Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3)

by Addison Moore

  Nope. My love affair with Caleb has gone well off course before it could ever gain traction. In effect, Keith had cost me what I wanted the most, this gorgeous man warming the seat beside me.

  “Let’s change the subject.” Now it’s my turn to swallow hard. “Since, I’m assuming”—I hold up a hand—“please don’t bother denying it, you’re either going to, or already have, viewed my work.” He huffs a dull laugh when I say the word work but doesn’t deny it. “I think you should tell me something about yourself.” My hand floats to his deliciously perfect cheek. This is no face of an angel. Caleb McCarthy is peppered with dark stubble, his bright eyes siren from under a forest of dark lashes, from under his narrowed menacing brows. His milky teeth graze over his dark, crimson lip, almost violet in color; Caleb is an entire palate of oozing testosterone. His devil’s grin is the icing on the very seductive cake. “You have sharp canines.” I run the pad of my finger over his tooth and prick myself with it. “You’re like a sexy vampire. I bet you hear that all the time.”

  Sexy? He mouths as if he found the word cheesy, and it is.

  “Okay, exceptionally handsome. Freakishly so.” My face heats again. My body only seems to react when I’m telling the truth. The lies are so much easier. That’s another thing I learned to do during my parents tumultuous divorce, spew disfigured truths from my mouth as if I believed them. It’s true in nature, my mother used to say as she coached me. Sometimes you need to say what’s going to prove a point. We need to win this thing. We’re not going down without a fight and sometimes, Kenny, you need to fight dirty. I frown at the memory. Dirty, dirty, dirty is what I’ve become.

  “Freakishly handsome? Thank you, I think.” He pulls my hand toward him again and takes a grazing bite from the inside of my wrist. “Believe me, I have plans for your neck later.” His brows rise, but I don’t play along. I’ve already fed into his vampire lust, into mine, enough for the evening. The point of coming over wasn’t to fall into bed with him. It was to enjoy his company—to converse using my mother’s native language.

  “I want you to bare yourself to me, Caleb. Your soul, not your body.” I glance down at his broad, thick chest. I’ve felt that skin over steel pressed against me before, and my body craves more of the same. No lie there. My breathing picks up in rhythm to his.

  “Okay.” He closes his eyes as if I’ve just asked him to do something reprehensible like slaughter a kitten. Some people, most people, would rather slaughter a kitten than bare their soul. “Do you remember any of the stuff we used to talk about?”

  Caleb and I were secret friends. We met by the swampy side of the lake and dipped our feet off the side of the canoe, sharing stories of our lives but mostly it was meaningless bullshit. We were just killing time before the good part started, the part where he stuck his tongue down my throat for hours, his hands groping under my swimsuit until he cried uncle and took off in fear of breaking the virginal law. I wasn’t quite at the age of consent, but my body didn’t care. Apparently Caleb takes jail time very seriously, and knowing my mother, my father, he was wise to do so. He would have ended his career before it began. Much like I did.

  “I remember that we kept our lives on the surface.” It’s my turn to raise my brows because he knows it’s true. We were strangers for two summers fighting off feelings that I haven’t known ever since. “I want to know you, the real you. You’re going to know me, Caleb. You’re going to see me, unfairly so. If I had sex with you right now, you wouldn’t see me that way, doing those things, my body gaping and sloppy. If I knew I was being filmed, I might have made an effort.” Somewhat of a lie. “So just to even the playing field. Tell me something about yourself. Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

  His eyes widen for a moment as if he has one but doesn’t plan on shedding any light on it—not tonight anyway.

  His mouth twists and turns as if I’ve robbed him of a goodnight’s sleep. Caleb presses in with those ethereal, heavenly eyes and nods.

  “I have a very dark and ugly secret, Kennedy, that I will share with you.” His lids grow heavy and thick as if his lust for me were putting him in a trance. “But first you have to kiss me.”

