Sliver of Truth (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 3)

by Jody Kaye

  A half an hour before the rest stop, Cees gets quiet. She’s watching the green signs pass on the right, her neck almost craning as we speed by. Her hands wring in her lap, and I’m worried she’s about to take a chunk out of her lower lip. It keeps disappearing and the cute lip bite thing she does is more akin to a shark mauling its prey.

  “You good?” There’s a lump in my throat.

  We’re fairly far west of Winston-Salem, but I’ll take the nearest offramp and swing back east if Cece has changed her mind. I don’t want her to feel trapped all weekend.

  The next destination marker is in view when she speaks. “I lived there. It’s where we grew up.” She shivers, pulling the edges of her sweater closer together.

  I make a muffled sound acknowledging so she’ll go on, and crank up the heat in the cab. But Cece frowns, staring down at her hands as if she’s only noticed the frantic and rhythmic motion her thumbs are making. To stop herself, she tugs off the band securing her braid, combing her fingers through it and her hair falls in loose kinky waves down her neck.

  A mile later we pass the exit sign. Even in winter, the thick foliage is overgrown and, with the sun setting, the dingy white letters of the town name are hard to make out. My guess is this far in the sticks it’s no more than a map dot on the road to nowhere. However, with Cece being so silent, I’m conscious of keeping negative thoughts about her childhood home to myself. It’s not as if the towns I had grown up in, on the eastern part of the state, were anyplace glamorous. Not to mention, Celine’s jaw stays clamped shut until we’ve gotten back in the truck at the rest area and are in the remaining leg of our journey.

  Driving the final stretch of road, the insane quiet is killing me. I haven’t encouraged any small talk so she’s not any more uncomfortable than her past seems to make her. Chances are I’d fumble my sentences in an effort to set her at ease and leave us both feeling embarrassed.

  We wind through Boone. The sky has gotten darker as the sun’s dipped on the other side of the mountains. Celine notes the lack of local college kids at this hour. They’re either in the dorms studying hard or a bar drinking harder.

  My place takes a few stoplights and turns to get to before a decent quiet stretch of trees line the road again. The silvery shimmer of headlights reflect off of mailboxes. The way they pop up out of the midnight blue makes it easy to forget it’s only past suppertime. I spin the wheel one last time between the markers leading onto my property. After fifty feet, the trees clear. It gives me a three-sixty view to watch my daughter when she’s playing outside. The porch light highlights the local mason’s stonework on the chimney. Unfortunately, melting snow clings to the barren hedges I planted last fall. Someday, with the help of Skye’s investments, it will be more.

  Cece’s eyes track across the yard. “This is amazing,” she gasps.

  Her reaction has my chest puffing out. “It’s paid for. I’d like to expand it someday.” That’s why it isn’t up to snuff as far as I’m concerned. The place is still a work in progress.

  I shouldn’t be ashamed since the house still qualifies as brand-spankin’ new. I worked with an architect who suggested the modular plan. It moved us in faster and we’ve been able to enjoy more seasons in the mountains. The same firm has concept drawings for the next phase, another reason why so much land is cleared.

  I lead Celine inside, flipping on lights, and stay on the wide pine flooring in the kitchen while she takes in the open concept. Right now it’s sort of a box. The bedrooms and bath take up about a third of the space with a balcony on top overlooking the living room and kitchen.

  “There will be a second floor off the far wall.”

  Her mouth gapes open as she delicately touches a stone fireplace. “You’d take this out?”

  “Add to it.” I swoop my hand as if painting her a picture. “Make this bigger, so we have a real dining room instead of eat-in. Stairs over a garage.” I haven’t been able to decide how many stalls or if I want a woodshed attached. I suppose how fast my mind is made up has more to do with when we outgrow the space we do have. I’m not into showmanship. Yet, I want a place I want to come to and one I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to.

  “Make yourself at home.” I shoot off a text to Renata, letting her know we got here safe, and power off my phone before tramping back outside to collect our things.

  “I can help,” Cece calls after me.

