Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4)

by Tamara Lush

  At Caleb, for disappearing. For not being there for me when I needed him most. For not stopping his brother from kissing me. None of this was Colin’s fault, of course. Somewhere in his misguided heart, he was a good man. He was grieving his brother and grasping for something, anything, to make him feel better. I was squarely in his path. It didn’t mean I could change him, though.

  He’d continue to be Charlotte’s devoted uncle, and I was grateful for that.

  But it was all he was capable of. All I’d allow. I could see the final moments with Colin even before they began, and everything flashed disaster. My lust for Colin had never really been about him; it was about my desire for my husband.

  Colin was a stand-in. And, with his own grief-shattered heart beating under his cool exterior, he was a volatile and dangerous stand-in.

  How did he describe us?

  Balanced and excellent? I huffed out a cynical laugh. We were anything but.

  And fucking him, allowing myself to open up emotionally to him, wasn’t the answer. He’d break my heart. Or I’d break his. Or something awful. I just knew it.

  He was like a twenty-car pileup. And I was the twenty-first car.

  Lucky, to have avoided tragedy.

  I turned to the nursery bureau, where I’d placed a framed photo of Caleb from our wedding.

  “I’m sorry, Caleb,” I whispered. “I never really wanted him. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

  Chapter 9

  For the next several days, I shook with near-fury, almost blinded by my anger. Not around Charlotte—it was easy to quell my emotions around her sweet babbling and her eager attempts to scoot across the floor. She’d also sprouted a personality in recent weeks, holding up toys, then screaming with laughter only after I’d reacted. It was magical to witness.

  But when she was asleep, I felt like taking one of Caleb’s golf clubs from the closet and breaking every window in the penthouse in a white-hot rage.

  Damn you for leaving, I scrawled to him in my journal, writing for the first time in months. Damn you for leaving ME when I was so pregnant. Damn you for not coming back and for putting me in the path of your predatory brother. Who, by the way, I think is drinking too much. So damn you for that, too.

  I’m starting to hate you, Caleb Matthew King.

  At night I drank nothing stronger than tea and wrote more. Instead of fiction, I free-flowed and journaled. I wrote of my wrath. About my pent-up sexual frustration. (I hadn’t had an orgasm in months, not even in my stupid, erotic dreams, and I’d been too tired to masturbate). About my desire to be a good example for my daughter, unlike my own parents.

  I made some decisions and wrote those down, too.

  On Saturday, I dressed Charlotte in a denim hat and a bright yellow onesie with the words “Crazy Coconut” on the front, packed her into the Mercedes, and drove to the bookstore. I hadn’t been to the shop for weeks, not since before the Miami debacle. Sarah’s eyebrows jumped when she saw me walk in, pushing Charlotte in her stroller. Laura was there, too, and she beamed.

  Somehow, the smell of books instantly made me feel at home. I’d been away from my rock, my place of strength, too long. That was about to change.

  “Wow! Look who’s here!” Laura cried, pouncing on Charlotte and freeing her from the stroller. She walked around the store with the baby on her hip, pointing out different books. I approached Sarah.

  “You look good,” she said, eyeing me up and down.

  “For a change, you should have added.” I was wearing a pale yellow jersey wrap dress, with silver flats and silver jewelry. My hair was up in a ponytail. “I even wrangled Charlotte into her bouncy seat in the bathroom so I could shower for three whole minutes. I deserve a medal.”

  “Showering’s done wonders. Or maybe Miami did. Don’t know which. You look almost like your old self.”

  I snorted. Miami had done wonders for me, all right. “I can’t say I feel like my old self, but I have made a decision.”

  Laura emerged from the stacks, bouncing Charlotte on her hip. “I want to hear this, too.”

  I looked at both of them triumphantly. “I’m going to hire a nanny for two half-days a week. You’re both right. I need to get out of the house. Maybe I’d feel differently if Caleb was here, and he was coming home to me every night. But…” I inhaled, staving off a lump in my throat. “…but that’s not reality. I need to get out a little and be around others for my own sanity. I’m also going to join a mom’s exercise playgroup that’s formed in the condo and…” I took another deep breath.

  “And?” Sarah probed.

  “I’m making an appointment with a therapist on Monday.”

  Laura whooped and waved Charlotte’s arm in the air, which made the baby giggle. “See? Mommy’s a smart woman,” she said to my daughter. “She knows what she wants and she knows it’s good for you, too.”

  “I’m not sure I’m smart,” I muttered. “But I need to find the old me.”

  Sarah threw her arms around me. “I love the new you and the old you, too.”

