Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2)

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I can’t believe we haven’t run into each other before,” she said after another one of our quiet moments. “We know a lot of the same people.”

  “I opened the office here last year, but I’ve spent most of my time at the Chicago office.” I moved aside to allow a kid on rollerblades to pass us then fell into step beside her again. “I don’t usually get involved in the operational side of takeovers.” As soon as I said it, I knew I’d opened the lid on a topic better left untouched. “My job is to close the deal and move on to the next one.”

  “Why?” She stopped and turned to face me in front of the fountain. It was a huge, showy affair. Two mermaids perched in the center, seahorses surging outward from the perimeter. The sound of splashing water mingled with the plaintive refrain of a saxophone from a nearby jazz bar. “Too messy? Don’t want to get your hands dirty?”

  “No.” I drew in a deep breath. I needed to choose my next statement carefully. “I have a limited amount of time. If I did everything, nothing would get done. That’s why I hire people to handle those things.”

  “But you were knee deep in Harmony’s acquisition.” Stubborn girl. I knew she wouldn’t stop digging until I provided a satisfactory answer.

  “I might have had a personal interest in it.”

  We resumed walking. Our footsteps thudded softly on the pavement. I became acutely aware of her next to me, her head level with my shoulder, occasional hints of her perfume wafting among the scents of fresh-cut grass and flowers.

  “You mean me.”

  “Yes.” I was grateful for the darkness between yellow pools of streetlight so she wouldn’t see the heat in my cheeks. “The second I saw your name on that employee roster, nothing could’ve kept me away.”

  “You hated me.” The plaintive truth of her statement flattened my mood.

  “I never hated you. Not exactly.” While I groped for words, she stopped to stare at me, hands on hips. “Okay. Maybe a little,” I admitted.

  “And now?” The intense scrutiny of her blue-green eyes made me weak at the knees. How could I give her an answer to a question I kept asking myself over and over? A part of me wanted to hate her, to continue the charade and bask in the safety of animosity. But a bigger part couldn’t stop thinking about her, the scent of her hair, the softness of her lips, the way her nose wrinkled when she was thinking. Reality hit me in the chest like a percussion blast.

  “How can I hate you, Kota, when you were my first love?” My only love. As soon as I confessed, panic squeezed my lungs. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I’d very nearly professed my undying devotion to the woman who’d crushed my heart and my balls in one fell swoop. I tried to backpedal and save myself. “I mean, you’ll always be special to me.” I felt her stiffen from two feet away. “We had something special once.” The more I spoke, the darker her expression became. “You were very special.” My voice died away. I was fucking up. Big time.

  “If you say special one more time, I will punch you in the nuts.”

  I laughed at the adorable scowl on her face. A light breeze lifted the hair over her forehead. Moonlight glowed on the curves of her lips and cheeks. She’d never been more beautiful or—I realized a split second too late—more pissed. The next thing I knew, she spun around and walked in the opposite direction at impressive speed.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  She flipped me the bird.

  “Dakota, come on.” I paced after her. “Seriously?”

  I caught up to her in four strides, slipped an arm around her waist, and swung her around to face me. We stood facing each other, her soft body pressed to mine, held by the pressure of my arm. I could feel every inch of her. The rise and fall of her ribs with each breath. The pillowy softness of her breasts. The button fly of her jeans cutting into my groin. We lined up perfectly this way and always had.

  “Dakota.” I stared into her eyes, mesmerized by the tiny flecks of green and gold, narrowed with irritation and hurt. My lips brushed hers. She stiffened, but I didn’t let go. She needed to know I meant business. Against her mouth, I whispered, “You’re still special to me. I can’t be in the same room with you and not want to touch you. I hold my breath waiting for one of your smiles.” Delicate nostrils flared the tiniest bit, like a doe scenting the wind. “You were the best and worst part of my life. I’ll never have with anyone else what I had with you. It’s just not possible.”

  The rigidity of her spine relaxed a fraction. We were alone on the street, sheltered by the drooping limbs of a willow tree. A mass of flowers spilled from giant urns next to us in chaotic colors of purple, red, and yellow. Their sweet scents floated in the air around us.

  “You talk like we’re past tense. Like we’re already over,” she said.

  I kissed her again, softly this time. Her lips melted against mine. Their sweetness tantalized me, persuading my tongue to seek hers. Sexual awareness hummed through my body as the kiss deepened. She felt good in my arms, and for a few blissful minutes I was able to forget her betrayal, the divorce, and everything in between.

  “Baby,” I murmured, “we’re just getting started.”

  Chapter 12

  Dakota

  THE INSTANT Sam’s lips touched mine, I was done for. It had always been that way. I could no more control my body’s response to him than I could the shifting of the wind. My nipples stiffened, my heartbeat tripled, and the space between my legs ached. In alternating measures, he frustrated and infuriated me, thrilled and terrified me. When his fingers spread over my back, pressing me to him, I dissolved into him.

  “You don’t fight fair,” I said when he withdrew his mouth and leaned his forehead against mine.