  “I was wondering when we would get to the good part.” Lie. I knew it was coming. As much as I wanted to ignore him, punish him for leaving me, for letting me drift into Keith’s unwelcome, deceitful, filthy arms, I couldn’t. As much as I want to resist Caleb McCarthy, he always leads me to the flame. But if this relationship goes in the direction that just about every other relationship I’ve ever had in my life—the two of us are about to get severely burned.

  His mouth falls to mine, soft at first as he backs away. He blinks at me with that barely-there smile on his face, the look that says come and get it, prove to me you want this. I came back for you—you dirty little bitch, show me you care.

  Okay, so that last part was strictly out of my rotten imagination, but sometimes those little lies that prickle at our subconscious are the only things we choose to believe.

  I launch at him with my lips, clamping my mouth over his like a seal. Our tongues find one another as I crawl onto his lap and place his roving hands over my thighs. Now it’s me who’s in control. My tongue wild as a serpent in his mouth, his groping hands begging for more even though the show ends at my panty line tonight. There will be no fornicating, no free love. I am not about to sell the farm when my body is the only weapon I have to war with. No, definitely not tonight.

  Caleb kisses me back, long, strong, thrusting, smooth, and caressing kisses that make me take pause—reconsider the game as I sigh into his mouth like a schoolgirl. I don’t think Keith has ever kissed me like this. I don’t think Keith has ever incited a riot in my body, making my aching bones beg for more. I haven’t been kissed like this since all those Caleb-soaked summers so long ago. This tastes like heaven, like the future, like the only thing in the world I ever want to do.

  My heart drums over his, explosive like the shattering of glass, letting me know this is the truth.

  Caleb

  There was a reason that I used to look forward to summer, to spending three solid months up at the lake with my uncle, and that reason is sitting just an inch shy of my hard-on. Kennedy Westfield’s—Slade’s kisses taste like honey. It’s a bad cliché, I know, but it’s the only thing I can think of to describe her sweet, very sweet, lips, the way her tongue dances over mine, the intense salivating of her mouth. Fine wine and honey. There, that’s only slightly better.

  She pulls back abruptly, her mouth a ruby red, her lips still pouting as if she were sucking down a bottle of whiskey.

  “I’m sorry.” Her fingers pat over her lips. Her gaze darts around the cabin as if she’s just coming to. “I have to go.” It comes from her amused rather than disheartened. She attempts to climb off my lap, and I gently secure her waist with my hands.

  “Don’t be sorry. Please, stay.” I glance down at our conjoined hips. “I promise, you have the best seat in the house.”

  An impish grin crops up on her lips. “I don’t doubt it. I also don’t doubt a lot of other truths about where you might like tonight to lead.” She carefully pries my hands off her waist until I’m holding them up in surrender. “I’m sorry. My head’s just all over the place.”

  A glimmer of tears glosses her eyes, and I feel like crap for even thinking about making her mine, fully mine in the biblical sense. For ages now I’ve felt as if Kennedy belonged to me, not in some materialistic sense, but in the soul mate, grafted over my heart, idealistic sense. Kennedy is a special woman, one who challenges the entire world and demands it pay attention to her. Of course, now, thanks to her lowlife of an ex, the world will be forced to pay attention to her in much more intimate ways. Damn pervert. My fist has an early morning meeting scheduled with his throat. I plan on jamming my hand down it for even thinking what he did was all right—or in any way just.

  “Don’t apologize.” I carefully place her on the sofa next to me. My dick is starting to tick
to life, and any admission of empathy will be slighted by the hard-on ready to bloom in my jeans. “I should have been more sensitive. I’m the one who’s sorry.” I bear into her clear gray eyes a moment. “I’m sorry your world is crumbling around you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to help you fix this.” It sounds robotic without meaning to, but I do mean it.

  “What can you do? Can you help take them down?” Her lips quiver. Kennedy is the strongest woman I know, and seeing her so distraught is killing me.

  “Yes.” I’m not sure it’s the truth, but I’m hopeful.

  A sigh of relief expels from her when I say it.

  “And, no,” I add with heartbreak. “I have someone sending out DMCA takedown notices, but things like this tend to proliferate. It’s like a cancer, you want to stop the bad cells from multiplying, but—”

  “It could be too late.” Her eyes snap shut. Her lids tremble. A thin seam of tears lines her lashes.

