The Face of Scandal
Page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
The Face of Scandal
ISBN # 978-1-78430-586-4
©Copyright Helena Maeve 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2015
Edited by Sue Meadows
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.
Surface Tension
THE FACE OF SCANDAL
Helena Maeve
Book three in the Surface Tension serial
They say first love is forever. They don’t say that sometimes it’s against your will.
Freshly returned from a harrowing visit home, Hazel is ready to put the past behind her. Trouble is, the past may have other ideas.
Hazel’s romantic life has never been more fulfilled than since she’s met Dylan and Ward. With so many secrets and false starts between them, their unconventional threeway relationship shouldn’t work as well as it does. But if recent events have proven anything, it’s that Hazel has a habit of underestimating the boys. She’s ready to start trusting more and doomsaying less if that’s what it takes to cement their relationship into something more permanent. Only ex-boyfriend Malcolm’s surprise return throws her plans into disarray.
Torn between her too-good-to-be-true lovers and the lure of an old flame, Hazel must juggle fresh hurt and new secrets in one final balancing act.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Volvo: AB Volvo
BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG
Xanax: Pfizer, Inc.
Tesla: Tesla Motors, Inc.
Cosmo: Hearst Magazines
Tustin Ranch Golf Club: Tustin Ranch Golf Club
99 Ranch Market: Tawa Supermarket Inc.
Buick: General Motors
Ben & Jerry’s: Ben & Jerry’s Homemade Holdings Inc.
Chanel: Chanel S.A.
The Simpsons: Fox Broadcasting Company
America’s Funniest Home Videos: Disney-ABC Domestic Television
Candy Crush: King Digital Entertainment
Jack Daniels: Brown-Forman Corporation
Tinkerbell: J.M. Barrie
The Sopranos: Chase Films, Brad Grey Television
The Omni: Omni Hotels and Resorts
Twitter: Twitter, Inc.
Disney Princess: The Walt Disney Company
Hallmark: Hallmark Cards
Bazaar: Hearst Magazines
Formica: Formica Corporation
Steinway: Steinway & Sons
Jenga: Parker Brothers
La Vie en Rose: Edith Piaf, Louiguy, Marguerite Monnot
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson
Real Housewives: Bravo Media, LLC
Mazda: Mazda Motor Corporation
NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Racing, Inc.
Toyota: Toyota Motor Corporation
CK: Calvin Klein Inc.
Goodwill: Goodwill Industries
Orange is the New Black: Lionsgate Television, Tilted Productions
Muzak: Mood Media
Chapter One
In the early hours of morning, before city lights gave way to white-checked blue skies, the view from the Santa Monica Mountains was as breathtaking as it was terrifying.
“There,” Hazel gasped. She clutched the passenger side door with her left hand and squeezed Dylan’s sleek cell tightly with the right.
On the other end of the line, Sadie had long stopped responding to her pleas. The past twenty minutes had been a harrowing, breathless race through deserted city streets to reach her before something terrible happened.
Tail lights dark and engine off, the Volvo made for a dull gray stain against the glittering backdrop of the valley. Hazel flung open the car door before Ward had time to bring his BMW to a complete halt.
Tires squealed, skidding through the stretch of dirt on the shoulder.
Choking on dust and panic, Hazel staggered onto firm ground. “Sadie!”
The bright glare of the BMW’s headlights streaked the scraggly brambles before fading abruptly over the blustery ledge. It wasn’t a particularly steep drop, but images of pulped bone and crushed skull flashed behind Hazel’s eyes all the same.
“I’m here,” a small voice piped up over the song of crickets in the undergrowth.
Pulse thudding in her ears, Hazel rounded the side of the Volvo. “Sadie? Oh, thank God!”
Her relief was short-lived. Sadie looked up from where she hunched in the dirt, skinny shoulders propped against the bumper, and offered a watery smile. She winced as soon as the purpling bruise on her cheek pulled the skin taut.
“Is she okay?” Dylan asked. He hung back as though unsure if it was safe to approach.
Hazel didn’t know what to tell him. She steadied herself with a hand on the hood of the car and crouched down next to Sadie. “I thought… Oh, honey. What happened?” Sadie’s late night calls usually involved invitations to outrageous new bars she’d just discovered, or detailed accounts of her latest escapade. In all the years they’d known each other, she had never called Hazel with anything short of gleeful good news.
The woman who flinched away from Hazel now was only a pale shadow of her best friend.
“Did Frank do this?” Hazel gritted out, her voice quaking.
