Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

  I thought that would be the end of it, but he kept going, moving faster as he sought his own pleasure. Watching him, feeling him get closer, amazingly sent me over the edge again, and this time, he was right there with me. He stiffened and collapsed until his forehead was on mine, breathing heavily. “Sky.”

  The way he said my name—all breathlessly low and sexy—made me shiver, and I nodded, even though he hadn’t asked me anything. I clung to him, because if I didn’t, I’d fall over, and he seemed to get that, because he pulled me against his chest, and didn’t let go.

  I closed my eyes, held in a breath, and then slowly released it. He pulled back, watching me cautiously. Almost like he expected me to self-combust or something now that we were done. He was probably worried I’d make this weird, since he was my first and everything.

  “So . . . ?” he started.

  I knew he was about to dive way too deeply into this, and the last thing I wanted to do was dissect what had been, for me, a beautiful thing. So I cut him off with a smile. “About that shower . . . I need a towel.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “That’s why I came down. I needed a towel.”

  “Oh. Right.” He glanced out the window, his profile hard and unyielding. “Sky . . .”

  “Don’t.” I laughed, but it came out shrilly. “Nothing’s changed from last night, when I told you I wanted you, and now. I was a virgin then, and I’m one now.” My cheeks heated when I realized what I’d just said, with him literally still buried inside me. “Uh, I mean—”

  “No, you’re not.” He caught my chin, watching me closely. “Not anymore.”

  I licked my lips. They still tingled from his kisses, and I swore I could still feel his mouth pressed to mine. As my tongue moved, he focused on it, his nostrils flaring.

  “I know I’m not. Just like I know you don’t do attachments.” I pushed my hair off my face. “Luckily for you, I don’t do them either.”

  He hesitated. “Why not?”

  “Reasons that I prefer to keep my own.” Things like my overprotective brother, and what would happen if my lover found out his secrets. “But, like I said, this changes nothing. It was just . . . fun.”

  He nodded slowly, staring at me like I’d grown an extra head or something. “You just wanted a one-night stand?”

  “Yes.” I shifted on the edge of the counter. It wasn’t quite so comfortable now that we were no longer . . . you know. “We can still be friends, right?”

  “But you were a virgin,” he pointed out oh-so-helpfully.

  “I was. Mostly to avoid a confrontation like this afterward,” I said dryly. “At least that’s done now.”

  He frowned even deeper. “So what comes next?”

  “A shower,” I said, smiling. “So . . . about that towel . . . where might I find one?”

  He looked at me like he wanted to say something, like I’d angered him somehow, but ultimately he ended up shaking his head slightly and saying, “They’re in the closet outside the bathroom. I’ll show you, and I’ll get the Motrin.”

  Hands on my hips, he pulled out of me slowly, his jaw flexing as he did so. It was the oddest sensation, having a man pull out of you after . . . that. It was sticky, sore, and somehow a little bit sad, because I knew this was the only time I’d get to feel him like this. He stepped back, shoving a hand through his hair, and headed for the trash can.

  I couldn’t stop staring at his naked butt.

  As he removed the condom, he glanced over his shoulder at me, his gaze dipping over my body one last time, much like mine was doing to him. I slid off the edge of the counter, feeling incredibly vulnerable. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I rested an arm over my breasts.

  There. Better.

  Kind of.

  He still stared at me, not moving, so I bit my lip, shifting my weight to my left leg. “What’s wrong?”

  He blinked, almost like he hadn’t realized he’d been staring, then unbuttoned his shirt. I hadn’t realized until now that he’d kept it on, while I’d been completely naked. He tossed it at me, and I caught it reflexively. “Nothing. It’s just—you’re beautiful, sugar. I hope you know it.”

  My cheeks heated, and my heart picked up speed, because he was looking at me like he wanted another round . . . or two. I pulled his shirt over my head, tugging it down to cover myself. It smelled like him, and I wrapped my arms around myself, breathing in his cologne. “Thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “And don’t worry, I know it. I use it to my advantage every damn day.”

  I couldn’t help but think that was a reminder to me not to get any ideas. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. He motioned for me to follow him and walked toward the stairs completely naked, and completely okay with that. I walked barefoot across the cool wood floor, watching his hard muscles flex with every step he took. It was crazy to think of it, but that man, that body, had been pressed up against mine, inside mine, just a few moments ago.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  I’d done it. I’d actually done it.

  I wasn’t a virgin anymore, and I’d done something that was spontaneous, and fun, and kinda sorta crazy. And it felt . . . weird. But in a good way. In an alive way.

  He opened the closet by the bathroom, and handed me a black towel. “Here you go.”

  I took it, my fingers touching his. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “I think you’re crazy to waste your first time on a guy like me, but I’m honored you did. I’ll never forget you, Sky.”

  My chest ached as I remembered his words from last night. I’d fuck you any way you wanted, and then I’d forget about you in the morning. “I’ll never forget you either.”

  Scotty nodded once, dropped his hand, and walked away.

