Kiss Me with Lies (Twin Lies Duet Book 1)

by S. M. Soto

  With the flight time being about only an hour long, the flight to San Francisco will be quick and easy. While packing, Mackenzie expressed her fear of flying, which I thought was insane. The woman has flown from New York to LA twice now. Her fear of flying certainly can’t be that bad.

  I was wrong.

  She’s a jittery mess, wringing her hands together in her lap as we take off. To take her mind off being airborne, I distract her.

  “Ever been to San Francisco before?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not really a fan of the foggy year-round weather. I prefer a little of all seasons.”

  My mouth quirks. “When you travel as much as I do, you learn to enjoy all seasons.”

  “You traveled a lot when you were younger, didn’t you?”

  My brows dip as I stare at her. The question rolling so easily off her tongue.

  “Yeah, I did,” I say slowly, watching her. Her lips part as if just now realizing what she said. Mackenzie fidgets, uncomfortable under the weight of my stare, her fear of flying long forgotten now. I could ask her how she knows I traveled a lot when I was younger, but it’s not necessarily a secret. My family had money while growing up, and that’s common knowledge. It’s also common knowledge that my father had business around the world, and he’d often take the family on trips.

  She must realize her slipup because all the color starts to drain from her face. She’s shown her entire hand without meaning to, telling me in not so many words that she’s spent more time googling me than I thought. I glance out the jet windows, spotting the clouds wisp by, and I figure it’s safe to put her out of her misery. We’re already in the air.

  “Every summer, we’d head to Brazil to visit my grandmother. We also took a lot of family vacations, so traveling isn’t something new to me.”

  “Wow.” She frowns. “I didn’t know you had family in Brazil. Though, that would explain your perfectly tan skin.” She gestures down my body with her hand, and I can’t hold in the chuckle that escapes.

  She’s cute, referring to my year-round olive complexion most people would kill to have.

  “My mom is from Brazil. That’s where her whole family lives, and at the time, when my grandmother was alive, Mom wanted to visit her as often as she could. It’s been a few years since I’ve been back, but it’s beautiful.”

  Mackenzie smiles as she searches my eyes. “Do you speak … Spanish?”

  I grin. “I do, as well as four other languages. But in Brazil, they speak Portuguese.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Do you speak Portuguese?”

  “Você é a mulher mais linda que eu já conheci.”

  Her mouth drops open, and unable to help myself, I place my finger under her chin, nudging her jaw closed.

  “I think I just had a mini-orgasm. I have no idea what you said but Jesus…that was hot.”

  The laughter that bursts past my lips is genuine. It’s quite possibly the first real laugh I’ve had in years. The kind of laughter you feel in your stomach, pulling at the unused muscles in your face. It’s the kind of laughter that makes you feel lighter. I find whenever I’m near Mackenzie, I always feel that way. Something about her keeps me at ease even though another part of her leaves me wary, wanting to keep a watchful eye on her.

  Because she’s a wild card.

  She has the potential to destroy everything I’ve worked for.

  This I know like the back of my hand.

  Melanie, the normal stewardess I fly with, stands beside our seats with a small smile in place. As she usually does, she sets my bourbon on the table beside me and turns toward Mackenzie.

  “Would you like anything, miss?”

  “Uh, no,” Mackenzie says, darting her gaze to mine. Melanie nods, then heads back toward her seat near the pilot’s cockpit. When I glance at Mackenzie, I can see all the unsaid questions swirling behind her eyes. Her mind is churning as she watches Melanie.

  It’s understandable. Most women would take one look at Melanie and assume I’ve slept with her, but I haven’t. I don’t make a habit out of sleeping with employees. You know, don’t shit where you eat and all that.

  “What about you?” I ask, dragging her attention away from the unspoken questions about Melanie. “Did you travel with your family when you were younger?”

  Her mouth twists down, and a shield slams shut over her eyes. She shrugs. “Not really. My family didn’t have that kind of money to travel. We went on family outings, camping trips, and stuff like that, but we never traveled out of state, let alone out of the country.”

