“Well then.” I let the screen snap closed between us. “It looks like you owe me two apologies now. I’d better get dressed before you can get to three.”
And with that, I slam the door in his face.
Abel McCarthy drives a fully loaded, brand new, fresh-from-the-factory Range Rover. Of course, he does. I try not to smirk on the nice ride. We exchange not much more than polite hellos on our short little jaunt over to the Blue Crab, and he helps me out like the gentleman he is. He’s donned a casual tweed jacket with a pair of chinos. A dress shirt and a tie. It’s odd seeing him in so many layers—sophisticated at that, compared to the nude review I’ve been subjected to for the last few weeks. In all honesty, I’m not sure which version I like better. There is something about a well-dressed man who can easily intoxicate me. Not to mention there is always the plus side of stripping clean a well-dressed man, and something in me very much yearns to yank on his long, svelte tie.
“Valet? I’m impressed.” Really impressed, considering self-parking is just around the back, but I suppose when you have as much money as the McCarthys, something as incidental as valet is the norm.
Abel entwines his arm through mine, the fabric of his dress shirt pulling taut in all the right places while the thick scent of his cologne encapsulates me in its warmth. A well-scented man is a close second to a well-dressed man when it comes to intoxicating the masses. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Abel was determined to land me horizontal.
Abel holds the door to the restaurant open for me, and for a brief moment our eyes lock as if they had words of their own to exchange. My body explodes in a fit of biology, pupils dilating, blood pressure spiking, quivering thighs, and every last part of me wants to test drive those full beautiful lips—among other, far more intrusive, parts.
“Can I help you?” a bright-eyed woman with an electric blue hip-hugging dress greets us, but it’s neither her perky demeanor nor her day-glow eyes that distract me from Abel. It’s that enormous burgeoning belly of hers that hangs low and heavy as if that child she’s carrying is about to drop to her feet. My heart sinks at the sight, and instinctively my eyes flit to the left toward the liquor hovel where I’ve wet my lips more times than I care to count.
“We’re headed to the bar,” Abel whispers to her as if it were a secret, and I can’t help but note his eyes riding down to her belly as well. Hard not to miss. It’s ironic, because even when a baby is no longer in your life, it’s hard not to miss. The familial ties that bind are far stronger than the human mind can fathom. I know this. Its truths are embedded over my heart like fire over stone.
We head straight to the bar, denying the young, gorgeous waitresses that bear cleavage in hopes of big tips the proper chance to ogle him. No sooner do we step inside than everyone equipped with ovaries snaps their head at attention. Yes, Abel is most certainly in for the time of his life here in Loveless. And the thought of a feeding frenzy turns my stomach. Port University turned into a feeding frenzy, and I quickly usher all thoughts of Port and its bloody aftermath out of my mind. That’s the one thing I promised myself when I moved back to Loveless—all thoughts of Port and its horrors were banished from this mountain. I’d rather put my hand in a blender and turn it into a smoothie than relive that nightmare.
“Hey—you okay?” Abel leans in as if to get a better look at me, and I’m quick to blink away any errant tears that might have come to the pity party. Just because I’ve left Port and all of its miseries behind doesn’t mean I’m not wallowing in self-pity. Nope. That lake has become my counselor—every last bottle, my best friend.
“I’m fine,” I say, hopping on a seat at the end of the bar.
“You look”—he offers a wistful shake of the head as he takes me in—“stunning. I’m assuming that’s the norm for you.” He gives a little wink and I bounce with a laugh.
“Thank you. Compliments will get you everywhere.” I wink right back and his features harden to stone as if my quasi-proposition weren’t needed nor wanted.
The air stiffens uncomfortably between us. It’s loud in here, too many voices trying to compete with the stale music pumping from the speakers. A sprinkling of couples dance on the parquet patch in the middle of the room. Mostly drunk women who have kicked off their heels, their hair already sticking to their skin like wet spaghetti—older, cougars, all looking for a young buck to take out on a quick ride. It’s ladies’ night, as the sign at the door suggested, so they’re hopeful in their final clearance dresses, their lips a shade too dark, ageing them by miles more than necessary. “You do realize, the Blue Crab is where tourists come to pay their dues before getting laid,” I shout up over the music and few stray heads turn my way.