  “I do what it takes to win,” he murmured. The vibrations of his voice rumbled through his chest and into mine.

  “Are we in a battle?” I turned my face up to his and searched his eyes. They were dark and somber.

  “Sure seems like it.” His chuckle preceded the possessive tightening of his arms around my waist. “To the death.”

  “Why does it have to be so flipping hard?” I toyed with the buttons of his shirt, enjoying our closeness. I belonged in his arms. It was one of those moments where everything seemed to be as it should. The stars had aligned and brought me to him at this precise moment in time. Nothing had or ever would be so perfect again. “Do other people have to work this hard to be together? Because I’m telling you, this thing between us might kill me.”

  Laughter shook his chest. He pressed a kiss to my temple. “If we don’t kill each other first.”

  Wind rustled through the tree limbs above us. The city bus stopped at the curb across the street, and a rowdy group of boys tumbled down the steps. “Get a room,” they shouted amid hoots and whistles. We both laughed this time and broke apart to continue down the sidewalk.

  We made our way back to my apartment. He kissed me on the steps outside the building. I clung to him, not wanting the night to end, and buried the fingers of my right hand in his thick hair. Every time he kissed me, it was like the first time. His tongue swept over mine in a playful dance, teasing and tantalizing. I leaned into him, wanting more, and was disappointed when he pulled back.

  “Come upstairs,” I whispered, gazing into his eyes, drunk on his presence and his touch.

  “Not tonight.” He shook his head. My tummy twittered at the rejection.

  “Why not?” I pressed against him, enjoying the heat of his muscular torso against me, hoping to change his mind.

  “As much as I want to make love to you, I think maybe we should both take a step back. It’s been great tonight, and I want to end things on a good note.”

  “Is this a good note?” I asked and lifted on my tiptoes to meet his eyes, dragging my breasts along his chest in the process.

  He groaned. “Now who’s not playing fair?”

  “I like to win, too.” I tangled my fingers with his and tried to tug him up the steps. “Come on. I promise to make it worth your while.”

&
nbsp; He smiled and brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear with an index finger. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow morning, and I need to do some work tonight to prepare.” When he stepped back, cool air rushed between us, chilling me. “Another time.”

  “Okay.” I tried to hold back the frown looming on my lips. Confused, I dropped his hand. I thought things had gone well between us, but now I wasn’t so sure. “Next time then.”

  He touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “That’s a promise, sweet pea.”

  Chapter 13

  Dakota

  WHEN I went into Sam’s office for our afternoon meeting the next day, lines of worry creased the corners of his eyes. My deep-seated insecurities began to resurface, and my confidence flagged. I’d seen that look during our marriage, when our checking account was overdrawn or after one of our fights. I bit my lower lip, anxiety overriding the pleasant, lingering aftertaste of our date the night before.

  We went over the MacGruder information with excessive thoroughness. He hardly spoke to me, except to ask questions about the data, and when he did, his tone was brusque. The disparity between his work persona and his after-hours persona kept me off balance. I had no idea how to blend the two personalities or if I even should. With each passing minute, my unease grew until I squirmed in my seat.

  After another hour of answering his rapid-fire interrogation, I placed a hand in the center of the report he was reading, forcing him to stop and look at me.

  “What?” he asked. Most of the time his eyes were bright and alert, but today a vacant shadow clouded their depths. He tried to slide my hand out of the way. I resisted.

  “Breathe, Sam,” I admonished gently. He blinked, coming back to himself and subsequently back to me. “We’ve been at this for hours. Let’s take a break.”

  “I need answers. Today.” He pushed away from the table and paced to the window.

  “What’s the hurry? Our meeting with MacGruder isn’t until next week.” Although his stance blocked my view of his face, the tension in his shoulders broadened the top line of his suit. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m moving up the meeting.”

  “Why?” The note of urgency in his voice renewed my unease. “These kinds of things shouldn’t be rushed. You know that.”

  “There you go, telling me how to run my business again.” His voice held a note of quiet disapproval.

  When he turned to face me, I curled my fingers into fists to curb the warring desires to either touch him or slap him. I wasn’t certain how to handle this Sam. The midday sun poured through the window behind him, outlining the inverted triangle of his shoulders and hips, the length of his legs, and the wavy mess of his hair. He looked tough, overtly masculine, and unapproachable.

  I stood and walked around the table, trailing my fingers over the surface, taking my time. He stared down at me, eyes hooded, until I came to a stop in front of him. I rested my rear end against the table, hands gripping the edge, and stared back.

  “I don’t doubt your ability to run your business,” I said. “You’ve made quite a success of yourself without my help.” I spread my knees, skirt drawn between them, one leg on each side of his. I hooked a finger into his belt, drawing him toward me with a gentle tug. “I’m just stating the obvious. MacGruder is a hard sell. You’re forcing him to give up a lifetime of work. He’s not going to roll over and die. He might act meek and resigned, but I guarantee you, he’s not.”

  A muscle flexed below his cheekbone, a telltale sign of his growing consternation. “I know that.”