  His bathroom was a light blue and it had all-white utilities in it. The floors were laminate, and not so much as a stray comb lay on the pristine countertop of the sink. A container of cotton blossom soap stood by the hot water knob, and a hand towel hung on the wall beside it. Everything was so . . . neat. I touched the towel, and then turned on the water.

  After I showered, I called a cab, and took the painkillers that he’d set on the counter for me. He’d also left the shirt of his I’d been wearing, along with a pair of sweats. I slipped into both, secretly happy that he’d left me this shirt, since it smelled like him. When I came out of the bathroom barefoot, I headed down the stairs. He was nowhere to be seen, and that was okay. I had a feeling he’d already said his last words, and if he followed through with his desire to be friends, then he’d contact me when he was ready. I sensed he wasn’t the type of guy to say good-bye after a one-night stand. So the fact he’d given me one in his hallway was something special. Something real.

  And honestly?

  It was pretty much perfect.

  Not wanting to ruin what we’d shared with another round of why-did-you-pick-me, I scribbled a quick note for him on the notepad he’d left sitting on the nightstand in the guest bedroom, set it on the bed, and gathered my belongings. Then I walked out the door. As I walked toward the cab, I swore I could feel his gaze burning into me, leaving a permanent mark whether he meant to or not.

  One only I could feel, but one that I’d never forget.

  CHAPTER 9

  SCOTTY

  I stood behind Chris, hand on my gun, watching as he handed off the last of the AR-15s we were selling to the Moss Stones—another gang in Southie. They dealt mostly in stolen cars, chopping them or reselling, but they occasionally dabbled in drugs, too, which Bitter Hill wasn’t very happy about. Chris’s shoulders were stiff, and he looked seconds from jumping the guy who was handing him a wad of cash, but I wasn’t sure why. So far the sale had been uneventful, and there wer
e no signs of danger, cops, or duplicity.

  Stepping closer, I watched him carefully, in case he did something stupid. But Chris didn’t do stupid. It wasn’t his style. Thank God for that . . . if He even existed.

  I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Once the money exchanged hands, I scanned the perimeter, in case feds came swooping in. Luckily, it was a routine sale, so I wouldn’t have to deal with interagency cooperation today. After Skylar, and my role in taking her virginity, I wasn’t exactly one hundred percent. She was on my mind, and I couldn’t shake her.

  And even worse?

  I’d fucked her.

  Chris slapped the cash against his palm, then tucked it into his brown leather jacket. As the Moss boys rolled off, he relaxed a bit, spitting on the ground. “Assholes.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, forcing my mind off what I’d done to Skylar and back to the game. “Since when do you hate them so much?”

  “One of them killed Molly’s dad.” Chris turned to me, his upper lip curled. “If I knew who, I’d take him down, but I don’t, so I hate them all on principle, for her.”

  Molly was Chris’s girlfriend, who was pretty much as opposite from Chris as you could get. She had no ties to this life, besides Chris, and taught kindergarten. Why she’d fallen in love with such a crazy asshole, I didn’t have a damn clue. But I didn’t understand love in the first place, so what the fuck ever.

  “I can look into it, if you want. See if I can narrow down the playing field.” I headed for Chris’s Mustang, sliding my shades into place. “But would Molly want you to kill him, or would she want you to forgive him?”

  Chris snorted. “I don’t do forgiveness. I play better with bullets.”

  Yeah. Me too. Which was why what I’d done with Skylar this morning was screwing me up so much. The second I found out Agent Torres wanted me to use her for intel, I should have been strictly hands-off. But then . . . I’d gone and been her first lover.

  Why? Why had she chosen me?

  Chris settled in behind the wheel and stepped on the gas, heading toward Tate’s office for a meeting about the shooting yesterday. I had to face the brother of the girl I’d de-virginized this morning. Then Agent Torres, to update him on my status with not only Bitter Hill, but with Skylar Daniels.

  I was good at lying and keeping everything straight.

  Right now, though, it all felt like way too damn much.

  Skylar had mentioned last night that she sensed I was a man who played a part and never got to be himself. And, damn it, she’d been right. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “How’d the auction go last night?” Chris asked, glancing in the rearview as we stopped at a red light, his brown brows drawn tight. “Did you have to share a meal with a sixty-year-old woman groping your cock the whole time?”

  I cleared my throat, only saying: “Not . . . exactly . . .”

  He gave me the side-eye and stepped on the gas, turning left on Wescott. “Who was the lucky winner?”

  “Tate’s sister,” I muttered. “She bid on me, and won. Don’t tell him, though. She promised it would be between us, and I intend to keep it that way.”

  Chris’s eyes widened. “You didn’t . . .”

  “Light’s green,” I pointed out dryly, avoiding his question that wasn’t really a question.

  “Did you fuck her?”

  “Did you have sex with Molly last night?” I shot back.

  Chris frowned. “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “Just like who I fuck isn’t yours.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

  “The hell it isn’t.” Chris stepped on the gas harder than necessary. “If Tate finds out—”

  “He won’t.” I rested my fist on my knee, holding on tight. “There’s nothing to find out.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked.

  “Yes. There’s nothing he needs to, or will, know about.” I tapped my fingers on the car door, unsure how much I wanted to tell Chris, if anything at all. “We went to dinner and had a few drinks, then it was done.”