Abel rumbles out a laugh, but you can see a veil of sadness there underneath. “I promise I have only chaste intentions with you.” The smile melts right off his face. “With anyone.” He says that last part under his breath, and suddenly I’m both intrigued and a touch disappointed.
I clear my throat, determined to rectify this awkward place we’ve landed in. “What I meant to add is, the Poison Barrel is just down the road. It’s perfectly sinful and seedy. Trust me, nobody there is hoping to be wined and dined before crawling into the sack. In fact, most of the time they don’t bother crawling anywhere but the restroom. Just FYI in the event you decide to troll the lakeside offerings. No need to weigh down your credit card—and they never expect a tip.” Dear God. Is that the best I could do? I’ve gone from propositioning him to offering up ways for him to score with other women. I really need to reevaluate my game—or concede to the fact I don’t have one.
“Poison Barrel? No thank you.” He winces. “Not my scene.”
“I didn’t think it would be.” I can’t help but giggle at the thought. Abel McCarthy is a wine ’em and dine ’em diehard, and there’s something to be respected about that. We put in our orders, a Long Island Iced Tea for me and a scotch neat for him. Abel turns to face me and I do the same, leaving only a couple feet of distance between this dark-haired god and me. A very greedy part of me screams for me to close the gap entirely.
“So tell me everything I need to know about Loveless.” He leans in and I can smell the liquor on his breath, a fiery invitation in and of itself. “It’s been a long while since I’ve ventured this way. Start with how you know me.”
“Is it always about you?” I tease. Stupid. With men it’s always about them. I never was a decent flirt. Some girls get by effortlessly with a toss of their hair, but I’ve always felt the need to verbally entice my prey toward the steel trap set for them between my legs.
That perma-smile melts right off his face once again, and his gaze shifts just past my shoulder shooting out somewhere farther than the walls of this bar.
“No, it’s never about me, Zoey. I can promise you that.”
“Wow, that was dark.” I take an anxious sip and watch as his chest expands wide as a door with his next breath. “I grew up in Loveless. Everyone knows your cousin Warren.” I leave out exactly how well I’m familiar with him.
Abel cringes and lifts a finger as if to stop me. “I hope you don’t judge every McCarthy based on Warren’s colored past.”
“Nope,” I’m quick to assure him. Our knees brush over one another briefly, and a hot ache lingers in that very spot, traveling up my thigh until it hits home and I have a tiny tremor right here in the bar. Our eyes lock again, and my face heats ten shades. “Sorry.” I move my legs out of the way lest I sit here all night having orgasms while talking about Warren McCarthy—a lethal combination by anyone’s standards. “But don’t worry. Your brother arrived last summer and redeemed your entire clan. I’m Gavin Jackson’s little sister. Caleb helped—”
“Yes.” His eyes brighten as if I just took away the question mark hanging over my head all evening. He inches back slightly, appraising me in this new light. A part of me wonders if the words little sister were off-putting. I’ve demeaned myself in his eyes, and now I regret it. “I’ve met Gavin
briefly. He’s a great guy. You obviously have a great family.”
“Thank you. Most of them are dead, but they were great nonetheless.”
His features darken, eyes still smiling, a neat trick if you can pull it off. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“My parents died in a horrific car accident when I was just a kid. Gavin’s wife—Demi, her father was in the other car if you can believe it. Strange.” I suck down half my iced tea until I can feel the buzz and enjoy the splendor of that first fuzzy moment.
His affect darkens on cue. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”
I blink a wry smile. Not going there. “I worked for your brother up until last winter.” I consider myself a seasoned pro at changing the subject. “But I got tired of driving down the hill.” I shrug.
“You were at the office?” He looks genuinely distressed by this.