  “I know you know that.” While I stared up into his eyes, I ran my hands from his knees to his hips, feeling the swell of thigh muscle and the indentation of his glutes beneath my palms. When I reached the waistband of his trousers, he exhaled. “So what’s your hurry?”

  “I have a schedule to follow and deadlines to meet in order to reach my goal.” The lines around his eyes softened the tiniest bit. “Time is running out.”

  I traced the waist of his pants to his fly and unbuckled the belt, never letting my gaze leave his. “And what is your goal, Mr. Seaforth?”

  “To find out what kind of panties you have on under that sweet little dress,” he said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He cupped my chin and rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. I bit it gently and was rewarded by the hiss of his breath.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you the story about the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race, right?” I took his thumb into my mouth, sucked on the tip, swirling my tongue around it. His nostrils flared, sending a flutter of excitement into my belly. I let go of his thumb with a pop. The salt of his skin lingered on my tongue.

  “Sometimes.” Green eyes darkened to black as his pupils dilated. “Sometimes I like to come in hard and fast.” He caressed my cheek. I turned my face and kissed his palm. A flicker of heat and desire crossed his expression before he dug his fingers into the hair at my nape and tugged my head back. The seemingly cruel gesture was laced with tenderness, erotic in its intensity. A thrill like no other weakened my knees.

  “Is the door locked?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  The ragged need in his voice called to me. I kneeled in front of him. A muted growl broke the silence in the room as I unzipped his fly. I palmed the hard ridge behind his black boxers, the silken fabric smooth and heated. He pushed into my hand, growing longer and thicker with each passing second. I loved knowing I made him this way, that I could still turn him on after so many years apart.

  “You pay all these people to answer to you, but I have to wonder…who do you answer to?” I slipped his pants over his hips, drawing his boxers down with them. His erection bobbed in front of me. “Who keeps you in check, Sam? Who looks out for you?” I placed a light kiss on the tip of his cock.

  “No one.” The husky admission pained my heart. Strong, relentless Sam had no one. Even I, his wife, had abandoned him. “I look out for myself.”

  By this time, I held his erection in my hand. I tickled the head of his cock with my tongue before taking him into my mouth. He moaned and tightened his fingers in my hair. The sound blanketed my soul, erased my doubts, and filled me with desire. Desire to take care of him, desire to cherish him, to be the one person he could always count on.

  To demonstrate my point, I took him deeper in my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. Smooth skin slipped through my lips. His hips moved forward, overwhelmed by the instinctive urge to thrust. I fisted the base of his cock to control his movements, enjoying the power. When I glanced up, his head was thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing in his lean throat, eyes closed, and lips parted.

  I’d only given him head a few times while we’d been married. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. I’d just never felt very skilled in that area, and he’d never complained about the lack. I’d been a twenty-year-old girl then. A decade later, the number of items in my sexual bag of tricks had increased exponentially. To demonstrate, I flattened my tongue and dragged it along the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his erection. I closed my eyes and reveled in the physical sensations of such an intimate act, undone by the spicy scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, and the staccato grunts from his throat.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come in that smart mouth of yours.”

  I paused long enough to look up at him, my fist tight around him. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  His tongue passed over his lower lip, and his fingers dug deeper in my hair, cupping the back of my head when I took him back into my mouth. I liked the feeling of tension between us, the way he tried and failed to control his emotions. One corner of his lips curled up in a boyish smile.

  “So fucking sweet, Dakota. You looking up at me like this.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “My girl.”

  My heart swelled until my ribs ached. I was his girl. I always had been. And he was my guy. My Sam. He owned me from the inside out. A n
eed to possess him in the same way spurred my lips to action. I dragged my teeth over his length, lightly but with enough pressure to make him hiss with pleasure. I still didn’t know where I stood with him, but at this very moment, it didn’t really matter. We were Sam and Dakota, high school sweethearts, married, divorced, and still as hot for each other as the day we’d met. To prove my point, I massaged his head with the texture of my tongue, smooth against rough, and felt him jerk as the last vestiges of his control dissipated. Ten seconds later, he came with a ragged growl and both hands fisted in my hair.

  “Mr. Seaforth, your conference call starts in five minutes. I have them holding on line two.” Mrs. Cantrell’s disembodied voice floated from the intercom on the table, causing me to flinch in surprise.

  “We’re just about done here,” he said, his control impressive. I smirked and flicked my tongue over his fading hardness, earning a playful glare. “Thank you, Mrs. Cantrell.”

  His hands shook as he disentangled his fingers from my hair. He smoothed his palm over the side of my face, smiling down at me. With his large hands on my biceps, he urged me to my feet. We walked the four steps to his private bathroom. I sat on the sink while he used a washcloth to wipe my face. The tender gesture broke down the last of my defenses. If I’d had any doubts before, I knew with certainty now. Somewhere inside this complicated man existed the love of my life. He was still there, and he still loved me. He just hadn’t realized it yet.

  Chapter 14

  Dakota