Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4)

by Tamara Lush

  No, I wouldn’t.

  I was comfortable among luxury now. It was a sentiment I never thought I’d have, and didn’t feel like analyzing why. I was beyond caring about so much these days.

  So what if I was wearing a shapeless, unsexy dress that hid my post-pregnancy belly? And so what if I had stubbly armpits? Maybe I was finally just comfortable in my own skin, despite all of the sadness layered within me. There was something about the warm Miami breeze that made me feel a little carefree and confident, more so than I’d been in months.

  Miami was a city you could lose yourself in, however temporarily.

  I turned to Colin. “And you? How was your meeting? You think you’ll be able to pull this new building off?”

  He nodded thoughtfully and angled his tall body toward my chair. “We just might be able to. It might require me relocating here for a year or so because it’s a complicated project. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “Hmm. Well, hopefully you’ll make time every so often to see your favorite niece.”

  Colin laughed, a genuine chuckle. “You know I can’t stay away from her. She’s really incredible, Emma. Of all the bad things this year, she’s the one bright spot. She’s kept all of us sane.”

  I took another sip, trying to distract myself so I wouldn’t tear up. Colin obviously noticed and began talking about his project, animatedly retelling the various regulatory hurdles of building a high rise in South Florida and how the politicians had to be glad-handled and possibly even bribed in a subtle way to make sure things went smoothly.

  As he spoke, I studied his face. Maybe it was because I was seeing him outside of our respective homes in Orlando, but it was as if I was looking at him for the first time. Tonight in the twilight, he was strikingly similar to Caleb, with little glints of gray sprouting in his raven-colored hair, which was longer than Caleb’s. His voice nearly matched my husband’s timbre, and the precise movements of his brutally large hands were also similar. He wore a casual, white linen shirt and slightly baggy, tan linen pants. His shirtsleeves were perfectly, evenly rolled, exposing powerful forearms and a titanium Piguet watch. I remembered how he’d bought the watch in London. He’d flown home and immediately come by the condo to show Caleb. It was only days after I’d told Caleb about my pregnancy.

  “A half-million dollars?” Caleb had exclaimed, incredulous. “Come on, man.” That was Colin: excessive. And that was also Caleb: down-to-earth yet a man who loved luxury on a slightly smaller scale.

  Colin had just laughed and, eventually, got Caleb to as well. We’d all gone out to brunch, and I remembered both of them encouraging me to eat more, more, more because of the baby.

  “Stop, you two!” I’d groaned. “I’m going to burst.”

  Now, almost a whole year and one unthinkable tragedy later, I was here in Miami watching Colin talk. He was getting into the details now, and I detected a glint in his blue eyes. If there was one thing he loved, it was talking about business. He told stories about deals and money and, as usual, was quite entertaining as he gestured expansively with his hands, pausing for comedic effect every so often, taking a sip of his drink.

  He was charming, that was certain.

  As I listened, I spotted several other women on the terrace raking their eyes over his broad shoulders, his full head of hair, his long legs. Like my husband, Colin had a commanding presence, and watching the women stare at Colin amused me. I remembered the day I saw him naked in the outdoor shower, and a little pang of embarrassment swept over me and I grimaced.

  “What?” he said, grinning and interrupting his story about how a rare snake had been found at one Miami development site and had put the project on hold for months, much to his annoyance.

  I quickly motioned with my head. Of course I wouldn’t tell him what I was really thinking about. “Oh! See the woman over there, the one in the yellow sarong? I think she’s sitting just over my left shoulder?”

  He shifted and glanced with a raised eyebrow. “The blonde? What about her?”

  “When she walked by, she stared at you as if you were a prime cut of London broil.”

  He laughed and shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I laughed, too. I’d noticed in recent months how Colin hadn’t kept up his usual pace of women. He’d still dated some, but not as much as before, it seemed. I’d chalked it up to Caleb’s disappearance and considered asking him about his changed dating habits, but we were having such an easy moment together I didn’t want the sadness to settle in the air once again.

