Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4)

by Tamara Lush

  Maybe I made a little mmm noise out loud.

  Possibly I licked my lips lasciviously.

  Yes, I probably shot him a seductive, smoldering glance on top of everything.

  He chuckled when I batted my eyelashes. “Like what you see?”

  I laughed hard. It was all so cheesy and predictable, but drunkenly funny, too. By this time I was sitting on the bar stool, which put me at about his same height. Standing had become too onerous.

  “Emma, you’re better than my usual type. Look at you, with those huge, dark eyes. And your cheekbones.” He traced my face and looked more caring than I’d ever thought possible. “Your face is so beautiful. Your jawline…sexy.” He kissed the hollow between my jaw and neck and my whole body lit up.

  I shrugged while waves of intoxicated desire crashed over me. I was a thirty-six-year-old new mom with a belly pooch and some stretch marks. A woman whose hormones were raging as hard as a teenage boy’s.

  “Stop. Don’t shrug and be sarcastic. It’s true. You’re stunning.”

  I rolled my eyes. I was certain he’d said this to other women. Maybe I’d even heard him say it at one of my parties. “Don’t bullshit me. You can save the speech. Just kiss me more.”

  He chuckled and leaned in, pausing an inch from my mouth so we were breathing each other’s air. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispered.

  “And you’re fucking drunk,” I whispered back, his compliment shredding my thoughts.

  He laughed. “So are you.”

  “Whatever. Why aren’t you kissing me?”

  He did, and he gripped my jaw with one hand, turning my head and claiming my mouth with a taut, scorching kiss. My tongue flicked against his, into his mouth, tasting the whiskey and the taboo of it all. Was it my impaired imagination, or did he kiss like his brother? The thought made me unsteady. Or maybe it was the liquor that made me unsteady.

  I won’t lie. Part of my brain told me to stop. Another part urged me to trail a line of kisses toward his ear.

  Softly, I tugged at his lobe. I broke away. “I’ve dreamed about you,” I blurted.

  His eyebrows shot up, and I recognized a look of genuine surprise. “You have?”

  I nodded, suddenly self-conscious as he ran his hand up my calf and under my long skirt. I felt him twirl his finger around my knee and knew he’d found a patch of stubble. I wondered if he’d seen my armpits and I giggled.

  “Tell me about your dreams.” He put both his hands up my skirt now, caressing my calves and knees. I closed my eyes, reveling in how crazy-good it felt to be touched so sensually.

  My body was screaming to be plundered like this. I pondered whether to tell him I’d watched him shower at the lake house. No, I wasn’t drunk enough to admit being a voyeur.

  “The dreams were like my books,” I said slowly, distracted because his thumbs had reached my inner thighs. The night was turning illicit, fast. Was this what I truly wanted?

  “Oh. Those kinds of dreams.” He grinned and took his hands out of my skirt.

  “Yes. Those kinds.”

  He kissed me again, deep and with an insistent tongue. “Was I good? Did I satisfy you?”

  I held my breath and looked into his eyes. “I always wake up before that crucial moment.”

  “Maybe tonight we can fix that.”

  I laughed and nervously turned to my whiskey, drinking the rest in one gulp. He did the same and then kissed me on the cheek. That little, intimate gesture was somehow more shocking than his demanding kisses.

  “I’ll be right back.” He pointed at the bathrooms, and I blew out a breath as he walked away.

  The bartender wandered to me and smirked. “Another round?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly, mustering as much dignity as I could. “And a glass of ice, too.”

  More whiskey was a horrible idea, but maybe if I drank more, I’d figure out what I truly wanted. I texted a bubbly note to Sarah.

  Having a drink with Colin! Going to bed soon, hope everything with the baby is going well.

  Sarah texted right back. She’s asleep. Have fun, but not too much fun. Talk tomorrow, xo.

  I heaved a sigh and considered whether Sarah suspected I might hook up with Colin. At the thought, I nearly toppled off the barstool. When the whiskey came I sipped, then took an ice cube and popped it in my mouth. Colin appeared and put his hand on my back.

  “More whiskey, darlin’?” Colin affected a slight Southern twang, so different from his pretentious baritone, and tonight, it was panty-dissolving.