  “Your shoes are already off.” I won’t make light of it, but the measure of respect she has for the plush carpeting is more than my kid shows. I crank the heat, leaving the door open as I wander back and forth. On the final trip inside, I heft a cooler filled with food for the weekend onto the kitchen counter. Cece is peering out the windows and at the framed pictures of me and Sylvie skiing and playing outside in the snow.

  “None of Beth?” she remarks as I stroll across the room.

  “Bought this land after the accident with settlement money. Wanted a place to come and create new memories.” I dig my hands in my pockets, locking my elbows.

  Renata has tons of snapshots of Beth at home. Sylvie is a walking reminder of her mother. I’ll always love Beth. However, I don’t need to fill this space with the ghost of what might have been. For me at least, this spot in the mountains is what it is; a chance for my daughter and me to move on. I only want happy times for my little girl here.

  “Sylvie is a total snow bunny.” I point at a more recent image. “Swear that girl skis circles around me.” I shake my head, letting out a lighthearted chuckle. “Renata even has it on video.”

  “You ski?”

  “Yeah, had a few broken bones and wanted to prove I could still do something physical afterward. Sylvie and I learned together.” She’d taken to it faster because kids are fearless.

  Cece turns to me with a shy smile. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

  “There’s a lot more I want to discover about you.” I’m gentle, tucking a dark lock behind her ear and bringing her sweet lips to mine. No teeth. No tongue. No diving in like a man starving for his next breath. Pulling away a moment later, a blush rises from her neck, seeping to her cheeks.

  “You’ve never kissed me like that.”

  “Haven’t had much of a chance, now have I? Lemme change that, Cees.”

  She bites her lip, trying not to smile too broadly, and lowers her gaze, taking in the way my shirt stretches at the collar.

  “Is there anything left in the truck? Do you need me to unpack the things for the fridge?” Her eyelashes flutter.

  I haven’t seen this side of Cece. She’s embarrassed by true affection and doesn’t know how to handle me being upfront about the way I feel about her.

  “Nah. There’ll be plenty of other chances to help. Relax. You’re my guest and it was a long haul to get here.”

  Cece finds the bathroom and checks out Sylvie’s room. The frilly pink comforter on the double bed makes her joke about finally understanding my quip about the princess mafia.

  “Aidy helped buy all that stuff,” I say.

  “My brother has been here?” she asks in a wondering tone.

  I figured she’d been told. The tendency a lot of us have to keep personal shit private isn’t unusual because of Carver and Trig’s business interests. You learn not to question certain aspects at the mill. Cece doesn’t seem offended, and it rolls off her back.

  “Yeah, Morgan and Aidy came while I was decorating.” I wanted the room to be a surprise for Sylvie, but hadn’t known what to do when I couldn’t find character bedding in anything but twin size. “Aidy did all the feminine stuff with crowns and lace. She added the pictures, dolls, and pillows of her favorite characters… Your brother had a heck of a time sleeping in here when it was all done.”

  “Too girlie?” She giggles.

  “It gave him a taste of what’s on the hor-rizon.”

  “Ah, Morgan will get over his anxiety once he and Aidy take the next step. He worries too much about keeping people safe.”


  “We all do,” I agree.

  Cece tries to pass by me. I hook a finger into her belt loop and wrap my arms around her middle. We left-foot right-foot the few paces to the opposite room. Stopping by the bed, Cece’s kneecaps hit the mattress. I cage her in, pressing my body to her back.

  She’s so quiet I can hear the rustling of the trees outside. I move her hair to one side, kissing her behind the ear. She always smells like a summer herb garden and fresh starts.

  “Steam’s coming out your ears, Cees.” What’s on her mind?

  “This is a really big bed.”

  My chest rumbles. “I’m a big guy.”

  “Yeah, you are.” She turns in my arms. I squeeze her ass so Cece feels how her words affect me. “We’ve never… in a bed.”

  “There hasn’t been enough time.” Plus, we were already breaking the golden rule, screwing in the ladies’ bathroom. I wasn’t about to step into Cece’s bedroom, even if I did have to stop myself every damn time I passed her door. “You want to?”

