by Karen Botha
Karen Botha
Naked Truths
Handsome stranger or Dark secrets?
First published by Karen Botha in 2017
Copyright © Karen Botha, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First Edition
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
Contents
Before you start...
LUCY
LUCY
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
LUCY
PAULA
LUCY
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
LUCY
PAULA
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
GILES
PAULA
GILES
LUCY
PAULA
PAULA
PAULA
LUCY
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
LUCY
PAULA
LUCY
GILES
PAULA
LUCY
Dear Reader...
Who wrote your book?
Other books...
Excerpt from Naked Lies
Acknowledgements
Before you start...
Hi Everyone.
I just wanted to say hi before you start Naked Truths because this is my first novel and I’d really love your feedback at the end. I’m looking to improve as much as I can and your feedback will really help that process.
If you have any comments at the end, then please email me on [email protected] I’d really love to hear from you.
Until then, happy reading.
Karen x
The Naked Series
Naked Lies - Passion, Jealousy, Murder...
He has billions, she has his heart.
Scarred by her ex, the last thing on Lucy’s mind is a boyfriend. But when the perfect billionaire makes a play for her, she is forced to reconsider. Gorgeous, kind and generous, he has it all - on the surface. And he’s set his sights on Lucy. When she falls for his rags to riches story she takes the plunge...
But Lucy’s burgeoning relationship is complicated when Adam is arrested. Paula, an ex detective looks into matters for her best friend. When she uncovers a domineering business partner, a tormented PA and a resentful brother, each has a motive for the worst type of crime…
Will Lucy follow her heart and allow true love to prevail? And will Paula unravel the web of deceit before it’s too late?
Naked Lies is the second in the Naked Series of pulse-pounding Romantic Suspense full length novels. If you like steamy sex scenes, complex characters, and twists you won’t see coming, then you’ll love Karen Botha’s captivating tale.
Buy Naked Lies to uncover the layers of lies today! Only on offer for a short time.
I’ve also written another series since launching this one.
Buckle up
G-Force
If you'd like to keep up to date with all new releases, then sign-up to my mailing list here. I promise NEVER to SPAM you.
LUCY
It’s amazing what people tell you when they’re naked. I’ve heard all sorts. I love learning the nitty-gritty of other people’s lives while paid to do good. My client’s trust me with their innermost secrets, things they don’t disclose to another living being, and all without a second thought.
I often consider why, concluding it must be linked to removing our physical clothing; that somehow we then also remove the intangible barriers to our souls.
I’m wrenched from my musings by the phone which hardly rings before I’ve answered it.
‘Are you working today as it's Good Friday?’ His voice is deep.
Here we go!
‘What type of massage would you like?’ I check whether he’s after a genuine massage, or if he’s confused me with a whore. It happens more than you’d care to believe.
His reply is pleasing. ‘Deep tissue, I’ve overdone it.’
And with that, Giles Harrington makes his first appointment.
It’s Friday 1st April, a date of note in my personal history book, and a day of cloudless skies in Shefford. It’s one of those perfect times; where nothing can go wrong.
Half an hour after hanging up the phone, I’ve washed paint from my visible flesh and changed out of splattered clothing. I've freed my shoulder length blond hair from its practical ponytail and I'm pressing a cautious finger to the kitchen walls. They're already starting to dry, the hours break is well timed. In truth, I’m thankful for the call, moving a fridge freezer to paint behind it at five foot nothing is no mean feat.
His knock comes bang on time. This was the moment I first met him. Not the first time I laid eyes on him, but that didn’t become clear until later.
‘This front door has seen better days,’ he pokes at the warped UPVC, which if I’m fair, has seen better days.
‘Well thanks for the advice,’ I laugh, I like this guy, straight in there, not even a hello!
‘Safety first and all that!’
‘You’re not a double glazing salesman are you?’
‘Haha, no! In fact, I’ll have you know, I run a specialist workshop solving issues that blow up cars.’
‘Better than double glazing then,’ I’m still smiling, and he’s still picking at chestnut coloured plastic.
‘Seriously; you need a new door, this isn’t secure.’ He continues his laboured examination of further issues that may jeopardise my safety.
I’ve never been greeted in such a way, but I welcome the space to defog my mind. You know when you see someone who is stunning and you get that thump in your chest? The sort that renders you unable to catch your breath? Yeah?
Well, waiting on the other side of the rather shaky entrance to my home, is six foot odd of a dark-haired, sparkly eyed, perfectly honed rugby player. The epitome of classic good looks. He has stretched out his strong arm, ready for a formal introduction.
‘Giles.’