“I was Caleb’s personal secretary. I’m the one who kept her head down and filed her nails from nine to five. There’s a great salad bar on the first floor in the event you haven’t discovered it yet.” It’s doubtful. If I had to guess, he’s all about the steak and potatoes. He’d have to be to keep up that granite build.
He barks out a laugh, and his teeth illuminate the darkness like rows of tiny lamps. I’m not sure what it is about perfect teeth, the brighter, the whiter, the hotter I am for their owner, but there is something demonically wicked and vexingly delicious about Abel McCarthy’s smile.
“Now I feel like an ass. We were within shouting distance. I should have reached out and said hello.” His brows dive down toward to a hard point, and my insides heat at the sight of him. It’s probably just the dim lighting, the alcohol-fueled iced tea, and the mood music playing in the background but, dear God, every last ounce of me is crying out for his body to cover mine. Bathroom sex suddenly sounds a lot more enticing than it ever does seedy. “We should have met at least a dozen times. How does that happen?”
“Timing, I suppose. My entire life is a string of bad timing, so I can’t say I’m too surprised by this. I bet you were more than a little busy yourself.” I give a little wink, and his expression sours as if I’ve hit the hammer right over his busy head. “I’m betting whatever kept you busy drove you to Loveless, too. People don’t just walk out their door one day and decide to show up on the shitty end of the lake for no good reason. There’s always a reason, and it’s never a good one.” I knock back the rest of my drink, and the bartender is kind enough to furnish me with another before I swallow the last sip. “So do tell, Abel. What has you holed up in a boathouse that I’m sure was the size of your walk-in closet back home? And where is home exactly?”
“Collingsworth—downtown high-rise. No walk-in.” He tilts his head as if he bested me. “I’m taking a break from law. Once upon a time I hated law with a passion, then my father convinced me it was my ticket to a new life, so I bought it—only the new life never really materialized. Truth is, I don’t mind it that much, but I need some time away from it.”
There’s a sadness dripping beneath that manufactured smile he’s begging me to buy into. Something or someone has traumatized this beautiful man, and he’s limped up to Loveless like a wounded animal. I’m sure all those nights he’s been baptizing himself in that inky black lake he’s been trying to wash off the scourge of whatever it is that’s damaged him.
“What chased you up this mountain, Abel? More to the point—what was her name? It wasn’t difficult to guess. I can practically see her ghost hovering between us.”
Abel’s chest bucks with a quiet laugh. His eyes close briefly, and he knocks back his drink before banging the glass over the bar demanding another one.
His eyes magnetize to mine, those crystalline sirens that might as well be spinning and screaming the way he’s glaring at me—but the smile still lingers like hope in a storm. I’ve hit a nerve—a raw, pulsating, aching-all-night nerve that I’m sure he would do anything to excise.
The bartender replaces his glass, and Abel brings the brown liquid to his lips, his gaze still set to mine. “Her name is Elizabeth—the first and last I will ever speak of that.” He pumps a short-lived smile. “And what was his name?”
A heated moment thumps by, just Abel and his precision laser stare locked over me, but I’m still fixated on the fact he referred to her as that.
I swallow hard. For so long I hadn’t brought the vileness of his name to my lips, and here I can feel myself ready to vomit it out right at Abel McCarthy’s feet.
“His name is Holder Gleason—and that’s the first and last I will ever speak about that.” I raise my glass, and he does the same before we drink to that little moniker-inspired horror. It’s comforting to know he could see my unwanted ghost as well.
The music switches to something warmer, slower, far more laced with innuendo than the raucous noise it burped out just a moment ago. I watch as the ladies of the night all stagger from the dance floor, disappointed that there’s no one to sway with. A few couples migrate over and take advantage of the moody blues.
“Come on.” Abel empties out his second drink and takes me by the hand. His fingers are warm and thick, and his spiced cologne, the way his shirt stretches over his chest has me hypnotically entranced. I’d go just about anywhere with Abel McCarthy tonight, sexually speaking or otherwise. Regardless, Loveless is smaller than a teacup. There are not a lot of places he’ll be able to hide from me.