  That much was true. He hadn’t asked about this morning.

  “And then you went home alone?” Chris asked, honing right in on the omission like a damn hawk.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the Sons’ clubhouse. I straightened, and dragged my hand through my hair to mess it up more. “. . . I went to bed alone. Now relax, Father.”

  He pulled into a parking spot and shut off the ignition. I could feel him watching me. “You forget I know you better than them, Scotty. I know when you’re lying.”

  “Well, in all fairness, you didn’t know I was lying about my profession until a few months ago.” I opened my door and slid out, shutting it behind me. I didn’t wait for him to catch up to me, just headed for the entrance. After I did the Sons knock to announce our arrival, I reached for the doorknob, but Chris slammed a hand on the door, stopping me. “Dude. What the hell is your problem?”

  “You.” He leaned in, hissing, “Your head isn’t in the game right now, man. Whatever’s screwing you up, you better fix it, before it screws us.”

  “My head is exactly where I need it to be. Now let go.”

  Chris shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t get us killed.”

  I ignored him, because it didn’t matter that I was the DEA agent and he was my informant; he would always think of me as his best friend’s little kid brother who needed his help to keep his shit together. Nothing I said or did would change that. The second his hand was off the door, I opened it and strode inside, putting the same cocky swagger to my steps that had secured me the part of the shitty brother all those years ago.

  As I passed Brian, I clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man.”

  He gave me a nod. He was thirty, had dark blond hair and brown eyes, and was Tate’s right-hand man. I liked him. He told it like he saw it, and there was no guesswork involved with him. He wasn’t much of a ladies’ man, despite his good looks. As far as I could tell from my background check on him, when he’d been twenty, he’d fallen in love and she’d left him. Since then, he’d kept to himself. Brian didn’t seem like the type of guy to wallow over a woman his whole life, but then again, as stated, love didn’t exactly make sense. “What’s up, Little Donahue?”

  I winced. I hated it when he called me that. “Lucas has been dead for months now. Think we could just switch to Donahue, or even Scott?”

  “You mean Scotty?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Just Scott.”

  “Nah.” He rubbed his chin, considering me, picking up a glass of whiskey and taking a contemplative sip. “You’re too young, too much of a baby, to be a Scott. It’s Scotty, or Little Donahue.”

  Never mind that I was just a few years younger than him. “Suit yourself, man. Call me Pretty Woman, for all I care, as long as you share that whiskey with me.”

  He chuckled. “Yours is in the room, waiting at your spot.”

  “Excellent. How’s life? Fuck any hot girls lately?”

  Brian frowned, looking every inch the stick in the mud. He held a hand out. “Phone. Hand it over.”

  “Yes, sir.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled my cell phone out. I’d left my personal phone at home. “Did you talk to your date like that last night? Did she like it?”

  “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’m above kicking your ass.” He tossed my phone on top of Frankie’s. “Arms up.”

  I grinned, letting Brian feel me up for wires. They wouldn’t find any. DEA was smarter than that. Our technology had far surpassed wires years ago, no matter what you saw on the TV shows and movies. “Oooh. That felt good.” I paused. “Did she say that, too? If not, you’re doing it all wrong, man.”

  “Fuck off, Little Donahue.” He pointed over his shoulder at Tate’s office. “Go in. We’ve been waiting for you and Chri
s to finally show up so we can start.”

  Chris came up behind me, as if on cue. “I heard that.”

  I scanned the room, looking for what held him up, but it didn’t take an agent to figure it out. His asshole father stood in the corner of the room, glowering. Mr. O’Brien had wanted Chris to kill me and Lucas, and claim Lucas’s spot as a leader at the round table.

  Instead, Chris chose to share it with me.

  I waved at the asshole, forcing a carefree grin, and headed for the meeting room. As I approached, I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and walked in. Tate stood at his spot, talking to Frankie, their heads together as they whispered. Tommy sat at his seat, a glass of whiskey in his hand, frowning. A newer lieutenant, Jamie, sat beside him, tapping his fingers on the table as he surveyed the occupants.

  I nodded at Jamie as I passed, and took my spot next to him. The seat next to me would be Chris’s. Tate saw me and stared, his gaze skeptical. I couldn’t tell if he was about to kill me, thank me, or ignore me. He was as unpredictable as his sister. I nodded at him once, and he turned away, speaking to Frankie again. Frankie glanced at me, and nodded.

  Shit.

  I picked up my whiskey, lifting it to my lips. They were talking about me. The question was . . . why? Frankie looked back at Tate, said one more thing to him, and then came over to his seat on the other side of Chris’s chair, thumping my shoulder as he passed. “Sup, Scotty boy?”

  “Not much.”

  He sat down, leaning back and stretching, letting out a long groan as he did so. “Have a good night last night? You cut out of the funeral early.”

  “I had somewhere to be,” I said carefully, glancing at Tate. He watched me too closely for comfort. I didn’t need this kind of scrutiny from a jealous brother right now—which was all the more reason I should have kept my damn hands to myself. “Why? Did I miss something important?”