  I nod. “So NYC has always been home base for you?”

  “Yup.” She pops the “p,” avoiding my gaze. “Well, sort of. I don’t live near my parents anymore. Moved away from them a long time ago.” Her eyes quickly dart to mine, then back down. “For, you know, college and stuff. That’s why I left everything behind.” She tacks on.

  “Couldn’t have been easy to leave your family and your home behind at eighteen for college.”

  There’s a faraway look in her eyes when she answers. “Things with my family hadn’t been easy for a very long time. I left because I needed to. I felt like it was my only way out.”

  “You ran.”

  She whips around to face me, fire brewing in her eyes. “I didn’t run. I made a better life for myself. One that didn’t involve them.”

  Interesting.

  “Running, not running—all that matters is that you’re happy where you are in your life right now.”

  There’s a lengthy pause as she stares at me. Mackenzie searches my eyes, looking for something, and when she finds it, she looks down at her lap for a beat before turning to me with a soft, beguiling smile. “Happy with where I am in my life? Not exactly, but right now, with you, I am happy. If I’m being honest, Baz, I don’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

  Silence.

  Stunned silence.

  I’m taken aback by her truthfulness. That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say. Hell, I wasn’t even expecting a response. That’s the thing with Mackenzie. She is like a chameleon, always changing and adapting. Right when I think I have her figured out, she says something or does something completely out of left field.

  She unsettles me, and I hate it.

  But there’s a bigger part of me that loves it.

  I clear my throat and shake my head, righting my scattered thoughts. “Are you okay with dinner on the pier?”

  “Didn’t take you for the type to walk around such a busy place like the pier.” She arches a brow in challenge.

  I shrug. “I’m not. Nor do I plan to. I own one of the restaurants along the pier. The view is incredible, and with it, I promise, the need to walk along the pier with everyone else will evaporate.”

  With her eyes glued to mine, Mackenzie mumbles something under her breath while shaking her head. “Where have you been all my life, Mr. King?”

  “Been asking myself the same thing, dirty girl.”

  I prop myself onto my elbows and rest my hands under my chin. I find I do this often whenever I’m near him. There’s something about Baz that’s just so…captivating. He’s the kind of man born and bred from the best. He’s a shark in business and in life, the strongest in the entire tank. I saw firsthand just how business savvy he was while we were in San Francisco. He could sense the weaker opponent. Preying on them, he’d chew them up, then spit them out like garbage. That was how Baz King handled business. I didn’t understand it before the SF trip, how someone so young could amass such an empire at his age, but those few days that I had a front row seat? I understood. Far too well.

  Baz terrified and excited me all at once. He was a drug I found myself growing more and more addicted to with each day that passed.

  My elbows dig into the silky soft sheets and the equally soft mattress. We’ve been relaxing in Baz’s bed back at home for a while. After sex, it seemed like the smartest thing to do. I don’t think either of us was up for talking or walk
ing at the moment. He said he had some emails to answer, then we could get back to doing what we were doing, but honestly, I’m quite enjoying watching him work.

  When he’s in all-business mode, it does something to me. It’s almost like I’m seeing him in his most intimate moments. His brows are drawn together, and they have this permanent crease between them as he fumbles with something on his iPad. Every so often, his plump lips move as he mumbles to himself, most likely reading his emails and storing the information.

  After nearly catching me in a lie outside of his security hub, then being whisked off to San Francisco on his private jet a few days ago, Baz and I have grown closer. I think, now, I’ve built his trust. Though, that could just be wishful thinking on my end. He has no reason to think my motives for being here are unethical. No malfeasance detected on my end. Other than the fact that I never did give him the name of my fake ex.

  What else was I supposed to do? The story I told was a fake one. I didn’t want to risk giving him a fake name, and it ends up being some poor guy Baz did something to that neither of us can take back. Just because I don’t think he’s capable of being dangerous, doesn’t mean he isn’t.