  When I started to cry, I realized it was the first time tears had run down my cheeks in days. Maybe anger was exactly what I needed.

  * * *

  That evening, I bopped around the condo, singing to Charlotte. She especially loved my renditions of Amy Winehouse songs and laughed and bounced in her high chair as I belted tunes out in a throaty voice and pureed sweet potatoes. I’d bought a package of Oreos for me.

  Our big plan was to snack, read a few picture books, and then go to bed. Tonight I was wearing a new set of blue-and-white flower print cotton sleep shorts and a matching, button-up top. I’d ordered it online a couple of days before, along with a few other new things, vowing to stop wearing Caleb’s now-tired and stained T-shirts.

  My phone rang.

  “Who is calling us, babykins?” I said to Charlotte.

  “Ba-ba,” she replied. “Da-da.”

  I shot her a side eye, startled. She’d never said da-da before. I knew it was probably a reflexive babble, phonetically close to her usual ba-ba and ma-ma sounds. I’d never called Caleb Da-da—I’d always referred to him as daddy and usually in a tearful whisper.

  I tapped on the phone, eyeing my daughter. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. King, your brother-in-law is on his way up.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “James, I thought we talked about this. Don’t send anyone up unless I okay it.”

  “Ma’am, I’m…I’m…sorry.”

  He hung up, and I scowled at the phone. What the hell? James was usually so pleasant and accommodating to my wishes. And why was Colin visiting when I told him I didn’t want to have dinner with him? Jesus. I didn’t want a scene or a showdown with him.

  The elevator dinged, and I looked up, my eyes narrowing. Colin burst out before the doors were even fully open and bounded to me.

  “Colin, I told you, I don’t want to have dinner. I don’t want—”

  “Shut up.” His voice was fierce, desperate. I gasped as he grasped my shoulders in his strong hands. He shook me, hard, like men did to women in old-time movies. I protested with a yelp and considered slapping his face, but Charlotte started to cry.

  “Colin, wha—”

  “Emma.” Colin was out of breath, and when I saw the tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes, I stilled in his grip and he repeated my name, shouting it in an uncharacteristically excited voice.

  “Caleb’s been found.”

  THE END

  Emma and Caleb’s explosive conclusion is revealed in TELL ME A TRUTH. Episode FIVE of The Story Series is available exclusively on Amazon.

  * * *

  Keep reading for a preview of Tamara Lush’s standalone novel about a second chance at first love, INTO THE HEAT. Available now from Boroughs Publishing Group.

  INTO THE HEAT

  Jessica moved lightly, never taking her eyes off the guy. His skin was a warm bronze hue and his muscular thighs had sunk into the sand. He wore only blue surf shorts
, and while she had grown up on the beach, it was rare that such a stunning specimen of manhood graced the sleepy Palmira shores. If only she could remain invisible while sculpting her sand creation, free to admire this guy’s beauty without having to make small talk, then life would be perfect.

  She stopped swinging her bucket, so the tools wouldn’t make a sound.

  A sketchbook sat in front of the guy on the sand, and he held a pencil in one large, masculine hand, drawing with broad strokes. Jessica took a few more steps toward her sand pile, which also conveniently allowed her to get a better look at the guy’s profile. What she saw turned her grin into an open-mouthed gape.

  No. It can’t be.

  Leo Villeneuve? Inhaling a long, thin breath, she narrowed her eyes. Was it possible? Her first kiss. Her first love. Her first heartbreak.

  She took off her sunglasses. Was it really him? Yep, it was. She could tell by the shape of his long, straight nose. And by the way his full lips pushed out slightly as he concentrated on the sketchbook. Those lips had kissed her, and the memory of all the places they’d touched— her neck, her nipples, in between her legs—made her shiver in the hot sun as if a single ice cube had been dropped down the back of her shirt.

  “Jess, you’re my first. And I’m your first and I don’t want there ever to be anyone else.”

  It made her unsteady to recall his lazy New Orleans accent and how he’d whispered honey- sweet promises and dirty declarations in her ear all while he did wicked things to her body. Things that she’d allowed no one to do in the five years since.

  Leo and his father had vacationed on Palmira and stayed at the hotel for two weeks. Her mom and his dad were old friends. Old good friends, apparently, because the minute they arrived Jess’s mom had become less strict. Jess and Leo had taken to each other quickly, talking about music and video games and movies. He’d been surprised that she liked the Iron Man franchise as much as he did.

  They’d kissed on Christmas Eve, the second night they knew each other, and spent the next several days doing everything but sex. She’d been wary but so excited. Leo never once tried to push her to do more than she wanted, and soon she was ready to try it all with him.