  “So back to the snake. I hate reptiles, but please tell me you saved him. I hate hearing about animals being killed,” I said.

  Colin put his hand on my forearm. “Yes. The snake. I made money off the snake. Let me tell you how.”

  He returned to the story, which ended up making me laugh hard.

  As I giggled about his characterization of the serpent—“fat, like a slug, but black and ten inches”—we locked eyes and I suddenly recalled the filthy ménage dream I’d had about him. I blinked, rapidly, feeling my face get hot.

  “You okay? Something in your eye?” he asked.

  I turned to my drink and rattled the ice in my glass. A little smile crept on my face. “I’m good. Allergies, I think.”

  Never mind I hadn’t experienced allergies in my life, not in Miami and not in Orlando. I glanced up to see him staring at me, his mouth quirked.

  “So back to the snake. I was with the governor…” I zoned out during the rest of his sentence, thinking about his searching, magnetic eyes that made me somehow feel like I was the only woman in Miami.

  How weird.

  I drank and snuck glances at his face. The only thing substantially different between the two brothers were Colin’s eyes, I noted. They were a blazing, icy blue. I kept drinking, grateful he was keeping the conversation going, that we were talking about something other than Caleb and family and depression. Grateful he was smart enough to know to make me laugh so I wouldn’t weep. Grateful he had such beautiful eyes.

  I couldn’t stop looking at them. I stared a little harder and saw they were flecked with black around the ring.

  “Business talk must bore you. I’m sorry to ramble,” he said.

  “No. Don’t apologize. I’m actually interested. Your business is fascinating. You and your family have shaped the state. Remade it. Florida would be very different without you.”

  “You could say that.” Was the grin one of triumph? I couldn’t decipher it.

  The conversation flowed easily into a second drink, and I forced myself to look elsewhere on his face. Like his nose, which was a little big. Like Caleb’s. And his mouth, which was full and…sensual?

  Strange, I’d never noticed that before. He licked his bottom lip, and I felt a frisson of arousal amidst the murkiness in my gut. Must be the gin. I hadn’t eaten, so maybe it was hunger and not arousal. I looked around the bar for a menu and didn’t find one.

  “Why did you want to stay in the family business?” I stood near my chair, now a little unsteady on my feet because of the liquor. I was genuinely curious about Colin. I’d never really asked about his life in the years I’d known him. “You could have taken your skills in so many different directions. Stockbroker, financial analyst, lawyer…”

  He shrugged. “Caleb talked me into it and I felt the obligation of family.”

  That was all he needed to say to get me to stop asking questions. We drank in silence, and then he piped up.

  “And you? Why did you want to be a bookseller? Wait, I know. You told me once. Because you love to read and because of the closing of the store from your childhood in Lakeland.”

  “You remember!” I pointed in his direction, thrilled. “I’m shocked. I didn’t think you were listening when I told you.”

  “I always listen to you, Emma. Even when you don’t think I am.”

  This made me smile.

  He glanced at his hands. “But here’s the real question. I would have pegged your writing for s
omething more serious, something more…I don’t know. Literary. You certainly have the talent for it, from the stuff I’ve read of yours. I actually read your steampunk romance novel, and it was quite good. Not my usual choice of reading—”

  “Of course. I know how you love a good William F. Buckley biography. And that was kind of a backhanded compliment, no?”

  He tilted his head and a little smile played on his lips, which made me wonder if he was toying with me. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You basically said I was too good of a writer to be in the romance genre. As if romance writers on the whole were less talented.” I took a sip of my drink and swallowed. I pushed my bottom lip out and pretended to be offended.

  He laughed. “Yours was excellent nonetheless. And I am truly in awe of your ideas, that you can think up any stories at all. I couldn’t do it. Seriously. I have no imagination.”

  Indeed, he looked so serious that I grinned at him. “I’m sure you do have an imagination.”

  He could’ve taken my quip as flirtation, but for some reason, didn’t. “Why do you write romance?”

