Dirty Little Secrets (24 page)

“Tell me that the only limitations you have are the ones you place on yourself,” James commanded.

Again Megan tried to speak but nothing came out.

James’ hand stopped. His body was perfectly still against hers. “Tell me,” James said again.

Megan’s eyes opened and locked on his. If there was something more intimate, she had never experienced it. She could not hide, could not run.

And she didn’t want to.

“Yes,” she breathed.

James smiled, half his mouth rising in a contented grin.

Instantly James lowered his head to the juncture of her thighs. His tongue ran along the intimate slit, opening her. Her hips lifted to meet him, to find the release only he could bring her. Every lick, each caress brought her higher. She was nearly there; pleasure robbed her of all inhibition. Her muscles tightened in anticipation of climax. But there was something wrong, something missing. She needed more. She needed him, in her body, in her life. She just needed him. She wanted to share this with him. It wasn’t just about using each other any more and she couldn’t pretend that it was. This felt different and scary, but right.

“Make love to me,” Megan said.

James raised his head. There was a question in his eyes, and something else, the same thing she felt but could not say. Slowly he moved up until he was above her. His fingers laced with hers as he pushed into her. She arched her back to meet his thrust. His gaze locked with hers and she realised for the first time, they were not using each other any more. At some point along the way the physical aspect had been shadowed by emotion. The transition had been so gradual she could not pinpoint the exact moment it happened; all she knew was that she cared about him. And she wasn’t scared of it any more. She pulled his head down and kissed him as her body coiled tightly, rhythmically contracting around him as an orgasm overtook her, shattering her into a million pieces of hot white heat.

Slowly Megan drifted back to earth. Her body was excruciatingly sensitive, every thrust too much, but she did not want him to stop. She needed his climax more than she needed her own, she needed to give him what he had given her. Despite the soreness between her legs, she relished every movement of his body; taking everything he had until eventually he found his own release. He held her for a long time, his body still encased in hers.

There was so much she wanted to say, so many words that she couldn’t, so instead she placed her hands on either side of his face and whispered, “James Emerson, you are a very nice man.” No doubt, to him it sounded like a stupid thing to say, but for her it was a sentiment she had never felt about a man.

James smiled even though he looked slightly backfooted by the odd comment. “So I’ve heard.”

Suddenly Megan realised where she was. James had the ability to make the world disappear. She sat up and pulled down her skirt and did her best to smooth out the wrinkles in her top. “I can’t believe I just did that. You are very bad for a nice man. What if someone had seen us?”

James gestured to the vast wilderness that surrounded them. “Who? The only people that could possibly see us would be from a low-flying plane and even then all they would have thought is ‘What is that man looking for between that woman’s thighs, and why does she look so happy about it?’”

Megan laughed as she swatted him with the back of her hand. “No, they would have been thinking, ‘My, that man has a white ass’.”

“True. It’s an insult to my heritage. In my defence, my ass sees very little sun. Perhaps more midday shags in the great outdoors would sort that out.”

Megan leaned in and kissed him again. “I could help you with that. But I have really been missing the after-work sex. It really is only fair if you reciprocate in kind.”

“I think we can come to some sort of agreement.”

Megan bit her lip. This was as good an opportunity to bring it up as any. If she was serious about making it work, this was the next logical step. “And morning sex. We should have morning sex, before work.”

“As in I call you and we have phone sex?”

Megan shook her head. “No, but that could be fun. But I was thinking, good old-fashioned sleepovers where I have a change of clothes and you have an extra toothbrush for me. You know like a…” Megan took a breath and forced herself to keep going, in for a penny in for a pound. “Relationship.”

James’ mouth crept into a smile.

Megan held up her hand. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I will very likely be horrible at it. I have never had a healthy relationship with a man. I’m not even sure what it looks like. And I’m sure I will mess it up, but yeah, I’m willing to try. No, that doesn’t sound right. I want to try. I want to have a real relationship with you.” There, it was out. She had said it.

James let out a long stream of air. “I hope you’re not looking to me for guidance. I have no idea what a healthy relationship looks like either. I’m new to this boyfriend thing too. Let’s just agree to be there and figure it out together.”

Megan nodded. She could do that.

“No more pushing me away when you’re scared. And I want to speak to you every day. If I can’t see you I at least want to hear your voice at the end of the day.”

Megan took a deep breath. She wanted that too. “Deal. I feel like we should shake on it or something.”

“Really? After what we just did, you need a handshake to make it official?” His mossy eyes glistened in the sunlight.

She smiled again. “Good point. See why I need you around? No shaking, maybe we should do it again though. Just to seal the deal. That will make it binding. Trust me, I’m a lawyer.”

James smiled as he pulled her into a deep kiss.

Chapter Fifteen

James stared down at the scribbled notes in front of him. He had spent the best part of an hour scrutinising every word as if they would provide a vital clue, but there was nothing hidden or clandestine in the message, it was as simple as could be: a source wanted to sell a story. It was his bread and butter, this is what he did, who he was.

James rubbed the back of his neck and swore under his breath. What the hell was he going to do? He considered the possibilities, taking each one to fruition in his mind, and every scenario left him cold.

There was no right answer.

He picked up his cell phone and texted Megan to tell her he could not see her today but he stopped before he hit send. He had not seen her in over a week; they could not risk being seen. Their relationship had been relegated to marathon phone conversations. He had never spoken on the phone so much in his life. Every night he phoned her after work, just to chat about their day, and feel connected. Throughout the day he would see things and think he must ask Megan what she thought and he felt restless until he heard her voice.

