Sex, Money, and the Price of Truth (The Price Series Book 2)

by PE Kavanagh

  “As you wish.”

  The wind coming off the river nearly pulled Lola’s shawl from her shoulders as they exited the building. The courtyard had been perfectly shielded.

  His hands moved quickly to wrap the silvery fabric more tightly around her, pausing to hold her gaze. “I had a great time eating with you, Lola.”

  They hadn’t made plans for anything past dinner and this sounded like the beginning of a goodbye. Her body fell a fraction of an inch. “Me, too. That place was remarkable. Great find.”

  “I’m trying really hard to be impressive. Can you tell?” His strong hands squeezed her arms.

  His humble, self-deprecating tone left her flustered and fidgeting in his grip. “Isn’t that the human condition? Always trying to be impressive?”

  “Well, it’s easier for some than for others.” He looked unblinking at her.

  Damn straight.

  “I’d love to take you somewhere. Now. If you’d like.”

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Continuing the evening was great news. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “I know you hate surprises, but will you humor me? Have faith?”

  “I have faith,” she said, with less than full certainty.

  “Excellent. It’s a little less desolate and less windy around to the left. Do you mind walking a bit? I’ll call a car from there.”

  “No problem. A walk sounds lovely.”

  Within a few steps he took her hand, and that’s how they walked back into the hustle and bustle of their city. The thrum of Saturday night celebrations came from all directions. Men and women, working their hardest to be noticed, searched for the physical comfort of another.

  Lola didn’t want to be like them - desperate to be loved, to be held and appreciated. It always ended up messy and complicated, rife with dishonesty and betrayal. What would it take for her to find a good man, one who met her standards? She did not allow herself the possibility that he could be that man.

  A black car stopped in front of them. Not a taxi or ride service. Is he serious? “Did you book a limo?”

  “Sort of. Is it too much? We can wait for a regular car, if you like.” Aidan furrowed his brow.

  “It’s okay. But just this once.” She held back the grin pressing itself forward.

  When the driver walked around to the passenger side, Aidan shooed him away and held the door open for Lola himself. She stepped in and chuckled at the sight of the cut crystal carafes filled with brown liquid.

  His smile caught hers as he slid in the other side. “What’s so funny?”

  “Flashbacks to prom. And your extravagance.”

  “That’s how I roll, baby. It’s big time all the time,” he said in a cheesy NY accent. In a single move, his body was next to hers, with no space between.

  “I see. I feel obliged to tell you that even though I'm a simple girl, I'm not that easily impressed.” She could not pull her gaze from his leg, the curve of a muscle defined under the dark fabric of his pants.

  “I knew that.”

  His serious tone made her look up to search his expression. “You did?”

  “Because the plan was that with all my wining and dining you would be all over me by now, begging me to come home with you.”

  A small laugh released the tension in her shoulders. “Is that how it works for you high rollers?”

  “No. Not yet. But I'm a very optimistic person. And I'm smart enough to know that if that’s what I wanted, I should have picked a different girl. But I didn’t want a different girl.” He cradled her hand between his palms.

  “What is it you wanted?” She interlaced her fingers with his, inviting the heat of desire to guide her.

  “I wanted to spend an evening with someone who made me feel curious and excited. I wanted to have a conversation that was thoughtful and funny and intelligent with someone who didn’t care about impressing me.” He turned and found her eyes. “I wanted to discover someone who made me feel interested.”

  “Anything else?” Lola wanted him to keep saying the words that could have easily come out of her own mouth.

  “I wanted to use the phrase ‘that’s how I roll’ at least once.” His face cracked into a smile.

  “How’s it going for you so far?”

  “Nearly one hundred percent.” He lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Nearly?” The sight of his mouth on her hand was mesmerizing.

  “Well, there’s one more thing… which is what we’re doing next.”

  Lola was ready to say yes to anything he asked.

  The car had stopped, but Lola didn’t know how long they’d been parked. She resisted the impulse to let herself out and waited for her door to be opened. He took her hand and helped her out and there they were, face to face again. In just a few inches his lips could be on hers. Instead, she stepped back to look around.

  “What is this place?" Scanning the neighborhood, she began to understand. Before he could answer, she said, “It’s the Prince George Ballroom.”

  “Yup.”

  “And what are we doing here?”

  “I thought we could join a pickup basketball game or something. But then again, with your shoes, it might not work. So maybe we should dance instead. You like to dance, right?”

  How could he have possibly known that?

  He answered without being asked. “Your legs. Fantastic. And I'm an incredibly good guesser.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Shall we?”

  Entering the main ballroom was like stepping into a Tiffany lamp. The slow-moving lights illuminated geometric panels on the walls, set off by brass and gold and lots of crystal. They walked beneath chandeliers the size of her car and stained glass bigger than a billboard.

  Lola had never had the opportunity, even after living in the city for several years, to come to this place. None of her friends had weddings fancy enough to warrant this backdrop and none of her dates would have ever thought of it. Even the ones trying to be posh were all about impressive getaways, and much less about discovering the magic of their own city.