  I twisted my mouth in uncertainty. I hadn’t known he’d actually read more than a paragraph or two of my writing and assumed he’d only done so to make fun of me.

  “Because I believe in it,” I said softly, looking into my drink.

  “Believe in what?”

  I looked up into his pale blue eyes. For the first time, I noticed how they sparkled just so, or maybe it was the flickering candle votives along the bar inspiring the effect. Okay, after knowing him for three years, I was just now beginning to realize why women were attracted to him. When he turned his charm on, it was powerful. Hypnotizing.

  I shivered and grinned.

  “I believe in the happily-ever-after, no matter how unrealistic. I want to think rakes can become honorable men, that insta-lust can turn into forever love, and cynical women can somehow be made innocent again through the power of love.”

  Colin’s mouth lifted on both sides now, and then he chuckled, which made my heart sink a little from the callousness of the tone. “But that’s not real life. Not realistic at all.”

  I shrugged. “I know it’s not realistic. But when people read it, they believe in the magic for a little while. And it’s why I write it. So I can believe. Or why I wrote it once upon a time, anyway.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think you’ll write romance again?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I haven’t written in months. I’d been writing a journal to Caleb but…” I allowed my voice to trail, and I tipped my glass to my lips, taking an ice cube in my mouth.

  “Hmm.” He motioned to the bartender, probably asking for the check. Crunching the ice, I took it as a cue to use the bathroom, and once inside, I leaned against the door and rolled my eyes. I was definitely on my way to being drunk. Three drinks had been my limit before I was pregnant. Now that I hadn’t imbibed at all in nine months, I was on the verge of being hammered after two.

  I should go back to my room and sleep. Pray I wouldn’t get a hangover. I had an early flight and was anxious to see my daughter.

  And yet, I didn’t want to hole up in my hotel room. The Miami breeze felt too good and so did my light head. I was enjoying talking to Colin. We were relating as two adults, not two grief-stricken zombies.

  I reapplied my lipstick and smiled at myself in the mirror.

  Live in the moment.

  For once.

  Chapter 7

  When I returned, I laughed when I saw what was in front of us on the bar. “What’s that? Another drink?”

  “Whiskey.”

  My eyes widened. “Whiskey? Wow. It’s been years since I’ve drank whiskey.”

  “Just sip it. It’s very smooth,” he said in a low voice. So I did. Liquid fire burned my throat, and I took a second sip. The fire turned into a glowing river and warmth flooded my whole body.

  “Okay, one more question about romance novels.”

  I laughed and wondered why my voice sounded especially sparkling this evening when it hadn’t in months. “Okay, but only one.”

  “Why are all men in romance novels so arrogant and alpha? Why are they sarcastic?”

  “You mean, like you?” I teased. “And that’s two questions. Maybe three.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “No. I’m not arrogant. And my conversational style is subtly ironic. I’m never sarcastic.”

  “I’d say you were more in the pointless-but-pleasing conversational category,” I tossed back.

  He grinned. Goodness, his teeth were so white and his grin was adorable. I’d never really noticed how stunning until that moment.

  “To answer your question, men in romance novels are alpha because it’s what most women want to read about. They want to read about a man taking charge.” I smirked, confident of my abilities to assess gender roles even when drunk. I’d spent the day at the book fair talking about my favorite subjects—sex and erotica and gender roles—and wanted to continue.

  He scratched his chin and regarded me with a sideways glance. “Really? Even with feminism? It doesn’t seem like that’s what women always want. Sometimes they seem like they want control over everything.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I pushed a finger softly into his taut chest, aware I had stepped a few inches closer to him, just enough so I could smell his mandarin-and-cedar-scented cologne. Tonight it wrapped around me in little tendrils and I inhaled deep. Odd he was still wearing the brand I’d bought him more than a year ago for Christmas.

  “Colin, women want control over certain things. Their careers, their futures, their bodies.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that. But what do they want men to have control of?”