‘Hi, I’m Lucy, pleased to meet you,’ I try to curb the goofy grin spreading from ear to ear.
‘Excellent,’ and I’m drawn to his quirky, laid-back nature.
‘The treatment rooms are over there.’ I gesture to the other side of the drive, behind where he’s parked his black 4x4. ‘We’ll walk over together.’
Once inside, he takes a nonchalant seat in one of the animal print chairs in the reception. People often hover, unsure of their next move. It’s strange, but it happens almost every time I get a new client. That and leaving the external door open behind them. I also find this unusual, although after his inspection of my front door, it’s no big surprise when he clicks it firmly shut. I’ve already realised though that he is different.
‘Confident; people usually wait for an invitation before they sit,’ I need to jibe at him, perhaps to cover my sexual desire.
‘I figured the chairs were there for a reason,’ he strokes the glitter wallpaper and throws me a wink as he fiddles in his jacket pocket producing his completed consultation form. What a pleasant surprise for a male who booked at short notice to have completed the he
alth and lifestyle questionnaire I've emailed over. I’m disappointed at its lack of any striking details, no health issues and he’s left the family and dependent section blank.
‘So, why do you want a massage today? Relaxation, or do you need me to deal with a specific problem?’
‘OK, erm, like I said, I run this workshop solving issues with erm, car parts, so I stand and bend often to scrutinise minutiae. And of course, I lift all manner of heavy parts.’ Interesting choice of words, obviously educated; posh even. ‘Last week was busy, head gaskets all over the place and even a whacking great rear axle to shift. So today, with time on my hands, I decided to erm, take some positive action.’
‘OK.’ That’s simple enough. ‘Anywhere in particular you’re experiencing pain?’ I expect him to specify his lower back.
‘Shoulders!’ He shocks me. It’s unusual for someone with the life stresses he’s described. I can work with shoulders, but my interest is piqued. So, without further ado, I show him into the small therapy room and run through my spiel: clothes hung here, shoes under the bed, phone off if you don’t want disturbing... I click the oak door behind me and leave him to it.
‘Ready,’ he hollers a few moments later.
I walk into an appealing view I at once commit to memory. His toned torso is hardly covered by my soft black towel which he’s draped below his waist. I see the rise of his exposed glutes above it, his lean legs poking out of the bottom. He is still wearing his socks. Guess a girl can’t have everything.
I pass by his legs to stand next to his back and finger walk up his spine to check it’s as impeccably aligned as I expect. He has such a finely tuned body after all. His skin shimmers, the low light mixing with the oil as I stroke it into his surprisingly soft skin. His toned muscles ripple as he moves his arm to scratch his nose.
‘This is a comfy face rest.’
‘Good! I imported this from Australia so my clients can relax, the ones over here are reminiscent of a head-on collision.’
He giggles, light and care free. It’s so unexpected and relaxing to be around someone so at ease.
‘Have you always done this?’ he asks.
‘No, I used to work in digital marketing for a multinational.’
‘Wow, that sounds impressive. Why’d you quit?’
I explain how being on twenty-four-hour call, seven days a week, for someone else’s success, was wasting my best years. People often struggle with the logic of me leaving a career where I was top of my game to rub backs from a home conversion, but Giles agrees; I’m finding him deliciously refreshing. Then he asks the question all my clients want answering.
‘Bet you must get some gruesome clients?’
I needle a knot.
‘I cull a lot of the duff ones on the phone when they first enquire, so they don’t even get an appointment. Some of the calls are an eye-opener, you wouldn’t believe the things I’m asked for!’ The knot releases and my elbow slips in the oil. He’s unaware. ‘I’ve learnt the code now so I can shut them down before they start, but even when I make a mistake, it’s only an hour until they leave. Then I mark them in my phone and ignore their future calls.’ He's laid face down so he misses my wink. I give him a quick dig so he understands he could still end up on my blacklist.
‘What do you get asked for?’
‘Oh, just the variety of sex-related questions that you wouldn't need answers to if you're after a genuine massage.’
He laughs, a high-pitched, I’m-not-sure-what-to-say laugh. ‘So how do you miss those who do manage to make an appointment?’
‘Oh, they tend to be the smelly ones, that’s difficult to tell from the phone. They are at least safe to be around.’
‘Hmm. You don’t think about the safety element.’
‘Yeah that’s why many therapists only take women clients, but there is a massive male market if you can work out who is genuine.’
He goes quiet for a second, ‘I don’t meet many new people in my job.’
‘That’s a shame, you seem like such a people person,’ I test a question phrased as a comment to try to learn more.
‘Oh, I’m a game of two halves. I love people, but I love my own space too.’
