Secrets and Lies

by Capri Montgomery

  He didn’t need to worry about her either. She could take care of herself, plus, Thomas would be spending the night—again. Thinking about Thomas made her lips curve upward into the most salacious smile. Before she left his office she had been sure he was going to kiss her again. He had stood up, looked at her so seriously and said, “Thena,” with that deep honey voice of his. When she acknowledged him he said, “Before you leave my office you might want to fix your hair. Otherwise Janet’s going to have a fairly good idea of what you were doing in here.”

  She had gasped at her own lapse in memory. She had fixed her skirt, re-secured her blouse within the waistband, tried to make sure her cheeks weren’t too flushed by thinking about anything and everything other than what they had shared on his deep mahogany desk, but she had forgotten her hair.

  She marched back over to his desk, picked up her clip, ran her fingers through her hair and quickly secured her hair loosely in the binding of the clip.

  Just thinking about her painfully delicious afternoon had her checking the clock. The big, black roman numerals assured her it was only seven o’clock. Seven…that meant she had an hour before Thomas showed up. An hour…what could she do to take her mind off him for an entire hour? As it stood, before Kyle called she had been staring at the same floor schematics for twenty minutes.

  “Kyle,” she smiled. “I’m going to get back to work, and you’re going to go do whatever it was you were getting ready to do.”

  “Yes, mother,” he laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You will?” She didn’t remember making plans to see him at any point this week.

  “Yeah, remember you offered to help me fix the design. I need you, you’re my genius.”

  She laughed. “I forgot.” Or more like she hadn’t realized she had set a date for that already. She didn’t realize it because she hadn’t done it. They hadn’t finalized the details. “Okay, come by my office—”

  “It’ll be after hours. I’d prefer to just stop by your place.”

  She hesitated. Thomas would most likely be at her place again, and she was sure neither she nor Thomas would be thinking about work. “Okay,” she agreed. “But, I have an early morning Wednesday. I’m back on the construction site with the code inspector and I need to be bright as day for that meeting.” Eddie Mason was as hardnosed as they came. She hadn’t failed any inspections for any of her sites yet, and she didn’t plan to start with this project either. They were behind, finding a dead body in the walls would do that to any site, but finding her mother’s dead body…well that knocked everything out of balance, for her and for the construction site. She hadn’t been back since that night she almost ended up as road kill. She had left everything to the foreman, but now she had to get back to all of her responsibilities, back to her life. She couldn’t let current events ruin everything her father had worked so hard for—everything she was working so hard for.

  Deciding a shower would be better than sitting around waiting for Thomas to get home she stepped into the glass blocked walk-in shower. The gray stone floor felt cool beneath her feet, but she knew it would quickly warm once the shower steamed it up a bit. She had installed a body spa system. “So many showerheads for one little body.” She smiled. Her little body loved the feel of all those shower heads, the cascading water down her naked body felt like a massage without the invasive feeling she always got whenever she went for a spa day. She couldn’t understand why the guys felt the need to give her a set of power tools and a voucher for a spa day every birthday. The power tools she loved, the spa day, not so much. She had told them they didn’t have to buy her anything. She knew how much they made—she wrote their checks out every week. They weren’t destitute, at least not because of her pay scale. Blue collar workers had always had better income than a lot of office workers. She had an apprentice working with her now who made twenty dollars an hour, and her more seasoned workers were pulling in close to eighty an hour. The profession paid well, she paid even better. Without these men buildings wouldn’t be built. She appreciated every sacrifice they made, every risk they took. Construction wasn’t an injury free business, and she knew it took a special kind of person to roll their sleeves up and get to work in a much underappreciated profession. Her father believed in showing his appreciation and she did too.

  She spread the creamy powder fresh scented lotion on her body and then wrapped herself in her red, nineteen forties inspired satin house coat. She had the matching house shoes that looked as if they could be worn out to a party too. She loved glamour, especially the old fashioned kind. She had bought a few pieces from a swanky vintage clothing store while she was in New York and she loved all of them. Of course, being short, she found herself having to cut about three inches off every piece. It was a good thing she knew how to sew. Before her dad started taking her to work with him, and before she fell in love with construction, she thought she would be a fashion designer. She was eight when she visited her first construction site, she was there because school was out for spring break and her mother had to work, her father had to work, and it was either go to work with dad or go to a sitter. Her parents didn’t trust sitters so she went to work with her dad. She was hooked; from that day on she soaked up everything she could about construction and building codes. She soon realized she didn’t just want to build those buildings, she wanted to design them. She started drawing designs that her father would critique and show her how to bring them up to code. He would tell her that it wasn’t practical to put the toilet on the other wall, even if it was stylish, because all of her plumbing was on the other side of the bathroom. Between her style, and his know-how, she learned how to design before she even went to college for it. In fact, she could have skipped college and been happy doing so…but school was mandatory. Her father had said he wanted her to have an education, because even though it was a piece of paper, that piece of paper would help her go places, break down barriers, and help her be more than what people thought the color of her skin should allow her to be. Her dad, the philosopher; she smiled just thinking about him.