  How do I know he won’t try to look for my “ex”? And if he does find a name that matches, will he try to reach out to this person? Harm this person on my behalf? I don’t want to think that highly of myself or toot my own horn, but it’s a possibility. And I can’t take that risk.

  “How often do you travel? What with having a chain of Kings Resorts. Is hard splitting your time here in LA and everywhere else you’re needed?”

  “Way more than I’d like to. But I’ve gotten used to it. Before, when the chain was first expanding, it took a lot out of me.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “It still does, but now I look forward to it. I want the Kings Resorts to outlast my lifetime and be able to pass it on to my children. To ensure that, I need everything to run smoothly. That means doing all the heavy lifting now.”

  “Wow. So you want a family? Didn’t take you for the type.”

  He scoffs. “I’m not.”

  Okaaaaay.

  “Why resorts? How did you end up … here?” I look around for emphasis.

  He smirks. “I dabble in other ventures, not just resorts.”

  “Ah, right. The club. Anything else I’m missing here?”

  Baz shrugs, still tapping away, working. “Nightclubs, restaurants, resorts. That’s about as far as my reach goes. For now.”

  My brows jump. “You’re very confident.”

  He shoots me a smirk. “I know what I’m good at.”

  “Oh.” I laugh. “I’m sure you do. What are your parents like? Is your father some mogul?”

  “You can say that. My mom’s family came from money in Brazil. My grandfather, Tobias Kingston married my mom’s mother, Julia Teixeira. My grandfather owned abunch of land here in the states, so he split his time between his new family in Brazil and his work here in the US. It was sort of like history repeating itself with my mother and my father. They met while he was down in Brazil doing business, still trying to make a name for himself. My mother fell instantly, and well, the rest is pretty much history.

  I think my father always felt like he had something to prove to my mother’s family. Especially to my grandfather, Tobias. He was a millionaire, and my dad was just some poor shmuck who was trying to show everyone what he was made of. Hee had to work for all his success. Sometimes, he pushed too hard to prove himself, and when I was younger, I didn’t see it. I always viewed him as a dick for never seeing any of the good I did. But now, I get he was trying to make me work for it. He didn’t hand down a thing to me. I worked at the firm for years until it hit me that I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. I wanted to surpass him. And I have. The sky’s the limit.”

  “Are you close to them? Your parents, I mean?”

  “We see each other during the holidays, but we all have our own lives to live and businesses to run. They understand that.”

  I shift upright, more intrigued by this man and his past than ever. “You know, you’re as interesting as they come, Mr. King.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he quips dryly.

  We sit in silence for another stretch of time while he works, and I continue my perusal of him. His tanned skin, fit chest, and the sharp, angular lines of his face. After I brushed my crush on Baz under the rug all those years ago, my sights were always so set on Trent that I never paid much attention to the rest of the guys in the group.

  I want to ask him what happened with his old girlfriend, Summer. They were together in high school for years. What happened that last summer in Ferndale? It seems like that’s the catalyst. That’s when everything good in the town went to shit. That summer felt like the beginning of the end.

  “What were you like when you were younger?” My voice slices through the silence.

  He pulls his eyes away from the screen to glance at me. He pauses for a second, his brows dipping into a frown as he thinks about his past.

  “I was idiotic. Just as most teenagers are.”

  “Hordes of girlfriends, I presume?”

  He chuckles. “You could say that.”

  “Hmm.” I shift on my elbows and lick my lips nervously, preparing myself to ask this next question. “Have you always … uh, shared girls with your friends?”

  If I weren’t paying close attention, I would’ve missed it. The tightening of his features, and how his body went taut with tension. It seems my line of questioning has struck a nerve.

  I haven’t broached the topic of the club and what happened up there. To anyone, it’d be obvious that he and his friends share women. Why else invite that many women and discuss rules so openly? I’ve never had the courage to ask about any of it. Until now.