‘I reckon everyone is like that if they’re honest.’
Unwinding in each other’s company, we slip into a comfortable silence.
Shoulders being the primary area of concern, I warm them like clay prior to moulding.
‘So why are your shoulders in such bad shape?’ I ask after a while.
‘Huh?’
‘Well you stand and lift a lot of heavy machinery, I'd have thought you’d be getting lower back pain?’
‘Oh, I get that too,’ he surprises me again with another giggle, ‘but the shoulders are worse at the moment.’
OK… still not answering my question. ‘So what do you do that affects your shoulders?’
‘I, erm, gym; some cross-fit and weights.’
Hmm… I can see that. ‘Where do you gym?’
‘There’s a nice one down the road from where I live, has the tennis courts, pool and all that. I don’t swim much, but that’s what attracted me there.’
‘I was the same when I joined my gym, lured in by the swimming pool. Then I clicked, it’s a bathing area for the young and old, clean and not so clean, and some very hairy versions of the not so clean.’
‘Ew, yak. The swimming didn’t last long then?’ He’s right, it didn’t.
‘No. Do you play tennis there?’ I ask because I failed with aplomb, even after an embarrassing number of lessons. I’ll chat whilst still trying to ascertain why his shoulders are quite so bad.
‘No, not really.’
I’m not making much headway here. We slip into another easy silence as I work through the bubble wrap of overworked and over-tight muscles. I'm content, waiting to take his lead on whether he wants peace or prefers to chat through the pain inflicted from elbows digging deep.
‘Where is that accent from?’ Now I realise we’re in for a chatty session. I have a slight inflection that people can still detect and enquiring about it is a common way to reignite a lulled conversation.
‘Yorkshire, near Leeds, but I’ve been down South for years now,’ I roll out my standard response. ‘I had to make a conscious effort when I first arrived to curb my flat vowels - no-one could understand me. Tends to make life difficult!’
‘Yeah I can imagine, but it’s nice, I like it.’ For the umpteenth time in a few minutes, he makes me feel great.
‘You have an interesting accent yourself.’
‘Where do you think I’m from?’
I have an idea it’s South Africa, but I decide to tease him. ‘My friend lives in New Zealand, you sound similar?’
‘Ach, no way, man, Zimbabwe!’
Aha, I was kind of right.
‘Sorry, was winding you up, although I thought it was South Africa; you lot hate being confused with New Zealanders, don't you?’ He’s silent and I get the distinct impression I find my joke funnier than he does. I hurry on, ‘what brought you over here?’
And so he drifts into the response he must dole out to his most often asked question. The response which tracks his Mum bringing him and his brother over when they were young to protect them from a country raging with danger. A story clearly too complicated for a comprehensive first telling and therefore requiring little more than the brief overview he’s provided.
‘So, what are you planning for the Bank Holiday weekend, are you working the whole time? It was a pleasant surprise being able to book an appointment today.’
I explain how I arrange my work diary around my social life. If there’s something entertaining happening, then I’m unavailable for clients. But when I’m not up to much, even if it’s a Bank Holiday, I’ll take a booking. I love having freedom to live how I choose.
‘I’m excited about Sunday. We’re off to Whitemore Village Fete - I do love a good hog roast.’ I say.
‘Who’s we, you and you
r fella?’ Ah, he’s interested. How exciting! Exciting cos he’s hot, and it’s nice being liked by someone you consider a ten out of ten, but it’s not something I’ll act on. I can’t mix business and pleasure, this is my livelihood you see, I have to maintain professionalism, otherwise, there’s no backup plan to pay my bills. There’s plenty of non-paying romance options out there without alienating myself from a client if it doesn’t work out. Worse still, having to give freebies because we end up in a relationship.
The clock ticks, signalling the end of his hour. ‘Right, that’s you done, how do you feel?’
‘Like I’ve been hit by a bus,’ he moans, job well done!
We discuss when he should book another appointment. I instruct him to give me a shout when my pummelling has sufficiently healed, but before he gets tight again, so in about five to seven days. With that; I tell myself to dismiss all thoughts of Giles Harrington. I have other plans for my Bank Holiday weekend.
LUCY
Sunday is here, and it’s still sunny and time for the Whitemore Show. Paula is late to pick me up. She always leaves on time and always arrives late. This is due in the main to her ‘quick stop’ at the shops to buy an unnecessary, but beautiful gift. Today I’m the proud owner of a stunning bunch of orange and yellow Gerberas. Keen to get to the country show ahead of any sign of the forecast rain, I dump them in the sink and dash out. Besides which, who's to say what amazing tombola prizes we’re missing hanging around here.