  I smiled coyly. “They want a man to take control in the bedroom. They want men to abide by proper gender roles when it comes to sex. Well, most women do. Many women. And they enjoy reading about a man who will do just that. We like to read about men being men behind closed doors.”

  “Many women,” he murmured, his eyes flickering downward to my mouth. I licked my lips and couldn’t help but smile. His eyes seemed dangerously blue. “Take charge how? Seems like a conundrum, since women also want control. Explain this to me. Maybe I’ve been wrong about women all along.”

  I doubted it, not with his track record, but I played along. “For instance, a kiss. Women want the man to be in charge and kiss them. Take them. No asking, no begging, no waffling. Women want a decisive man, one who knows exactly what he desires and what his partner wants.”

  Our eyes met. The seconds that followed were pregnant with possibilities, and I think I stopped breathing. With an amused smile, Colin swiftly cupped my face and leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and dominant, and a burst of adrenaline surged through my body.

  I was stunned. But I kissed him back, and familiar, long-buried feelings tore through me.

  Need. Desire. Want.

  We kissed deep and slow, and he bit my bottom lip gently. Then he pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “Like that?” he whispered.

  I nodded, mesmerized. “Exactly like that.”

  He stepped back and took a sip of his drink. I guzzled mine, my mind reeling. Holy shit, I’d just kissed my husband’s brother. In a bar, in public. A tidal wave of guilt washed over me. Then, another, less honorable feeling.

  I craved more.

  “That was really bad,” I whispered, biting my bottom lip.

  “Was it?”

  I looked up. My mouth trembled when I stared at his. “I’m…you’re…”

  He put a finger to my lips, and I glanced away, to the bar, then back at him.

  “Shh. We’ve both gone through a lot. Maybe we need this.” His deep voice sounded so much like my husband’s, but with a touch of rawness, of pain. It both repelled me and sent a flood of molten desire into parts of my body that had been dormant for months.

  Glancing at him, knowing he was staring at me, I ration
alized with my drunk self. Bargained and cajoled.

  The worst had already happened: my husband, my soul twin, was gone. Either dead or had chosen not to return to me. How much more horrible could it get? If I made out with Colin, standing there so tall and handsome, what harm would it do? It wasn’t like I was cheating. Not exactly, anyway. I couldn’t cheat on a husband who was absent. Or gone. Or worse.

  I was a single mother left with…well, I didn’t know what. But from the signals my body was giving off after the kiss, I wasn’t dead yet. And the warmth of Colin’s mouth was soothing, erotic, and seemingly right…for tonight. Or maybe it was wrong and I was confused. And a little drunk.

  I didn’t know and didn’t care. All I wanted was to think of myself and my desires, instead of all the problems swirling in my life.

  I turned to Colin and mentally dumped all sense and reason into nearby Biscayne Bay. The warm wind kicked up and made me feel invincible.

  “Kiss me again,” I demanded.

  “Gladly,” he murmured and did. I grabbed fistfuls of his linen shirt and pulled him toward me, wanting so much more. His lips were slow and erotic, and I didn’t hesitate to slip my tongue toward his.

  In my drunk, thrilled state, I did not care one bit about making out with my brother-in-law at a swank bar. I didn’t give a crap we were two adults twirling tongues and breathing hard while a half-dozen people tried not to stare.

  Not one fuck was given. Not by me and obviously not by Colin.

  “You’re stunning,” he murmured, stroking my face with his palms. “I’ve thought about you since—”

  “Stop. I don’t want to know.” Colin had seen naked photos of me on Caleb’s phone. He’d also seen me in bed for days, enormously pregnant and sweaty. Hell, he’d seen me right after I gave birth. I didn’t care to know which of those turned him on or which of them didn’t.

  “I’m not your usual type, let’s just leave it at that,” I said, running my hands down his chest. Just the motion made me wobble, and he steadied me by corseting my ribcage with his big hands. My, he was broad and his muscles felt hard under the linen. I squeezed his biceps and panted a little.