Legacy of Lies

by Tara Leigh

  “I know, and I’d like that, too. Her birthday isn’t for months, anyway. Let’s put Romy’s best interests ahead of our own, shall we? Besides, you need to focus on getting your business going, and finding an appropriate man to start a family with. You can’t do that if you’re spending all your time running back and forth to Connecticut. You understand that, don’t you?”

  I winced. Nina’s desire to pawn me off on the nearest hedge-funder with a high sperm count was delivered with the grace of a sledgehammer. It was becoming increasingly clear that she wanted to keep me at arm’s length from her and Romy. But she and Romy were my family.

  Which brought my mind right back to Tripp. He didn’t even know Romy existed. If he found out . . . I couldn’t imagine how furious he would be. Would he want to meet her? Become a part of her life? Pretend that he and Nina were her real parents, while I remained her older sister?

  “Jolie? Are you still there?” Nina’s voice brought me back to the present, and I realized I’d inadvertently let the phone fall onto the mattress—which was probably for the best. I didn’t need her trying to read my mind.

  Rubbing at the skin bunching together between my brows, I raised it again. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “I have someone I’d like you to meet, maybe go to dinner with.”

  My frown didn’t want to go away. “Like a blind date?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  I gave a rueful laugh. “Seriously, Nina?”

  “Yes, seriously. Brad is a much better choice than getting involved with someone you’ve hired. It’s like dating the help—it simply isn’t done. Especially when there’s absolutely no reason to have hired him in the first place. Now, I really think—”

  “That I should be married, the sooner the better. Got it.”

  “What? You’re almost thirty, wouldn’t it be nice to settle down?”

  The only man I’d ever imagined sharing my life with was Tripp. And that was just . . . impossible. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Go out with Brad once, for me. He’s the stepson of a friend of mine. I’ve met him, he’s a lovely man.”

  I gnawed at the inside of my cheek, saying nothing. Maybe Nina was right. I’d been only too eager to fall back into Tripp’s arms. And Lance was in California. Even a bad blind date had to be better than sitting home alone, fantasizing about what would have happened if I’d stayed in Tripp’s apartment, in his arms.

  “Unless of course that man in the photo means more to you than you’re letting on.”

  I bit back a groan. “Fine.” Any distraction was better than none. Maybe.

  “That’s all I ask, thank you.”

  Ending the call, I immediately pulled up my Instagram account.

  The image Nina had been talking about was at the top of my feed, and had been cropped just enough to obscure Tripp’s identity. But I knew.

  I dragged a fingernail over his cheekbone, drinking in the image with a mixture of reverence and regret. Damn you, Tripp Montgomery.

  My initial excitement about Lance had allowed me to believe, for just a few short weeks, that I could find happiness with someone else. That Tripp wasn’t the only man to ever make my blood run hot and my thoughts turn dirty. The only man to make me believe that this Park Avenue Princess might just get her happily ever after.

  I should have known better than to believe in fairy tales.

  As if Eva knew I was online, checking out her work, a text popped up.

  Eva: Thought u might want to see the full shot . . .

  A second later, my jaw dropped, tears pricking at my eyes. The ‘full shot’ was Tripp's arms wrapped around my back and under my knees, my hands entwined behind his neck. One glance at the way our fingertips were curled into each other gave away the passion and intimacy of our embrace. Seeing it brought back the feeling of being pressed against Tripp's hard chest, and the taste of his mouth, minty sweet, like he'd just sucked on a candy cane.

  Lust and longing didn't blend easily with regret and remorse, and the noxious cocktail made my head spin. Without even thinking, my hand crept between my legs, drawn to the heat. Realizing what I was doing, I stopped, chastising myself as I thumbed off a text to Eva.

  Jolie: This cannot be posted. Anywhere.

  Eva: Of course not. It's for your eyes only. Have you come to your senses and jumped Romeo’s bones yet?

  Jolie: Romeo?