Behind her, Dylan had finally rounded the Volvo, his shoes making soft, scuffing sounds in the dirt. “Jesus,” he gasped when he saw the goose egg blooming on Sadie’s cheek.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Ward called, lingering by the BMW. He hadn’t killed the engine. Its rumbling made for a strangely comforting bass line.
“No,” Sadie said quickly. “I’m fine, I…” She burst into tears before she could finish.
It made no differe
nce. Hazel had seen enough to know that nothing about this was fine.
As gently as she could, she sunk down to her knees and settled against the bumper with Sadie. License plate digging into the notches of her spine, she maneuvered an arm around Sadie’s shoulders.
Her friend’s bone-racking sobs did not abate, but she tilted slightly into Hazel’s side.
Dylan crouched a few feet away, a hand over his mouth. Hazel met his eyes. The last time she had seen Sadie, she’d been excitedly planning her wedding. The first time Dylan had seen her, he’d decided he wanted her in his bed.
Neither path had led them where they expected to wind up.
Hazel stroked her thumb into Sadie’s trembling shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. It’s going to be okay.”
A cool breeze rolled up the Santa Monica Mountains, whistling contemptuously through the boughs.
* * * *
With a Xanax in her system, Sadie conked out within minutes of lying down. Her features relaxed in sleep, dyed-blonde hair forming a crown on the pillow around her head. If not for the shiner on her left cheek, she might have made a credible fairytale princess sleeping until her hero deigned to visit.
The hero wasn’t welcome at her bedside.
“There’s coffee,” Dylan said from the bedroom doorway.
They had put Sadie in his room because it was closest to the front door and Sadie didn’t look like she could make it up the metal stairs to Ward’s.
Hazel didn’t turn. “Thanks.” With her stomach tied in knots, she doubted she could swallow a thing.
She listened for the sound of Dylan’s footsteps, expecting to hear them fading down the hall. Quiet as he was, she knew he was still there when she glanced over her shoulder. “You don’t have to stay.” He had a job to get to in a matter of hours. So did Hazel.
An impromptu trip to Missouri to see her family had cost them both vacation time and, no doubt, their employers’ patience. Ward alone could get away with loitering around the loft as long as he pleased, having inherited and being in charge of his own company.
“I don’t mind,” Dylan replied. “Here…” He held out his coffee mug to Hazel. “It’s black.” The way she preferred it.
Despite the tightness in her throat, Hazel found herself reaching for the cup. Her fingers warmed instantly on contact with the porcelain. The rest of her followed with the first blissfully bitter sip.
“So…the fiancé did this.” Dylan didn’t phrase it like a question.
He must have suspected, even before Hazel had confirmed it with a clipped, “yes,” as they were loading Sadie into the backseat of the Volvo. Dylan had taken the wheel while Hazel sat and tried to soothe Sadie’s weeping.
She had succeeded, in the end, but the silence in the car was somehow worse. The feeling persisted as Hazel watched Sadie doze in white sheets.
“Do you know why?”
“Because he’s a fucking scumbag,” Hazel retorted, the surface of her cup rippling with her harsh-bitten retort.
Dylan leaned against the squat dresser, the line of his lush, full lips perfectly horizontal.
He didn’t deserve her biting his head off. He had put up with so many lies and half-truths, he’d tolerated her foibles like a saint. Hazel hung her head. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay. Stupid question,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. Absolving her was what he did best.
“You’re not the only one wondering,” Hazel said after a bit. “I know he wasn’t exactly helping out with the wedding plans, but this is…” She shook her head. Beyond the pale didn’t suffice. Absurd struck her as naive.
It was clearly not impossible. Sadie’s pretty, now bruised face served as proof.
“I’ll stay with her, if you want to grab a shower,” Dylan offered.
“Are you saying I stink?” Hazel quipped. She essayed a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it.
She had to admit that a shower would probably do her good. She could still smell the stench of carburetor fumes mixed with the pungent, grassy scent of the wildflowers that stubbornly pocked the landscape on either side of Mulholland Drive.
Hazel took another sip of coffee and pushed herself out of her chair. Dylan’s chair. Dylan’s coffee.
Not for the first time, she felt a pang of regret for encroaching on his territory and giving so little back. She didn’t have the means. Dylan and Ward made upwards of six figures a year and could afford to own a newly refurbished loft on the swankiest half of Aulden Way. They drove Teslas and BMWs and strutted around in five hundred dollar leather shoes.
Just yesterday, they had flown Hazel back from Missouri in Ward’s private jet.
“I’ll take her to her mom’s place when she wakes up,” Hazel promised, returning Dylan’s mug to him. She’d only drunk about half. “But I should head in first, let Marco know she’s…not well.”