  “But it could work. The most important thing we need to do is control Keith.” I should have squashed him like a roach years ago. I was a fool for so many reasons, but leaving her in his hands is my biggest regret. I hate that he touched her like that. That he made her a spectacle. “We’re going to slam him with a defamation suit. He’s libel for photographing you, creating videos of your most intimate moments, without your knowledge. That’s where we’re going to nail him, Kennedy. He’s going to wish he’d never known your name by the time we’re through with him.”

  She swallows hard. Her gaze flits out the window. Her beautiful body rises and falls with her next breath.

  “Thank you.” She plays with a loose thread at the base of her sleeve. “This thing with me and you—”

  “Is happening.” I clasp her fingers before she can drift too far away. “All those covert summers are over. We knew we were right even back then, Kennedy.” I want to make her say it. Charge her with the truth and make her regurgitate it back to me. I gave up everything for Kennedy. And, believe me, it wasn’t a conscious effort. I slept around. I tried to get her out of my system by way of putting other girls into it, but that was just a bad rouse in hopes of tricking my heart into believing I wasn’t really in love with her. But still, something in me craved her. I had become addicted to her after just one kiss. I hate that I sound like some ridiculous, sappy teen girl, but damn it all to hell, Kennedy can reduce me to far worse than that. She was worth everything, still is. “I came back for you just like I promised.” I should have never left.

  “I know.” She shakes her head in protest, her voice pitched with soft rejection. “Look, we don’t really know one another. All those summers—it’s sort of a lie.”

  “Nothing was a lie.” A desperation crops up in me that’s been simmering for years, condensing, turning into something just this side of toxic, if not pure. It’s hard to tell. I have never been witness to a healthy relationship. “Let’s start from the beginning then.” I hold out my hand, and slowly she takes it with reluctance in her eyes. Her smile builds, that tiny dimple ignites in her cheek, and I stop myself from leaning in and kissing it, easy as holding up this damn mountain. “Caleb McCarthy.”

  “My name is Kennedy,” she relents with a shrug. Playfulness ignites in her eyes, and just like that she’s in on the game. “Did you say McCarthy? As in Warren McCarthy? My stepsister is dating him. He came in the mail as a part of the asshole-of-the-month club.” Her lips purse, proud of her effort to recant those first words she spoke to me verbatim.

  “Well done.” I marvel before clearing my throat. “Do you want to go for a swim?” That was my next line. That was the exact conversation that landed us next to the marsh where we kissed for hours, where we thought it would be fun to keep the rest of the world in the dark about the two of us, and we became a thing, a very private, exclusive club for two, just Kennedy and me, whittling down the hours while fused to one another’s mouths. I smile at the idea that what we whittled was each other.

  “I think this is where we should deviate.” She hitches a dark thread of hair behind her ear. Kennedy has unbelievably thick ebony hair. I would say black, but that word doesn’t do the depth of the hue any justice. It falls down her pale, bisque skin like midnight, each strand a purveyor of its very own secret. And I do believe Kennedy has them. I believe she is rife with undisclosed tidbits she’s not willing to part with.

  “I think you’re right.” I happily agree. “Really all that’s left is your mouth over mine.” My finger traces over her lips like writing a poem in thin air. I pull back almost unwilling to stop myself. “Let’s do this the right way. Tell me about your family.”

  “Mama, papa, me and sis, the end.”

  Her knees pull up on the couch as she picks up my hands voluntarily, and something in me releases. That knot that has been rolling around in my stomach ever since I came into town begins the slow process of detangling. It doesn’t feel safe to release just yet, and I’m not sure why my body is throwing out the warning.

  “There’s more to the story.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Your father is Peter Slade.” My brows rise in morbid salute to the fact.

  “That’s right—Peter Slade, champion of the downtrodden, cheating, wife beating, wife-killing-and-disposing-of-their-body husbands. He’s a real superhero among the slime balls of the world. I’m betting not so much among the beaten, cheated on, dead wives. My own mother included.”