  “What do you want?”

  Every damn piece of you. I hide my internal growl.

  The demure act Cece’s playing isn’t part of her stage show. It’s a fucking turn on, nonetheless. “Get on your knees.”

  She sinks to the carpet on command and my dick’s jumping to attention before her dainty fingers have dragged my jeans to my ankles. She’s about to make a comment about me taking her first date suggestion to heart.

  “No boxers.” I beat her to the punchline. “This weekend you have an all-access pass.”

  Cum is already boiling in my balls when she cups them, using her other hand to stroke my long length. “Open up, Cees. It ain’t going to suck itself and there’s not a part of you that doesn’t belong wrapped around my cock.”

  She licks me from the root, teasing her tongue up my shaft before the tip disappears between her lips. I cup the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair, watching her struggle to take all of me to the back of her throat.

  The only better visual is the day I lifted Cece onto the bathroom sinks, spread her knees wide, and we stared where our bodies were joined. I slid in and out of her with slow steady strokes, both of us fighting off our orgasms.

  Once Cece comes, all I want is to unload all I’ve got inside of her. She’s a refuge from my shitty past. A reminder I’m not letting anything stop me from putting back the pieces. I may never be the guy I once was, with the big deal degree and white-collar job. But it doesn’t mean I don’t like the man I am today. Or I’m incapable of giving the people I care most for the life they deserve.

  It’s not sissy, stalker-obsessed, love-sick bullshit to believe what lies ahead includes Celine Wescott. She stopped me in my tracks the first time I saw her dance. Knowing she was a mill girl—someone working toward a better future—was what prompted me to chase her.

  And if we fuck this good? There has to be more to layer on top.

  Cece has one hand stroking with a twist. Her hungry lips suck me while her hums of pleasure make me sure she’s enjoying this as much as I am. Her other fingers are massaging the sweet spot behind my balls. She figured out almost off the bat it drives me wild. Looking at me under veiled eyelashes, both of Cece’s hands move, sliding across my hips, gripping my ass. She lets me drive into her mouth while I cradle her chin in my palms. A million other guys would pay to be in my shoes. She trusts I won’t hurt her, use her, and that’s what had me falling for her. I don’t take the gift of faith lightly.

  Her fingertips spread my ass cheeks and we venture into new territory.

  “Do that,” I hiss, every part of my body clenching in anticipation, “and you’d better be prepared to swallow all of my cum down.” My jaw locks, but I manage to grit out, “Not an ounce falls from those beautiful lips.”

  Cece gives me a soft nod. There’s the slightest bit of apprehension in the way her body stiffens. It’s no different than the way she acts whenever we’ve explored quick ways to get the other off. She wouldn’t have dared suggest it otherwise. If she wants this power over me, I don’t mind giving it to her either.

  “Nobody’s had me since you came around, Cees.” I brush a knuckle against her chin, still supporting her neck. “Be prepared. Not a single drop.”

  She answers by pushing in. I detonate on contact, letting go in a way I can’t begin to describe. I’m guilty of moving my grip to Cece’s face and fucking her mouth like an animal. She’s doing her best to swallow me down, but where I haven’t had a damn lot of time in recent days for the images she leaves in my spank bank, I don’t want her choking.

  My legs are weak, but I pull her up from her knees. There’s a droplet on her lower lip. I touch it, spreading the wetness like a gloss. Her tongue flicks out and her teeth scrape it back into her mouth. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  My thumbs skim up, caressing the underside of her breasts, cursing the shirt she’s still got on.

  “I’m at a disadvantage. I’ve never seen you naked,” she whispers.

  “You wanna change that?” I kick off my shoes and my lips tickle behind her ear.

  “How do you manage doing two things at once?” She squirms as my arms wrap around her waist.

  “Practice. Have to make every minute with you count.” I whip my tee over my head. “Advantage Celine.” I tease, reaching for the buttons on her shirt. I’m in the buff. Cece’s able to walk out of here. Though, given the way her eyes graze over me, I’m placing bets she’d look back.

  Cece clamps my hand to her chest. “Do you, um, want me to do it?”