  “You sure your journalism piece isn’t on me?” he taunts, raising a brow. The color drains from my face, and I cough, choking on my lies, trying to shake it off.

  “Of course not. I’m just curious. I want to get to know you.”

  He seems appeased by my answer, or, at the very least, he’s distracted by his work.

  “We don’t always share girls. It was more when we were kids.”

  I purse my lips. Duly noted.

  “And now?” I ask.

  He drops his iPad on the bed and shoots me a look. Obviously, my questions are either annoying him or they’re becoming too invasive.

  “Do you want to be shared with my friends?” He no longer looks happy with my curiosity.

  “God no!” I blurt.

  I realize my missed opportunity as soon as I react. Sharing them would mean getting close to the rest of the guys, but … just the thought of their hands on my body makes my skin crawl. I should feel the same way toward Baz, but I don’t. He’s not like the rest of them, and I need to prove that. If not to myself, then at the very least, I need to prove it to my sister.

  When I think back on all the bad that came from our hometown, I can’t remember Sebastian being a part of any of those memories. He was there the night of the bonfire, but that night, he supposedly went home because the next day he was off for the Pierce’s yearly family vacation in Brazil. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, maybe he wasn’t there when Madison died. Maybe the guys kept it a secret from him for all these years, and he has no idea who they really are. But a small voice in the back of my head that sounds so much like Madison keeps whispering that it’s not true.

  He seems surprised by my outburst. How many women crawl into his bed, looking to be shared with him and his friends? My eyes widen when a thought suddenly occurs to me. “D-do you … do you want to share me?”

  An odd sensation flits in my stomach, tight and restricting, making me squirm uncomfortably. The truth is, I don’t want to be shared. It’s selfish of me, considering I’m a fucking liar, but I want him to want me. Just me. I don’t want him to see me being passed around to his friends. Because that would mean I’m just like the rest. For
once, I’d like to be the Mackenzie someone wants to keep for themselves.

  He watches me, not saying a word. Blowing out a deep breath, he sets his iPad and paperwork out of the way, then scoots closer to me. He takes one of the rogue strands of my hair that has fallen out of my ponytail, and he rubs it through his fingers. Against his tanned skin, my hair looks lighter than it usually does against my own skin.

  “The thought of sharing you with them, with anyone, makes me fucking furious. You’re the first woman I’ve never wanted to share. I normally wouldn’t care, but you … you’re not like any of the women I’ve ever met. And I want to keep it that way. So, no, there will be no sharing.”

  A smile spreads across my face. I could say it’s all for show, that I’m just acting like his words please me, but deep down, I know they really do. I’m smiling like a loon. It’s genuine, and it causes the muscles in my cheeks to ache.

  I close the distance between us and climb onto his lap. His warm arms band around my waist, tugging me into him. Tracing the seam of his plump lips with my tongue, I kiss him, losing myself in his taste. His tongue demands entrance, and our lips glide over eachother in tandem, our heads twisting this way and that as we try to find a rhythm that works for us both. My hand snakes around his neck, and I pull his body flush over mine as I drop back onto his bed. He braces his arms on either side of my head, caging me in.

  “Two months is not nearly enough time to do what I want with you,” he breathes along my neck as he trails kisses down my scorching hot skin. “Stay here with me.”

  My eyes spring open. “Stay where, exactly?” I pant, my chest heaving wildly as he pulls the lace cup of my bra down, exposing my breast. He takes my nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak and nibbling ever so slightly.

  “Here.” He blows a gust of breath over my nipple, causing my back to arch off the bed. He moves over to the other breast, his skilled fingers tweaking my nipple. My core has a punishing heartbeat of its own, just begging to be filled. The lace material is soaked. I can feel the heat, can practically smell myself from here. Baz kisses slowly down my stomach, his tongue swirling in my belly button as he goes. “At the penthouse. You won’t have to worry about the expense of your own suite. You’ll be spending most of your time up here anyway.”