  “Mmm.” I flinch at her words. I knew it probably wasn’t a rosy picture since her parents were divorced. “I’m sorry. How is your mom doing now?”

  “Married. Happy is always a point of contention, so I won’t put words in her mouth, but Chuck is a nice guy. He’s your boss, you should know. So how about your family? What makes the South Luxemburg branch of the McCarthy family tree tick?”

  “Not a lot these days. My parents are divorced as well. My mother”—I pause taking in my mother’s tragic reality and how I might convey this delicately—“she’s alone now. My father is busy with his practice. He, however, is not alone. He’s peppered himself with blondes and brunettes of all shapes and sizes. He’s an equal opportunity womanizer, and, believe me, there is a line around the block of single, mostly single, divorced, widowed, never-been-married forty something’s waiting for a turn on the McCarthy express.”

  “McCarthy express?” Her eyes widen as a light laugh bubbles from her throat. I’m glad I made her laugh, shifted her sour mood into something more affable, especially at the expense of my louse of a father. “Sounds like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I saw all those girls eyeing you at Warren’s party.” She gives a sad nod. “You’re a lady’s man yourself.”

  “I’m not anything like my father.” A ripe fire of indignation rips through me at the comparison. “You mentioned a sister?” It’s hard for me to believe these conversations never took place years ago, although, in our defense, it’s difficult to get a decent word in while we diligently explored one another’s mouths.

  “One sister—one stepsister. Kamryn is just like me but not as smart and not nearly as nice.” Her brow hikes up one side as if those very sarcastic words were meant to seduce me. Mission accomplished. “She sided with my father in the great divide. Enter Reese Waterman—née Westfield. She’s all about her hubby, Ace, these days; in fact, she is Mrs. Ace Waterman. Things have a way of falling into place for people like Reese.” She smacks her lips as her affect falls flat for a moment. “She’s a good person. Too good sometimes, but I can’t fault her for that. My mother technically didn’t raise her.” She pulls her fingers quickly from mine as if she were about to get singed. “She raised me.” There’s an exclamation in her tone, an odd punctuation, and it makes me wonder why. “And your siblings?”

  “You want the truth or a lie?” I’d much prefer a lie.

  “You can lie to me a little if you like. I might have lied to you a little.” Her lips curl up at the edges, and I marvel at what a neat trick it is. I can marvel at the neat tricks Kennedy is capable of for a very
long time. But I’m quick to dismiss the idea of her lying to me, and I wonder if I’ll live to regret it one day.

  “I’ll give you the truth, straight, no chaser. My brother, Abel, is an attorney. My father made him partner.”

  “Oh, that’s right you mentioned a little about it. How did that make you feel?” That look in her says she knows. She can run the jealous brother math with the best of them.

  “It happened last spring. The idea is still new to me.” It might be new, but I’ll never get used to it.

  “Last spring? Huh, and then you showed up in Loveless last summer. I take it that whole partner thing was a bitter pill to swallow. Watching South Lux grow smaller in your rear view mirror must have felt pretty good.”

  I wait a few beats before answering. “It was satisfying.” She pegged it. Kennedy is as cuttingly sharp as she is beautiful. And why do I get the feeling I might actually get nicked? “Abel is very sorry about it.” And right about now I wish I had a bottle of whiskey to wash away the idea of Abel feeling sorry for me in any manner. We were close once. “Solomon is far more interesting than either me or my big brother. He’s the youngest, but not as nice, not nearly as smart.” I get a small sense of joy while stealing her words.

  “Very funny. I like what you did there.”

  “Just trying to prove a point.”

  “What’s that?” Her tongue does a swift revolution over her bottom lip, and I fight not to get in on the action.

  “Trying to prove we’re the same. You and me.”

  “Broken families, broken people. You have porn infiltrating the net, too?”

  The thought of her legs pinned back makes my face heat. I’m not sure that’s a good look on a man, but that image has burned over my mind like some carnal screen saver.

  “No.” I don’t bother turning it into a joke or edging a little sarcasm there. I get it. This is no laughing matter. “No porn.”