  And there was the dancing. She had yet to find a man who wanted to dance enough to make it happen. Walking through that room felt like stepping into a more glamorous, elegant time with dapper gentlemen and bejeweled women. No skin-tight dresses or slutty shoes. No drunken displays or loud conversations.

  With his arm around her waist, Aidan led them to a tiny table at the edge of the dance floor. The chairs left only enough room for their two bodies to squeeze in.

  As soon as she put her wrap and purse down, he stood in front of her with his arm extended. “May I have this dance?”

  “Already? No warming up?”

  “I’ll warm you up out there. No time to waste, m’lady.”

  “You’ve got an accent for everything don’t you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be running out very soon. I'm using them up too darn fast.”

  They song ended as they arrived in the middle of the dance floor. He held her, one hand resting on her lower back, the other holding hers aloft, while the small crowd applauded the band. He did not budge from the embrace. Lola straightened her spine and lifted her chin. He knew what he was doing. And so did she.

  "This one is for all the lovers out there!" crooned the orchestra leader.

  She looked at him incredulously and shook her head without breaking their formal stance. “I suppose you set that up as well?”

  “Oh, how I wish I had. Just lucky, like I said.”

  His grip tightened and he began to lead her. He followed the mellow beat of the song, directing her body with an assuredness absent from the dances with her uncles and teenage boyfriends.

  Surprises be damned. This is an impeccable evening.

  During a spin, he moved both hands to her waist, where they remained for the rest of the number. She slid her arms from his shoulders around his neck and complied with his urging her toward him. She nuzzled against his collar and he broug
ht his lips to her ear. His breath sent a tingle through her body.

  “Do you want to know what that last thing was? The thing to make the evening perfect?”

  She swallowed hard. Was she prepared to hear this? “Of course.”

  “It’s this. I wanted to have you wrapped around me. I wanted to know how it felt to have your body next to mine, your breath on my neck, to feel you move.”

  It was a miracle her legs didn’t buckle. Stay standing, Lola. Just stay standing. She did not speak. Or breathe. The reel of her mind replayed his words, over and over again. What could this man possibly want from her? What could she possibly offer him?

  “Was that too much, what I just said to you? You got quiet.” His voice was shaky, awkward.

  “It was beautiful. Poetic.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be poetic.” Their bodies continued to sway to the love song. “I just wanted you to know what was in my head. It can be hard when you always have to guess what the other person is thinking. Especially now, before we know each other at all.”

  Something in his eyes compelled Lola to honesty. “It did surprise me. I appreciate your openness. It’s refreshing. But it’s hard to know, especially because we don’t know each other… well… what’s true or not. And I'm not accusing you of anything. It’s just… “ Find the words Lola! “I don’t necessarily trust words.”

  “What do you trust?”

  Is that a look of concern? “Actions over time.”

  He matched her emotionless tone. “That’s very clear. And it seems that’s important to you – clarity.”

  “Very much so. The language of relationship is so fraught with hidden meanings and double meanings and agendas. So little of it is actually real. Or true. I may be a little jaded, I admit, but I'm not interested in the fantasy of it. Even in the beginning when it’s all magic and desire and promises.”

  “You’ve said a few times tonight, no promises. I’ve never heard someone be so frank about that. I like it. And I appreciate your straightforwardness. Most women who look like you have learned to be either coy or domineering. You are singular, Lola.”

  “I don’t try to be.” But I don’t try not to be, either. “Promises are important to me. I don’t take them lightly. I won’t offer it if I don’t mean it.” Lola wanted to shift the tone of their conversation to stave off her rising defensiveness, so she softened into him. It felt wonderful to be in his arms. That’s all that mattered for now.

  When the song ended, she moved toward the table. The next one had a Latin beat and she assumed they would sit it out.

  “Where are you going?” He began to salsa by himself, arms raised.

  “Do you know how to dance to this?”

  “Are you kidding? Did you forget about the Caribbean blood in my veins?”

  She had. But if he wanted to get a little spicy on the dance floor, she could bring it. With a swirl of her wrist and a swish of her bottom, she matched him, step for step.

  “Damn, girl,” he said appreciatively. “You’re the one full of surprises.”

  “I do my best.” She winked.

  While other couples came on and off the dance floor, they stayed, through waltzes, sambas, swing and disco. They had become the center of attention in the room, fearlessly attempting to dance anything the band played. It made no difference that most of it was highly imperfect.

  She was tingling all over, grinning like an insane person, by the time they got back to their seats.

  Two more glasses of champagne later, they were back in each other’s arms, dazzling the spectators and each other.

  * * *

  Lola agreed that Aidan could accompany her home. Boundaries were important, but she just wasn’t ready to end what had been a perfect night. She had never been this pleasantly surprised by a man.

  “What a night, right?” His small smile begged for her recognition.

  “Yes, Aidan. It was wonderful.”

  “Yes!” he said with a fist pump.

  Childish expressions on a grown man, which were annoying on anyone else, were somehow charming on him. There’s trouble in that thought. “I haven’t been dancing like that in… forever. What a good idea.”