  She missed having family. Her father wasn’t close to his parents. His mother had killed herself when he was sixteen, and his father had retreated into a shell of disdain for anything that reminded him of his now dead wife. Thena’s father had told her, only once, of the pain he had faced. It was his way of explaining to her why he struggled everyday to go on after her mother went missing.

  His mother had been raped, became pregnant and after deciding not to have an abortion she had the baby. She couldn’t even look at it without remembering what happened to her, so she and his dad had decided giving it away was best. It had been several years before he found out that it, as his parents referred to the baby as, was a girl.

  His mother sunk deeper into her depression, remembering what happened to her, remembering the baby she had given birth to. He heard her say once that it wasn’t right to bring such evil into this world. He couldn’t understand that. The baby was a part of her, but he realized at the time that maybe his mother was thinking of the evil that her daughter had been conceived through. She blamed herself for everything, and instead of getting help, she listened to her husband, the man who was supposed to love her unconditionally, when he told her they didn’t go around telling people about their problems. A year later she killed herself. Her suicide note spoke of the baby, of her guilt for brining such evil into the world and the fact that she didn’t want to live to see what would become of her one day. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, her thinking. He had said if only she had talked to somebody, got help and realized it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t the baby’s fault, that maybe things would be different. He had blamed his father for his mother’s death and when he turned eighteen he left home and never looked back. He left San Francisco for Boston, and vowed to never return.

  Her father never again spoke of the past, of his family, of any of them. She never asked him to because it clearly caused him immeasurable
pain. She wouldn’t do that to her dad. Even now, after all these years, she didn’t even want to know the man who had hurt her father so much that he would flee his home.

  The doorbell ringing pulled her out of her cage of memories. It had to be Thomas. She looked at the clock; it was close enough to eight so it could be Thomas. She hurried down the hall to the front door without turning on too many lights as she went. The porch light was already on so she checked the peephole first, just to be sure it was indeed Thomas, before disarming the alarm and letting him inside.

  “How was the rest of your day?”

  “Miserable,” he admitted.

  “Uh, oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he kicked the door shut and turned the latch. “I’ve been like stone all afternoon,” he pulled her flush against his body.

  She smiled. “I see. Well, maybe after dinner we can do something about that. I just have to warm it in the oven.” She hadn’t actually started warming dinner because she was distracted, and really hadn’t thought about food since she got home. She pulled out of his embrace and turned to head toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not hungry,” he grabbed her arm, spinning her into him and then walking her back toward the wall. “Not for food anyway.” He untied the belt that held her nightgown closed, letting his hand rub against her bare, smooth skin. He tossed the brown paper bag housing a box of condoms onto the floor. Then he pushed her satin nightgown off her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles. She was beautiful, every inch of her.

  He lifted her, effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He heard the thud, thud sound of her shoes hitting the floor. “Aren’t we going to need that?” She pointed to the bag on the floor. He grinned and pulled one wrapped condom from his pocket. “I came prepared,” he said before his lips commenced their attack on her body. He sucked, licked, caressed and kissed, building her to a feverish need.

  He tasted her mouth, her shoulders, her breasts; letting his tongue seduce her, prepare her for what he could no longer wait for. He deftly released the button and unzipped the zipper on his pants before pushing the fabric, followed by his underwear, over his waist. He didn’t bother to step out of the mess of clothes; that would take too much time and right now time was not something he could waste. With jerky movements he dressed himself with the latex before looking into her eyes. “I can’t wait,” he groaned.

  “You don’t have to,” she whispered.

  As if that was all the permission his body needed he positioned himself, ready, willing, able and he sunk into her, letting her body slide down his hardened member. She cried out, clinging to him as he thrust in and out of her, easing her up and letting her drop back down on his body, impaling her with the width and length of him.

  He had wanted this, wanted her. Her breathy moans pushed him over the edge, making him thrust harder. He hung his head, licking her shoulder, nipping it with his teeth in between each tumultuous thrust. The slick sounds of their love making filled his ears as he pounded into her. Her moans, her breathy cries and the sound of her body thudding against the wall permeated the small corridor leading from foyer to dining room. He should have taken her to bed, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t resist his urge, his need to be inside of her.

  She held him tight, her muscles squeezing around him. “Thomas,” she cried out as he thrust into her again. “Thomas, please! Yes…” she moaned, her words giving way to more of those breathy cries that he loved to hear. He lifted his head so that his eyes could watch her reach her climax, a climax he knew was near.

  Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, caught on a breath as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Oh,” she moaned. “Yes,” another breathy cry rung out so sweetly. She was beautiful, sexy, and even more so when she came. He thrust into her with a force so powerful that she came hard and loud; her inner muscles gave a series of tight spasms on his shaft drawing out his own release.