  A week later, it happened. Leo slipped into her room after the adults were asleep. They’d lost their virginity to each other—awkwardly. She remembered how she hadn’t had an orgasm from sex like she had with his hands and tongue, but it was pretty wonderful nonetheless.

  They’d kept having sex over the rest of the vacation, seemingly every moment they could steal away. Things had quickly stopped being awkward. More like explosive.

  “All of you, from your head to your toes and everything in between, is mine. You’re mine, Jess. And I’m yours. Always will be, babe. Forever. I love you.”

  Jessica straightened. It had been five years, and she’d heard nary a word. So, why the hell was her heart pounding like this? It was as if she had sprinted from her car to the beach. This was not what she wanted.

  How unfair. She hadn’t felt this kind of adrenaline rush around any guy in years. Not with the couple of dudes she’d gone out with in college, and not with Jacob, her douche bag of an ex-boyfriend. No, there was only one man who’d ever made her feel this crazy, and he was the one who’d disappeared after what felt like a soul mate connection. And now he was kneeling on the beach in front of her, looking hotter than any man had a right to.

  Oh. My. God. Turn around and run. Fast.

  She couldn’t move. The sight of him riveted her in place. Instead of the cute, sinewy boy who’d stolen her teenage heart that winter five years ago, this was a man kneeling before her. He looked like he’d been sculpted from fire—and sin. What the heck was he doing here?

  Her eyes scanned the beach. There was no one around except for her and this newer, hotter version of her first love. He definitely hadn’t had biceps like that five years ago. Or all those tattoos. His dark hair was short and severe now, no longer curly. His skin looked lickable and smooth, with only a slight sheen of sweat that made her want to glide her hands over his body and linger on every ridge and valley. Like she used to. When she knew him before, he had looked like a sweet lead singer in a boy band. Now those high cheekbones made him look a little feline and a lot arrogant. Hard and sexy, like he was used to taking what he wanted and to hell with everything else.

  Or was she imagining all that?

  She stepped back, poised to turn, but a curious voice inside of her commanded her to stay. She hadn’t thought of Leo in a long while, mostly because other, bigger tragedies had taken his place. And because what had been the point?

  Slipping her sunglasses over her eyes again, she felt an uncomfortable awkwardness wash over her. What could she even say to this near stranger? She suspected that after all these years they would have nothing in common—if they ever had. They’d just been a couple of foolish kids…with an insane amount of physical chemistry.

  Tugging at the hem of her oversized T-shirt, she wished she’d worn something other than it and this old pair of jean shorts. As always, she wondered how she looked. Ugly? Fat? She was bigger than she’d been in high school. More womanly. Well, there was nothing she could do now unless she sprinted off the beach.

  Her heart thumped hard. With a pulsing, annoying cadence, her right eye twitched in time. Since everything had happened, her eye did that when she was stressed or anxious. It was unnerving how one tiny muscle could sense her emotions.

  Leo. She had to say something to him, be polite and act like a mature adult, not a brooding, heartbroken teenager—which was what she felt like as she blinked several times as if to clear the sight of him out of her eyes. Her sister was always telling her to put on her big girl panties and stop being a baby. “Woman up,” Nicole always said. Well, this was the time for it. She was overreacting, anyway. Right?

  She’d been staring at him for several moments. He hadn’t seen her and appeared to be deep in concentration, which was fine with her; it allowed her more time to gawk at his hard body, which practically radiated testosterone. She needed to get a handle on what she’d do before he finally acknowledged her presence. She took a big breath, willing herself to stomp down the excitement of seeing him in the flesh. It was only February, and she was determined to have a better year than the last. But seeing Leo again almost guaranteed that life was about to get very, very complicated.

  Also by Tamara Lush

  THE STORY SERIES

  Tell Me a Story: Episode One

  Tell Me a Desire: Episode Two

  Tell Me a Lie: Episode Three

  Tell Me a Secret: Episode Four

  Tell Me a Truth: Episode Five

  * * *

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  Hot Shade

  Into the Heat

  About the Author

  During the day, Tamara Lush is a journalist with The Associated Press. At night, she writes fictional romance tales about complicated, sexy men and the women who love them.

  When Tamara isn’t reporting, writing or reading, she’s doing yoga, cooking for her Italian husband or chasing her dogs along a beach on Florida's Gulf Coast.

  She loves connecting with people on social media. Go to her website at www.tamaralush.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like details on new releases, exclusive content and adorable photos of her dogs.

  @tamaralush

  tamaralushwrites