  “Glad you liked it. We can make it a regular event. If you like.” He had once again seamlessly transitioned from sweet boy to sexy man.

  She answered with raised eyebrows.

  When they arrived in front of her apartment building, Aidan stepped out of his side of the taxi and walked around to open her door. How easily she could get used to this. But she wouldn’t. That was a foolish idea.

  Lola had tried to make it clear that just because he had ridden home with her, that did not mean an invitation inside. Had he understood? Maybe he was one of those guys who thought that everything meant yes.

  He paid the driver and sent him away.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “How are you getting home? It might be tough to find another cab this late.”

  “I’ll walk. I'm just over past fifth. And I love walking this time of night. It’s a little bit quiet and a little bit crazy. It reminds me why I love this city so much.” He stopped to look at her. “You’re shaking.”

  Her thin wrap, while elegant, did not provide sufficient coverage for the ever-increasing chill of the evening. He enveloped her in his arms. “Here, how’s this?”

  Wonderful. Terrifying. Warm. She willed herself to stay calm. This was just like when they were dancing. No biggie. He pressed his cheek against hers and exhaled a breath that warmed her body to the point of near combustion. She was relieved to not have to look at him - it would have been too much - and gladly closed her eyes. Lola drank in his scents: a sweet shaving cream, the dry earthiness of his wool jacket, something herbal in his hair.

  This was different than the slow dance that had brought their bodies together for the first time. There were no steps to follow, no obstacles or other couples to watch out for, no beat to keep. They swayed so lightly that it might have been imperceptible. But she felt it. Does he notice the chills I can’t contain? Can he tell it’s not just the cold?

  Lola moved her cheek against the slight bristle of a newly shaven beard, but didn’t want to linger too long in that position. Her ice might melt completely into his fire.

  She opened her eyes and focused on the neon sign across the street, falsely advertising that the corner store was still open. One by one each letter came on, O - P - E - N, then flashed on and off, on and off, in apparent celebration.

  “I’d like to see you again. Soon,” he whispered into her ear.

  She moved her head slowly up and down, and he separated to face her, without loosening his hold on her body.

  “Good. This week?”

  It was hard to have this conversation so close to him. This was not a position for talking. It was a position for kissing. She pressed backward until he loosened his grip.

  “This week is crazy for me. It's publication time, so I’ll be going full throttle, day and night.” She crossed her arms, bracing for the encroaching cold.

  “When will you be done?”

  “The deadline is Wednesday, midnight.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at 12:01. I imagine you’ll probably need something to eat.”

  “Very funny. No, Wednesday 12:01 I will hopefully be fast asleep.”

  “Okay. How’s Thursday? Will you be sufficiently rested by then?” Aidan moved in close enough that she could pick up that telltale glint in his eye.

  “Hard to say. Maybe, maybe not.” The vocal volleys delighted her.

  “I’ll take my chances. How about you come over for dinner, at my place. Super low key. You can wear sweatpants and fuzzy slippers and just lay on the couch while I feed you.”

  “That sounds… interesting. Can you cook?”

  “Well, I'm no Chef Masataki, but my friends’ kids think I make the best grilled cheese in the world. And they’re no slackers.”

  I love how funny he is. “Can I give you a tentati
ve yes? Sometimes things happen that are hard to predict, and maybe Thursday won’t work. But I’ll know by Tuesday night, latest, how it’s going.”

  “I’ll take that.”

  “Well, thank you again for this evening. It was really lovely.”

  “I had an amazing time. You surprise me, Lola. I can’t wait to know more. And to see you in sweatpants.” He leaned in, then shifted toward her ear, as if he had something to whisper, again. Instead he brought his lips to her cold cheek, providing a brief respite from the chill.

  “Goodnight, Lola.”

  “Goodnight, Aidan.”

  After closing the lobby door behind her, Lola rationalized that he had not asked to come in, or done anything untoward. It was for the best. Still, the disappointment was indisputable, and she wondered if she was mistakenly flashing ‘CLOSED’, while knowing full well that she was open for business.

  4

  Night and Day

  I AM NAKED, spread-eagle, on a bed in a cold room with no doors and no windows. Thick rope binds my arms and legs, cutting into my skin and making it nearly impossible for me to move anything but my head. My heart is beating way too fast and my body is tired from struggling with the restraints. I need to collect myself if I hope to escape. Or survive.

  Two men enter the room, one from each side. They pace around the bed, glaring at each other, their muscles flexing in anger. I pull at the rope around my wrists and the bed creaks. They turn their attention to me and move closer, eventually climbing onto the bed.

  There is nothing I can do to stop them as they lick me, drawing warm tongues across my cool flesh, while their hands find skin and hair to stroke. With each point of contact, pleasure replaces fear. My body writhes as they take turns with their fingers and mouths in me and on me, kissing, caressing, and sucking every part of me. I grit my teeth, attempting to stay silent, afraid to reveal how much I’m enjoying what they are doing to my body. When it becomes impossible to suppress, I let out a deep moan and the room goes dark. One of the men disappears from my sight and the other mounts me.