  Eva: Yes—he’s the perfect tragic hero!

  Jolie: Have you actually read Romeo & Juliet? You know they die in the end, right?

  Eva: If that’s all you remember, then you definitely need to spend a night with Tripp.

  I paused, staring at the keyboard, forcing myself to tap out another text.

  Jolie: That’s the last thing I need. Not. Interested.

  Eva: The lady doth protest too much, methinks. ;)

  24

  Tripp

  I couldn’t get Jolie off my mind.

  There was a time when I thought I knew her, understood her as well as I did myself. But her actions didn’t make sense.

  She and I were both fighters, warriors. We conquered a scandal that could have destroyed us, building careers from nothing but ashes and ambition.

  Yet, when it came to me, to us . . . she’d walked off the field. Forfeiting. Twice.

  I had a shit ton of work to do, but I’d been half-assing it since Jolie’s email appeared in my inbox. Well, Lance’s inbox.

  And that was going to stop. Tonight.

  Lance: I’m in New York.

  Jolie: Finally bringing your line of sharpie-swimwear to the fashion capital of the world?

  My lips twitched. I wouldn’t be seeing the lighthearted side of her tonight.

  Lance: Something like that. Where are you?

  Jolie: Honestly? On the worst blind date ever.

  Lance: Perfect, I’ll come rescue you.

  An address appeared on my screen.

  Jolie: Text when you get here. I’ll make up an excuse and meet you outside.

  I was out my door and in the elevator before my screen went black, a cab dropping me off outside the Gramercy Park restaurant twenty minutes later.

  Even through the window, Jolie’s waist-length riot of hair was impossible to miss. It cascaded down her back, transformed into an undulating river of gold by the bright spotlights overhead. She shined like a beacon, an angel, in the crowded room.

  Lance: Full Disclosure.

  And then I sent an image. The original one I’d taken, with the yellow polka dot bikini drawn across my chest with highlighter. This time, I didn’t crop it to cut my head off at the neck. I wasn’t smiling, and my expression was direct and focused. But it was me.

  A minute later, the front door flew open and Jolie was standing in front of me, her cheeks flushed, eyes like blue flames. “You— you, asshole.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  For a moment, she just glared at me, her mind whirring so loudly I could hear it. “An argument? How about an apology?”

  “Fine. You first.”

  “Me? What on earth for?” An emotion I couldn’t name passed over her features. But then she shook her head, willing it away. “Forget it. I don’t want anything from you, Tripp. Not a damn thing.”

  She brushed past me, the citrus scent that enveloped her an assault on my nostrils. I gnashed my teeth and caught up with her. “Now you’re lying, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell wanted what I gave you the other night.”

  “An orgasm?” Jolie leveled a sideways glare at me as a humorless chuckle ripped from her throat. “Yeah, your mouth between my legs was fan-fucking-tastic. There, happy?”

  No. I wasn’t. Not by a longshot. A parasite of anger had burrowed its way into my chest, spreading its venom with each thump of my heart. I was still so furious I doubted I’d be happy even if my dick was between her legs.

  But it didn’t stop me from wanting to do just that—get lost in her impassioned anger, get lost in her.
r />   At the next intersection, Jolie tried to cross the street during a break in traffic, not seeing the black Prius dart to the side of the cab in front. I managed to grab Jolie's arm just in time, hauling her against me. Her eyes rounded as the Prius honked angrily, and she flipped her middle finger at the driver with an outraged yell.

  It took her a moment to realize that I’d invaded her personal space, but before she could jerk away, the light turned and we were held hostage by the flow of traffic. “Goddamn it—you need to stop doing that!”

  “Stop saving your life?” I scoffed.

  "Stop acting like you’re some kind of white knight when we both know you’re just . . . just . . . “

  The light turned, the small crowd around us surging forward. “Just what?” I prodded, not moving.

  “An asshole.” Jolie wasn’t shouting anymore, her voice gritty and serious.