  I nodded and turned to him with a steamy look, the ice cube in my mouth. I took his face in my hands and then kissed him, pushing the cube into his mouth and feeling naughty. We passed it back and forth with our tongues until it melted. I tried not to drool unbecomingly.

  He groaned and grabbed a handful of my hair. Kind of like Caleb would have done.

  “You,” he growled, his eyes flickering under half-lids.

  We drank and kissed, and kissed and drank some more. We laughed stupidly at nothing. There were fewer people at the bar, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bartender had made himself scarce by ducking to the far end, out of earshot of our antics. At one point Colin’s big hand found my breast and squeezed.

  “God, these are perfect. Are they real?”

  “Of course! Jesus.” I snorted and cackled. He didn’t normally speak so crassly, and that’s when I knew he was drunker than I’d ever seen him.

  Our laughter stilled, and he had an intense look in his eyes while he ran a thumb over my nipple. Electricity raced through me. It had been so long since I’d been looked at with lust, much less kissed or touched. With each swipe of his thumb, I felt like I was disintegrating from the heat he inspired.

  His hypnotizing eyes fixed on me. Or maybe he was just trying to focus because he was so intoxicated. Regardless, his stare made heat spread down my face, neck, and beyond.

  “Emma, let’s go up to the room and lie down together. Please?”

  I shook my head in an exaggerated manner and waggled my finger. “If I go up to the room, you know what will happen.”

  “I don’t think so, because I’m too drunk.”

  “It might not happen tonight, but it will in the morning.” I lurched forward to murmur into his ear, trying to remember if I’d used these words in an erotica scene in one of my books. “I’ll wake up and I’ll climb on top of you. I’ll want to fuck you awake.”

  He growled, then cupped my face roughly, kissing me hard. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Did you just growl at me?” I teased.

  “Mmhmm.” Then he pulled away, a plea in his eyes. “Please? I’m really drunk. Let’s go up. Let’s just sleep together. Promise.”

  I nodded, suddenly too overwhelmed and tired to banter or debate the issue. Sleeping next to someone seemed like an excellent idea. Sleeping in someone’s arms sounded like heaven after nine awful months alone.

  Even if the someone was my husband’s brother. Maybe especially wonderful if the someone was familiar, like my husband’s brother. Someone who I’d obviously been subconsciously lusting after, now that I thought about it while in my drunken state.

  As we wove our way to the elevator, he slung his arm around my shoulder like we’d been down this path together a hundred times before. Once inside the elevator, he kissed me ravenously, pressing me against the wall with an unnecessary but completely welcome urgency.

  “Fuck,” I said, my chest heaving. He laughed darkly.

  I barely recalled getting out of the elevator. The strange, rust-and-sunflower-yellow pattern of the hall carpet hypnotized me as I tried to walk. At his door, he fumbled for the key and I propped myself along a wall to keep from tumbling over. Once the door was open, he pulled me into the suite. With a toss of my purse on the floor, I paused at a small table, resting my hands on the marble top. I closed my eyes and tried to steady the whirling room.

  He came up behind me and lifted my hair, kissing my neck slowly,
sensually. His mouth was soft, addictive. I bit my lip to keep from crying out from the sheer goodness of his lips, but I gave in and moaned softly when he reached around to cup my breasts. His fingers slipped under the edge of my dress and caressed a nipple. I leaned back into him, squeezing my thighs together.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, stunned I was so wet between my legs. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he pulled my head to the side and bit me softly, all while grinding his hips into my ass. His touch was promising and, with the right encouragement, could give me what I desired.

  “Bite me harder,” I demanded. This night was already decadent, and I figured I’d just spice it up more by asking for a little roughness. It was what I needed, what I’d missed since…

  Since my husband had disappeared.

  “The bed, Emma.” His voice was a deep buzz, and I complied, guiltily shoving thoughts of Caleb out of my mind. Apparently I’d moved a little too fast, because the room spun faster when I plopped on the bed and stretched out my legs.

  “Take off my flip-flops,” I whispered, unclasping my necklace and tossing it to the nightstand with an expansive flick of my wrist. Jesus, I was drunk.