“Where we headed?” I tip off the stool I’ve perched myself on and follow him to the heart of the room as his arms wrap carefully around my waist.
“Right here.” His eyes smile for him in lieu of his lips, and he offers the quickest wink known to man as if this were a joke on some level. My stomach bottoms out because I’m afraid it might be. I’ve been a joke before—more often than not. I’ve put myself in the position to be viewed that way more than once, and, like a flood, everything that transpired at Port comes flooding back like a living shitstorm. But I push it away and take in this beautiful man who has his arms locked over my body.
“What are we doing?” I laugh as the room spins in a dizzying delight.
Abel leans in, his warm breath sears over my ear. “We’re simply dancing.” His hips touch over mine, and I groan with an appreciation of this gorgeous man gracing me with his body.
“I’m all for simplicity. Thank you, by the way. I can’t remember the last time I danced with anyone.”
“A beautiful girl like you?” One of his dark brows creates a hook over his eye. “It sounds like that ex of yours was pretty lousy to begin with.”
A laugh bubbles from the deepest part of me. “Never was there a bigger truth. You pegged him correctly. How about you? Are you ever the charmer? Disarming women with liquor and a little fancy footwork before taking them back to your room to have your way with them?” Please God let it be so. “I’m betting you use that tie of yours to bind them in all the right places.” A girl can only hope. “Nothing wrong with utilizing soft restraints. I’m not judging.” I might have judged him if I even thought it would be true. Abel is too much of a gentleman to pull out the whips and ball gags. But if he’s up for a night of bound up fun, who am I to stop him?
“I’ve never hogtied anyone, but if the opportunity arises, I might consider it.” His lips twitch toward the ceiling with wicked intent. Maybe I’ve pegged Abel all wrong.
“Something tells me the opportunity is arising.” Subtlety isn’t my thing, never was, and that in a nutshell is what’s landed me in Loveless.
Abel pulls back and examines me as our bodies move slow in time. “Tell me honestly. Did you sleep with Caleb?”
Dear God, never have I felt so glad not to have slept with Caleb.
“Are you kidding? That boy wouldn’t give me the sexual time of day.” I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to spike blood. Thank God he didn’t ask about Warren. Thank God. But then, Warren is much further removed than his brother.
“Th
at’s good to hear. He and Kennedy are pretty solid.”
Don’t ask about Warren. Do not ask about Warren, you nosy fucker. I grace him with my sweetest smile.
“And Warren?” He shakes his head as if begging me to deny it.
“Warren who?” I meant to answer truthfully, but that toxic iced tea coursing through my veins refused to cooperate.
Abel belts out a laugh and spins me. He tucks his face close to my temple, and I feel the soft waves of his breathing, the scent of scotch my new favorite everything.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Zoey,” he whispers steady. His deep voice rumbles straight through my bones and warms me. “For sure you do not have to confess your sins or your pleasures. I’m not here to judge you. I’ve given up on judging people in general.”
Then in a moment a veil lifts and I can see all of the hurt, all of the heartbreak Abel McCarthy is hiding from the world. Elizabeth, whoever she might have been, may be miles away from Loveless, but the memory of her is dancing right here between us.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest.
“For the dance?”
“For not judging.” I tug on my lip with my teeth. “I’ll try to do the same.”
A warm laugh trembles from him. “How long are you in Loveless?”
“Forever. And you?”
He pulls back as if stunned by the fact anyone would willingly choose to live here, and ironically everyone does. Unless, of course, he’s underwhelmed with my current living situation in the boathouse, the thimble that’s only a small improvement over a casket. And there it is, the first judgment cast.
His cheek twitches. “I’m here for a while. Two months at most before everything turns to shit.” He offers a peaceable smile, and his dimples ignite. “Hell, it already has.”
We share a soft laugh. “To shit!” I nod as if toasting him. “So tell me. What does someone who’s been through the crapper supposed to do in such a short amount of time? Other than wash their sins away in the lake at night.”
Beautiful Deception (Lake Loveless Book 4) Page 2