  In the aftermath he couldn’t move, didn’t want to. He buried his face against her neck, thrusting his tongue out sporadically to get a taste of the sheen of sweat that glistened on her body. This was the taste of his woman. She was sweet like candy and honey mixed, and he loved it. He didn’t think he would ever be able to get her taste out of his system, off of his tongue. She had ruined him for other women because he knew, as long as he lived, there would never be another woman who tasted as good as her, who felt as good as her.

  He had just come with an explosion and already he wanted her again, felt himself building for her again. This time he would do it right, not like some animal in a rush to claim victory, to have a sexual conquest that would bond her to him and no other man, to make her his. This time he would make it to the bedroom.

  Chapter Ten

  Making it to the bedroom had been an Olympic challenge in and of itself. Thomas had clumsily kicked off his shoes and disentangled himself from the pile of fabric wrapped around his ankles, but he hadn’t extricated himself from her body. Instead of putting her down and letting her walk, he carried her, still locked inside of her, down the hall to the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom was definitely closer than her bedroom, which was a good thing because he was still hard and each sway of his body slowly built her toward another climax. When he placed her on the bed, his erection pushed just a little deeper into her and she cried out in ecstasy. He felt so good, so wonderfully, blissfully good that her body couldn’t resist giving its own form of thanks, by way of another earth tilting orgasm.

  She was in trouble. She was in so much trouble. This man wasn’t somebody she could just work out of her system. This man was dangerous to a woman’s single lifestyle. He was dangerous to her heart. If he woke up tomorrow and decided he’d had enough, her body and her heart would morn the loss.

  No man had ever taken her so completely, claimed her body so fiercely that she couldn’t imagine ever being with another man—but he had. Thomas McGregor had staked his claim and no other man would ever do.

  He pulled out of her and untangled himself from her arms that were snuggly wrapped around his shoulders. She moaned a protest as she opened her eyes to see where he was going.

  “Oh,” she smiled watching him carefully remove the condom. He disappeared into the connected bathroom for a few seconds and then he was back by her side. He leaned on one elbow, leaning over her and staring at her body. One calloused hand slid down her belly and found a comfortable resting spot between her legs. “Hmmm…” she moaned as she closed her legs tight, trapping his hand against her thighs and stopping his assault on her already sensitive flesh.

  He laughed. “You think that will stop me?” He grinned devilishly. No she didn’t think that would stop him; it hadn’t stopped him.

  He tugged his hand free and brushed his fingers up the side of her belly. She giggled, so he did it again.

  “Stop that,” she laughed.

  “Ticklish,” he grinned before letting his hands roam her body. She laughed and wiggled and cried out as he continued to tickle her everywhere.

  “Stop, stop,” she said through broken breaths as she laughed heartedly. Her breasts swayed as she tossed and turned to try to get away from his playing hands.

  When he stopped to let her take a breath she pushed him onto his back and held his wrists at either side of his head as she straddled his body.

  “You are impossible,” she said breathlessly.

  He groaned with male satisfaction and approval as he looked at the small breasts hovering just above him. “I love your breasts,” he mumbled hotly as he looked into her eyes.

  “They’re so small,” she said. How could he be that fascinated with them?

  “They’re perfect,” he easily removed his wrists from her grasp as he leaned up onto his elbows, bringing his mouth closer to the objects of their current conversation. He reached one hand out and let it close over her left breast. The contrast of big to small, rough to smooth was arousing. His finger stroked her areole, squee
zing and pinching her puckered nipple, making it harder, tighter, more sensitive. “Thomas,” she moaned. “What are you doing to me?” He was claiming every part of her body as his, making sure she knew no other man would ever bring her body this kind of pleasure.

  “Let’s see how perfectly they fit with my mouth.” He leaned in and placed his mouth to her breast, sucking and licking and stroking with his tongue. He closed his mouth over her breast once more and let his mouth caress her tenderly, as if making love to her breast with his mouth, his tongue. She threw her head back on a low, sultry moan, her soft curls cascading down her back.

  He lifted his eyes to watch her before pulling back. “The right one fits perfectly,” he grinned as he looked into her eyes. “Let’s see about the left.” And he did just that, giving the same love and sensuous attention to her left breast just as he had the right one. “Oh yeah, that one’s perfect too.” He gently grazed his teeth over her nipple.

  She pushed him back down onto the bed, securing his wrists to their previous position. She knew at any moment he could extract himself from her hold if he really wanted to. She knew he was letting her play, letting her have the upper hand. She looked deep into his eyes. “You naughty, man.” She moved her breasts closer to his mouth and he eased up to close his lips over her left breasts. She could feel the muscles in his stomach working with the effort the position required to hold, but his mouth kept sucking, as if the burn she knew had to be growing in his stomach muscles didn’t bother him at all.

  He pulled back. “You’re delicious woman—everywhere.” He thrust his tongue out once again. She pulled back.

  “Stop that. You’re not going to continue to entice me. I have to make you pay for tickling me.” She pulled back farther when he tried to reach up and suck a breast again. He groaned and she laughed. I am not without my wiles.”