  I didn’t respond, the energy between us turning heavy with all that was left unsaid. Jolie was right, of course. I was callous because my heart had been stolen. By her. I was angry because I’d been abandoned. By her.

  She studied my face, her brows pushing together in a frown as the tip of her tongue traveled from one corner of her mouth to the other. “First you try to pass yourself off as someone else. Now you’re trying to go backwards. It's impossible—don't you understand that?”

  Before I could answer, she'd darted across the street, her question lingering on the brisk night air. Was that what I was doing, trying to go backwards?

  No. I caught up with Jolie at the next block, pushing her against the cut limestone facade of the nearest building, invading every inch of her personal space and not giving a damn. “You’ve got it wrong. I don't want to go backwards, Jolie.” I groaned against her mouth, lust tugging at my brainstem. I had tried ignoring her. I had tried forgetting her. I had tried deceiving her. It was about time I tried something different. “I want to fuck you into next week.”

  25

  Jolie

  Most of the men I'd dated over the years had treated me more or less like the designers and photographers I worked with. I was a prop, something used to enhance the value of a given product. A public symbol of success. And in private, I was there for pleasure. His, not mine. The number of orgasms I'd had with someone other than Tripp could be counted on one hand. It was why I rarely dated anymore.

  The pure pleasure of kissing Tripp, letting it wash over me at my own pace, no rushing ahead or trying to catch up—was so refreshing I didn't want to stop.

  “I fucking hate you,” I whispered against his lips, my body at war with my mind. I hated him for his deceit.

  Mostly, I hated him for reminding me of my own.

  “I fucking hate you more,” Tripp rasped, drawing my lower lip into his mouth and biting on it.

  Desire was a razor blade, the slice quick and effective. I pushed at his chest, breathless from the shock of it. “So that’s your plan then? A hate fuck?”

  His pupils were dilated. Just a black void edged in silver, sucking me in. “You have a better one?”

  No, I didn’t. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a plan at all.

  And that was the problem.

  But the other problem, a more pressing one, was that I was sick of feigning interest in men I wasn’t the least bit interested in, men who did nothing for me.

  Men who didn’t look like Tripp or talk like Tripp. Men who didn’t kiss or fuck like Tripp. My sex life had been an endless desert, and right now, I didn’t care if spending the night with Tripp would be like licking a cactus, hoping for just a single drop of dew.

  “Let’s go.”

  26

  Tripp

  By unspoken agreement, Jolie and I didn’t exchange another word during the cab ride, or the elevator’s ascent. We barely even looked at each other.

  With my hard on straining beneath my pants, it felt like a year passed before we were in my apartment. Licking the velvety smooth skin tucked beside her earlobe, I sucked the tender piece of flesh into my mouth, biting down until Jolie’s knees buckled and she sagged into my arms. I grabbed Jolie by the curve of her ass, lifting her up until her legs were wrapped around my hips, my hard bulge pressing between her thighs. “Need to show you something.”

  Jolie squirmed against me, a shiver running through her as she dragged her hand through my hair, her nails raking over my scalp.

  I stalked through my apartment, heading for my office. Smacking a panel on the wall to activate the sound system, a sultry base poured from the hidden speakers. In the middle of the room, I relaxed my hold to let Jolie’s legs slide down my body and then strip off her clothes.

  This woman had been living inside my skin for a decade now. Every exposed inch cut me to the core, my senses overloaded by the sudden access.

  I’d knocked back several fingers of Scotch earlier while I debated whether to text Jolie tonight. I wasn’t drunk, not even close. But right now, I was punch-drunk, completely wasted, on Jolie Chapman.

  And I never wanted to be sober again.

  But tonight was an ending not a beginning, and my hangover was going to hurt.

  This woman was going to annihilate me. Again.

  And I was going to let her.

  Because I’d take whatever she was willing to give.

  Even if my gift was just this one night.