  He bent over and slipped the shoes off my feet. “Wait, stand up.”

  I did and watched him carefully pull down the duvet and sheet. He was even more precise than Caleb. The thought made me laugh, then a flicker of sadness lodged in my chest.

  “Get in bed, beautiful,” he said, slapping me on the ass as I tumbled onto the bed, the previously sensual mood shattering. I giggled, feeling dirty.

  I hadn’t been lying flat for more than a few seconds when he flung himself on top of my body and kissed me, rubbing his large body against mine.

  Raising my hands over my head, I hoped he would know to pin me down. Like Caleb used to do.

  Colin didn’t. Instead, he got up and turned out the light, allowing the illumination from the moon to pour onto the bed through the open curtains. Caleb always wanted the light on because he wanted to see all of me.

  I watched Colin undress, the moonlight glinting and shadowing his exercise-honed body. He nearly fell over at one point while removing his pants, then unceremoniously slid on top of me, naked.

  “I’ve drank too much to get a hard-on, I think,” he said. “But let’s see how it goes.”

  I giggled. Wow. So much for romance. So much for carnal sex.

  We kissed more, and I ran my hands down his back, pausing at every ridge and muscle. His skin was smooth, warm. Almost too warm. But he was certainly beautiful, and I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. Not when he’d made me feel so good earlier.

  He hiked my dress up to my waist, then slipped it off easily.

  I allowed this, although pangs of unease and embarrassment shot through me. Clearly, I hadn’t planned this seduction, I thought, as I looked down at my plain underwear and remembered how I hadn’t shaved, anywhere. Thank God he’d turned out the light.

  He didn’t seem to care because he made little moaning noises as he kissed my stomach clumsily.

  “I want to go down on you. Please?” he whispered.

  “No. Kiss me,” I responded.

  Somehow, being underneath him didn’t feel quite as sensual as our make out session in the bar had or when he’d been kissing my neck a few moments before. I’d assumed that, even drunk, Colin would have seduction down pat by the time he got in between the sheets. I’d hoped he would take charge for both of us. I’d wondered if he’d at least be able to get hard.

  But this…this was sloppy and lazy. We fumbled and laughed as our noses bumped. Or maybe it was my fluttering heart making me nervous and I was misreading the whole situation.

  With an insistent mouth, he kissed down my neck and I thrust my chest toward him. Roughly, he shoved my bra cup down, then wrangled my bra off entirely, flinging it to the floor. He raised himself to his knees, looking at me.

  “Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, then hooked his thumbs in my underwear and tugged them off.

  I lay there, legs closed and slightly stiff. I was wet, but wasn’t entirely certain sex was what I needed. Or wanted.

  What did I want?

  But when he flicked his tongue over a nipple, it felt amazing. Soothing, with just the right erotic pressure. I shut my eyes, hoping for more. And he delivered with long, sensual circles interspersed with gentle bites. I melted into him, allowing myself to give in. I ran my fingers through his longish black hair, my white skin an erotic contrast to his black strands.

  As he kissed and sucked with a tender mouth, he also cupped my face softly in his hand, his thumb grazing my bottom lip.

  His gentle touch was my undoing. A levee that had formed around my heart crumbled, and a flood of need and sadness and desire flowed through me.

  I gasped.

  “Caleb,” I moaned, then snapped my eyes open. Oh, Christ. I’d just called Colin by his brother’s name. I had no business being here, doing this. I had to leave. Or die. Or something.

  He looked up at me and moved up my naked body, propping himself on his forearms. I could feel his half-hard cock on my belly. It was a tense few seconds as he stared at me. Stroking my hair and bestowing a few, fluttering kisses on my mouth, he sighed.

  “Let’s just sleep, Emma,” he murmured. “We’re both too drunk for this.”

  I nodded as he slid to my side, holding me. His arm clasped me tight, and while it felt good, it also didn’t feel right. I rolled over, so he was spooning me. My body was suddenly too warm, and I wriggled out of his grasp so only his hand rested on my waist. Within minutes, he was snoring.

  Fading in and out of drunkenness as the room spun, I wondered what Charlotte was doing.