Sadie had drifted off into a chemically induced sleep before she could tell them if she wanted anyone to know what had happened to her—or indeed if anyone other than Frank already knew. Until she woke up, Hazel would keep her secret.
She trusted Dylan to do the same.
He nodded as he slid an arm around Hazel’s waist and gently pulled her to him. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”
His lips were a warm pressure on her brow, something vaguely paternalistic in the peck. Hazel squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could mind. Wishing she had the strength to say, No, I’m not. Guilt choked her. She was too spineless to admit it aloud.
The bathroom door proved a welcome barrier from the weight of Dylan’s affection.
Hazel switched on the shower before she had even stripped out of her clothes. The sound drowned out the chaos in her head. If she hadn’t left for Missouri—if she hadn’t become so tangled in family affairs, maybe she could’ve done something.
Her reflection in the mirror put paid to that hope. She was twenty-eight, with bags under the eyes and red splotches all over her face from the morning chill. Her arms were weak, shoulders rounded with a little more flesh than was strictly necessary, per Cosmo. Doffing her shirt did not improve matters. She was small where she should’ve been big and wide where her hips could’ve stood to be narrower. There were bruises on her skin, too, but nowhere near as bad as the one Sadie bore.
Even if they had been—Hazel had asked for every single one. She’d begged Ward to hurt her. She would’ve crawled and kissed the floor for Dylan to pull her hair and call her names.
She wasn’t strong.
Stop wallowing, she mouthed to the woman in the mirror. It didn’t take long for her reflection to blur behind a cloud of steam once Hazel switched the spray on hot.
* * * *
Dylan was still in the bedroom when Hazel emerged in a fluffy white towel. So was Sadie, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. “I called in sick,” Dylan said, preemptive.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Hazel replied, when what she meant was thank you.
He shrugged. “Figured you’d feel better if you knew she wasn’t alone.”
“And what am I?” Ward asked from the doorway. “Chopped liver?”
He had changed out of his sleep clothes into a white suit with a burgundy shirt. His brown-blond hair brushed the collar at his nape. He wore no tie around his neck. He liked to say it clashed with his flush, playboy persona.
The truth, if Dylan’s word was to be believed, was that Ward hadn’t yet mastered the intricacies of fastening a necktie knot.
“You’re not taking another day off,” Dylan told him bluntly.
Guilt biting at her insides, Hazel nodded. “He’s right.” Following her to Missouri because Hazel didn’t know how to be on her own anymore was bad enough. “There’s not much any of us can do, anyway.”
Ward looked set to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “Fine. There’s breakfast if you’re hungry.”
Hazel thanked him. She wasn’t. The thought of spending the day serving other people foo
d and drinks could usually rout her appetite pretty effectively. Something to do with being surrounded by glistening plates of fries and burgers and tacos took the thrill out of stuffing her mouth.
It hadn’t stopped her scarfing down her mother’s home cooking while she was in Missouri, though, nor indulging whenever Dylan decided to whip something up in the kitchen.
“By the way,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”
Hazel performed a quarter turn as she slid on panties and jeans under the towel. Embarrassment was an odd thing to claim after Dylan had trussed her up in his playroom and warmed her ass with paddles and floggers. All the same, Hazel found herself resorting to locker room antics to uphold some pretense of modesty.
“In all the excitement,” Dylan explained with a rueful smile, “we didn’t get the chance to talk about last night.”
“Ah.”
Last night’s events already seemed so distant. Since finding Sadie, Hazel hadn’t thought much of her two near-painful orgasms in swift succession, or Dylan pounding her while Ward got off in her mouth. A twinge of discomfort persisted in the crease of Hazel’s thighs, where the edge of the dining table had bitten into the flesh. But that was the extent of her discomfort. She couldn’t complain.
“A little sore,” she confessed, knowing that Dylan would ask probing questions until she admitted it if she tried to avoid the subject. He wasn’t as bad as Ward when it came to post-coital self-doubt, but he wasn’t immune, either. Like Ward, he seemed to think that being a good Dominant meant debriefing after every scene. Hazel hadn’t been in a relationship where that was the norm before. She was doing her best to adjust.
But this time, Dylan didn’t settle for banalities. “Was it… Did I hit you too hard?”
Hazel slanted a glance toward the bed as she strapped on her bra. “Am I going joyriding after work, you mean?” she retorted, meeting Dylan’s gaze. He had such deep, dark eyes that sometimes, when the light was low enough, she couldn’t distinguish between pupil and iris.