  I’m not fumbling with the buttons, so it takes me a second to catch her meaning. “You want to strip for me?”

  My harsh tone has her mortified. “You’ve watched,” she remarks. “I thought it turned you on.”

  She’s not wrong but, “Sometimes the fun part is unwrapping the gift.”

  “You already know what’s underneath.”

  “Yeah, Cees, I do.” And it’s up to me to convince her she’s more than she sees.

  Dusty’s hand wraps around my hair, tugging my face close to his. His lips assault mine and the sudden unfounded fear I had that he wouldn’t desire me because I’ve used my body to earn an income vanishes.

  I’d wanted to give Dusty a private show as a thank you. And maybe to watch his reaction.

  Would he sit in the chair and admire me appreciatively? Or would his hand snake down his pants, jacking his cock, teasing me the way I torture him. Because we both know how fucking amazing it feels when he strokes me on the inside.

  It was also a way of proving he was a little more special than the other guys who’ve watched me take off my clothes. Up on stage, the light shining in my eyes left me blind to those men. There were some nights I knew Dusty was out there, leaning against a wall past the audience. On those evenings I danced for him. Not that he’s ever known. It’s not a detail we’d share rutting in a ladies’ room. Yet, if I wanted to feel sexy when I’d spent my last bit of energy on sex appeal, it was Dusty who seized my thoughts.

  My hands hang at my sides as Dusty undresses me. My pulse pounds and my fingers tremble the way they do when I’m past starving. The button down blouse slides off my shoulders. He flicks the clasp on my bra. The bands and cups fall forward. I catch them in my hands, pressing the silky fabric back, covering my nipples so I’m less exposed. I’m not sure what’s brought on my modesty. He’s seen it all.

  Dusty should be the one concerned standing naked before me for the first time. He’s unashamed of his body. The fine scars from broken glass covering his forearms are similar to ones on his thighs. His knee—a joint I’ve never laid my eyes on for the number of times I’ve enjoyed the sight of that other part of his body—has deep scars and is fingerprinted by the shadow of old staples. On anyone else, it’s unremarkable. Yet, Dusty is a man torn apart and rebuilt. Whatever version I’m getting, the doctors only used the best parts.

  My pants shimmy down my legs, I step on the hem, removing m
y socks with my feet.

  Every caress is reverent. I feel… valued. It’s strange and unfamiliar. I’ve spent the past months convincing myself I’m nothing but a detour in Dusty’s day. A way for him to get his jollies. And because I didn’t stop it, I condemned myself for leaning into his touch. For desiring him. And for being secretive about our connection. The less I spoke, the more material the lies became. My promiscuity. His aptitude.

  I’m sensing we’ve both hidden behind the truth. I still may be doing it as a defense mechanism.

  Slow doesn’t mean simpleminded. And I could never consider Dusty uncaring. I’ve never felt like less of a tramp than I do right now.

  My bra tumbles to the carpet. “What do you want from me?”

  “A chance.”

  “For what?”

  “All the stuff you haven’t given me yet.” His dark eyes with wide pupils search my face. “Cees, don’t let anything stop this.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “We’re already bigger than whatever you think we are.”

  My mind circles around his words as Dusty lowers me to the bed. Everything about him is larger than life. Why would his sentiments be any less? Because I hadn’t given him credit for being a whole person until he’d asked me out is why. After dismissing the parts of him that I didn’t use for so many months, I was ashamed of my behavior. Even more so than my self-criticisms engaging in a relationship the crux of which was getting the other off.

  His hands splay my knees and even before his lips trail the insides of my thighs my back is arching in anticipation. Dusty’s fingers spread my folds. He flattens his tongue, licking me from back to front. I know what’s coming as he sucks the tiny ball of nerves into his mouth. He’s done this to me before. A few of the best times not asking me to return the favor before unlocking the door and moving on to the next task in his day.

  My legs would wind in the sheets if we’d pulled the comforter back. His strong palms hold me open, savoring on my pinkest parts as if my pussy is the cream on the dessert he shared on our date.