  With her top off, I palmed Jolie’s breasts, rolling her nipples between my thumbs. Dipping my head, I ran my tongue along Jolie’s collarbone and then into the pulsing hollow between, a groan slipping through her lips as I backed her up to the sliding door. She gasped as cold glass met her naked skin and I pressed her against it harder, taking her wrists from behind my neck and holding them above her head, forcing her shoulders and arms against the windowpane, too.

  I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “It stings, doesn’t it?”

  She drew her lower lip between her teeth as she stared up at me from beneath inky black lashes. “Yes.”

  “Good.” A beat passed before I spun her around, dropping my head between her neck and shoulder to inhale her sweet scent. “You drive me fucking crazy, even when you’re not here. I stare at your face every time I sit down to work.” Pushing aside her curtain of hair, I traced Jolie’s delicate spine, committing every ridge and hollow to memory. “I should sue for unfair working conditions.”

  She gulped a breath as I licked at her skin. “Blinds. You need blinds.”

  “Yeah. I’m on it.” My hand slid along her tailbone, ghosting over the curves of her sculpted ass, diving between her thighs. Cupping her heat.

  From the reflection, I could see Jolie had closed her eyes. I lowered my chin to her shoulder. “Look at yourself,” I snapped.

  She obeyed, whimpering as I ran a finger along the crease holding back the gates of heaven, drops of moisture already leaking out. Her skin on fire. My skin on fire. “This is the view I’ve jerked off to ever since moving back. What do you think, Jolie? Could you come to a view like that?” Flat against the glass, her palms slid down, making a high-pitched squeal. A gruff chuckle vibrated from my lungs. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

  “Yes, dammit,” she rasped, leaning her forehead against the pane. “Yes.”

  I nudged her ankles with the toe of my shoe. “Open wider.”

  She did, bucking her ass toward me as I slipped two fingers inside her slick folds, setting up a rhythm of diving deep and then gliding upwards, finding that sensitive nub that made her tremble so sweetly. My movements quickened in time with her breaths fogging up the glass, her panting accented by garbled cries. With my free hand, I toyed with her tits, nipples hard and swollen.

  Before long, Jolie made another sound, this one longer and louder as she convulsed around me, her inner muscles clamping down on my fingers and squeezing hard. I sucked on her shoulder until the spasms passed, biting hard enough to leave a mark she’d discover tomorrow. If I could, I’d tattoo my initials on Jolie’s skin, brand her with my mark. A sign of permanen
t ownership. A reminder of what she’d thrown away.

  As she sagged against me, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to my bedroom. “On your knees,” I commanded, depositing her on the bed and stripping off my clothes. I reached for a condom from my nightstand, keeping my attention on Jolie’s fine ass, on the curve of her spine and the subtle flare of her hips. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances that she was going to slip out my front door while I wasn’t looking.

  She did as she was told, observing me over her shoulder, her deep navy gaze only leaving my face when the proof of my desire was exposed. A wanton moan slipped from her lips, eyes going wide as she watched me roll the condom over my shaft.

  I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to steal the oxygen right out of Jolie’s lungs until she fought me, until there was a desperate struggle between us. Until she finally fucking realized that she needed what I had. That I was what she needed. As necessary as air. That without me, she couldn’t breathe.

  I squashed the impulse, afraid that I might not be able to hold back. That the potent fury, the pure lust setting my veins on fire might just blur the line between raw and rough. This moment felt dangerous, like I’d opened a door to a place that I might not find my way back from.

  But I walked through it anyway, ignoring the heavy thud as it closed behind me.

  Kneeling on the bed behind her, I slapped at the insides of her thighs, then at her ass. Enjoying Jolie’s shocked inhale. Appreciating the pink handprints I’d left on her skin.

  Maybe more than I should have.

  She edged her knees outward, her eyes locked on mine, as if she was afraid of what I would do if she wasn’t watching.