skin of his taut back. I teased the length of his spine.

  I stood on my tiptoes and grazed his lips.

  “And if I kiss you now?” I asked. “Would you push me away? Would you stop me? Or could you take what you want?”

  He didn’t answer, and I was sure that was because he didn’t know. He wouldn’t know until I made the move.

  So I did.

  I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back while I leaned forward, pressing my mouth against his. He groaned when our lips met. But he caved. His tongue was eagerly searching my mouth. He craved the taste of me just as much as I craved the taste of him.

  Hot damn, this man was an amazing kisser. He kissed and licked and stroked and nipped at all the right moments.

  He grabbed my hands that rested at his waist and brought them behind his neck. His fingers lightly caressed the skin of my arms as he worked his way down the length of my body. When he found the hem of my nightgown, he cupped my ass and lifted me. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist and gasped into his mouth as he ground his erection against my quivering core.

  He pulled back and watched me as he ground against my clit. I scratched my fingernails against his scalp, tugging the strands of his hair.

  “Fuck…” I breathed. “So good.”

  “Tell me what you want,” he said. His voice was deep, dark, demanding.

  My three favorite things.

  “Oh, God, don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me,” I begged. “Just one night…”

  I was breathless, needy. I’d submit to him tonight even if it was the last thing I’d ever do.

  I was moving close to the edge, so close to my release. He kissed me quick, fast, hard, and then pulled back. His mouth latched onto my nipple, soaking the fabric of my nightgown. I cried out when he grazed his teeth against the sensitive nub.

  “Fuck!”

  I was close, so close.

  And then everything stopped.

  A hard banging against my door vibrated the wall he supported me against. The orgasmic wave blew away, and reality kicked in. In a swift motion, Blakely moved away from the wall and sprinted toward my bedroom. He dropped me onto my bed.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  Shocked at the abrupt change, I stayed there, with my nightgown hiked up and my legs spread open.

  But ever the gentleman, Blakely’s eyes never left mine.

  I nodded in response, and he stood back, reaching behind him, pulling out a gun.

  I gasped. “Where the hell’ve you been hiding that thing?”

  Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I tugged my nightgown down and stood. He did a quick hand maneuver that made the gun click before turning on his heel and stalking down the hallway toward the door.

  There was another set of knocks, this time louder and more frequent.

  Whoever was at my door wanted inside—badly.

  But since when did burglars knock?

  Since when did burglars get past the locked door to my building?

  I tiptoed toward my bedroom door and watched as Blakely reached the front door. He glanced back and mouthed that I should stay.

  Was he being slightly over-dramatic?

  Or could there be real danger outside my door?

  The optimist in me took over, and I shrugged off the concern. What was the chance that someone would break in and make all this noise before the sun had even set?

  I walked down the hallway, and as I reached him, he faced me. He sighed, his eyes narrowing.

  “I told you to stay there,” he whispered.

  “It could be anyone,” I responded, speaking just as quietly.

  “I’m only worried about one person,” he said.

  I blinked, swallowing the knot in my throat. He was right. I was being foolish. I’d hired him to protect me, and that’s what he was trying to do. But before I could run back to the bedroom and hide under the covers like an eight-year-old, the lock on my door unlatched.

  I blinked. Once. Twice.

  Another latch released.

  My heart was pounding in my ears so loudly I hadn’t heard Bl
akely speak until he grabbed my arm in a tight squeeze. I swallowed down my nausea and met his eyes.

  “Who else has a key?” he repeated quietly.

  I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. Had I given anyone else a key?

  No. I hadn’t even trusted a maid to clean my apartment. I barely trusted my accountant.

  I shook my head.

  The doorknob twisted, the door opened, and the intruder took his first step inside.

  In a flash, Blakely grabbed the doorknob, yanked the door toward him, and then thrust it forward again. He made contact, and the intruder cried out, falling to the floor in a loud thump. Blakely rounded the door, pointed the pistol, and then…

  “Shit,” he said, lowering his weapon. I watched as he lifted the back of his shirt, revealing a hidden holster. He sheathed the weapon and helped the intruder to his feet.

  Confused, I yanked the door open so quickly it smashed into the wall.

  Blakely helped Tara inside. Her face was stained crimson as she held her nose. The front of her shirt was splattered with blood.

  “Oh my God!” I said, running to the bathroom to grab my first-aid kit. I returned to find her sitting on my couch, desperately trying to avoid making a bloody mess.

  I dropped the kit, and it broke open, scattering supplies everywhere.

  “Shit!” I said, sinking to my knees to grab the gauze.

  I handed her a bunch, and we sat in an awkward silence until the bleeding stopped. When it finally did, she cleaned herself up with anti-bacterial liquid and let Blakely inspect the damage.

  “Doesn’t seem to be broken,” he said.

  “Well, that’s good, right?” I asked, smiling.

  Tara nodded and dried her tears.

  “I’m sorry, Tara,” I said.

  “I’m not,” Blakely said.

  Tara looked away, but I didn’t. I met his glare.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt, yes, but this is what you pay me to do. Coming in like that, especially without announcing yourself, was the worst thing you could’ve done.”

  I groaned. “Could you be a bigger dick right now?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but something stopped him before he made that mistake. It could have been the death daggers my eyes were throwing at him.