  Charlotte.

  My daughter.

  My eyes peeled open. Here I was, in bed with my daughter’s uncle. Could I be a worse mother? Guilt surged through me. Jesus! Colin rolled over, away from me, and I shivered. Now I felt chilly. I poked Colin, then rubbed his back, hoping for a reaction. For him to hold me, to act like Caleb would have, something. Any little shred of intimacy.

  Colin continued to snore.

  I shimmied onto my back, then sat up, wobbling from the exertion.

  “Um, Colin?” I shook his shoulder and repeated his name. He didn’t wake up. A cruel mixture of shame and frustration warred within me, and neither were emotions I ever associated with sex.

  I inhaled sharply, and Colin’s Armani Mania cologne was suddenly everywhere in my nose, on my hair, and permeating my skin. I was gripped with an urge to run back to my room and shower the smell away.

  Without trying to be quiet, I threw on my bra, dress, and flip-flops and went into the bathroom. I turned on the light and pressed my fingers to my mouth, horrified at how red and kiss-stung my lips were.

  Stung from a man other than my husband.

  His own brother.

  My sapphire and diamond engagement ring sparkled in the harsh, unforgiving bathroom light. I looked down and saw Colin had neatly arranged all of his toiletries on the counter; he’d even nestled his toothbrush and toothpaste into a glass. So much like Caleb.

  I choked back a sob as I squirted some toothpaste on my finger and swiped it around my teeth. I didn’t bother putting the tube back into the cup and flung it on the side of the lavatory, knowing it would probably annoy him in the morning. Spitting into the sink, disgusted with myself, I turned off the light, pulled open the door, and fled Colin’s room.

  He never noticed that I left the bed.

  Chapter 8

  I spent the next few hours showering (three times), vomiting (twice), and attempting to sleep (unsuccessfully, for about an hour).

  Summoning all of my energy, I called Sarah at six to see how Charlotte was.

  “She’s perfect,” Sarah said in a loud, chipper voice that made my head split in two. I wanted to fucking die and vowed to never drink again.

  “Awesome!” I mumbled, realizing my voice sounded smoky and hoarse. “I think I’m getting some al
lergies down here. See you in a few hours.”

  A half-hour later, I groaned aloud when I peeked out the curtains and saw the pink-orange Miami sun poke above the bay. I had a ten o’clock flight back to Orlando, and since it was rush hour and because I was moving with all the speed of a tortoise, it would likely take twice the time to get to the airport. I jammed all of my crap into my suitcase and donned my other long maxi-dress, this one with red and white stripes. I paused, looking at the mess in my bag, wondering what I was leaving behind.

  I pressed my hand to my chest, panic squeezing my chest. Enough to make me wonder if I was in cardiac arrest. Holy shit, I’d left my underwear in Colin’s room. My plain beige underwear. Shuddering, I threw on a pair of sunglasses, not wanting to face myself in the mirror or think about how he’d find the panties on the floor when he rolled out of bed.

  Praying I wouldn’t run into Colin in the hall or the lobby, I quietly asked the concierge to call a taxi. My head and face throbbed with such an awful hangover that I couldn’t even muster the energy to tap my phone for an Uber. Plus, I didn’t want to look at my phone and feel the humiliation of a text from Colin.

  Or worse, no text from Colin. After all, he was most likely as mortified as I was and probably wanted to forget about our interlude. I walked to the taxi and rode with a permanent grimace on my face, the expression firmly in place as I checked in.

  “Are you sick?” the gate agent asked.

  “Allergies,” I whispered, sniffling for effect and wiping tears from my eyes.

  After takeoff, I undid the seat back tray table and slumped onto it, trying to sleep. But the flight was bumpy and I became more nauseous. Ignoring the seat belt sign, I wove down the aisle to the bathroom, then dry-heaved at the sight of the toilet.

  I was a total mess. Like a college student. Worse. This was quite possibly the least dignified moment of my adult life.

  Taking a deep breath and staring at myself in the airplane bathroom mirror, I vowed to forget about the previous night. It was a mistake borne out of grief and sadness and one that wouldn’t be repeated because the guilt percolated within and threatened to engulf me.