He had to shake his head at himself. James had never been the girlfriend type, but he had fallen into it so smoothly and completely with Megan that it surprised both of them. Megan had once said that James was only interested in her because the end date was built into their relationship. Maybe he had felt like that at the beginning, but now it was something he did his best not to think about. In truth he was quite happy to carry on seeing Megan for…well…as long as he could.

Today they had finally managed to carve out a bit of time together. They were going to meet at the National Monument again for lunch. He just wanted to see her again. Even if it was in public and he could not touch her or hold her, he wanted—no, needed—to see her, make sure she was holding up with all the media scrutiny.

James held his breath before he hit send and then turned off his phone. He could not answer her when she texted him back and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to decline her call if she phoned him. He needed to be clear-headed; no emotion could be involved with this decision.

James put the contract his lawyer had prepared in his briefcase just in case he needed it and headed for the airport. He had no idea what he was going to do but he had two hours of flight time plus another hour’s drive to decide.

***

James pulled over on the side of the muddy road to check the map again. He was glad he had opted for the four wheel drive rental car. It was impossible to tell if the road below was paved as it was covered in a deep blanket of thick mud. As far as James could see was covered in knee-deep murky water. A thick forest of trees ran the length of the horizon, immersed halfway up their spindly trunks in a liquid so thick it could be called water in name only. The thick canopy of leaves soaked up most of the sunlight, but the rogue rays that were able to penetrate the vegetation were enough to make the moss and lichen that blanketed the water glow an eerie iridescent chartreuse. The sight was as beautiful as it was haunting.

According to the satellite navigation system, he was going in the right direction but he felt like he had entered an alternate universe, or a horror film; he could swear he heard banjos playing in the background. Across a wooden bridge, he spotted a trailer. In front of the small dwelling was a graveyard of old cars, all missing vital components, like doors and engines. Between the half dozen vehicles, you would be hard pressed to assemble one working automobile. Tethered to a tree, a pitbull howled as it strained against its restraints.

James looked down at the address again. This could not be right. Megan couldn’t have come from this place. She was the antithesis of this dump, she was polished and hard and as urban as anyone could be, in attitude and appearance. Despite his current predicament, the knot in his stomach loosened when he thought of her. He almost smiled as he remembered their last phone conversation, but he didn’t, he was not going to let emotion play any part in his decision.

Emotion…Christ, he did care. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he did. She was none of the things he reckoned he liked in a woman, but she was all he wanted.

James parked his car behind a pickup that was missing the bonnet and windscreen. At some point the car might have been black, but now it was the dull hue of rusted metal. His feet sank into the saturated earth, dirty liquid oozing through the laces of his shoes. Luckily the trailer was raised or it would be submerged after one hard rain. He raised his hand to knock but the screen door was open.

“Hello,” James called into the house. His nostrils were assaulted by the stench of stale smoke and mildew. “Hello, Mr. Jackson? It’s James Emerson from GMN.”

A minute later a man came out of the bathroom, his hands still fiddling with the flies on his torn jeans. He was tall by most standards but still considerably shorter than James. The man was thin, but it was not the physique of a healthy man. His cheeks were hollow, his salt and pepper hair weighed down by grease. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were stained and broken. The man reached out to shake James’ hand. “Daryl Jackson.”

James hesitated before he shook his hand. Bile burned at the back of his throat, every molecule in his being vibrated, coiling tight, ready to strike. If hatred could take a human form, this would be it. James took a slow steadying breath before he could manage to offer his hand in return. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson. I believe you told one of my reporters you have a story about Megan McCoy.” James forced his voice to remain even when all her wanted to do was wrap his hands around the man’s throat and squeeze until he knew what is felt like to be afraid.

Daryl pointed to a dusty built-in sofa in the front of the trailer. James looked past Daryl to survey the rest of the house. In the kitchenette, dishes were piled high with dried food. There was an unmade sofa bed and two doors—one to the bathroom, the other presumably to the bedroom where Megan had slept as a child. His chest constricted at the thought of her here. On reflex his hands clenched but he forced himself to relax and push Megan as far from his mind as he could.

James sat down and took out his pad and pencil. He wasn’t going to write anything down but it would keep him from grabbing the man’s throat. “Tell me what you know about Megan McCoy.”

Daryl sat down across from him. “Meggy. Now there is a name I have not heard in a while, have not seen her in years. Then I was sat in a bar and whose picture comes up? She looks different now. More fancy like but I could tell it was her. You know her? You met her, like?”

James’ eyes narrowed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood taut. Slowly he lowered his head in a nod. “I have seen her at charity events with her husband. I have spoken to her a few times. She’s a remarkable woman, engaging, very bright.” He had not meant to say the last part but something inside of him wanted to defend Megan to this man, let him know that she had become an amazing woman despite him.

Daryl nodded in agreement. “She always were smart. A bit too smart if you know what I mean. Always a bit too big for her britches. Thinking she were better than other folk.”

James resisted the urge to tell him that perhaps she thought she was better because she had a proper command of the English language, but instead he urged the man to continue. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? Tell me everything you know about Megan McCoy.”

Daryl smirked, the brown stubs of his teeth appearing behind curled lips. “What don’t I know about that child? First of all she is not that fancy lady she pretends to be. She ain’t even lady enough to bring home, if you catch my drift.”

When James did not respond Daryl added, “When I saw her on the TV she was acting all better than everybody but people round these parts know different. Megan liked to put it about if you get my drift. Ain’t many men in Tally that hasn’t sampled the honey if you get my drift. And a thief. She stole my money. Did the other reporter tell you that? She dresses all fancy now, but she is still a thieving whore. Not unlike her mama that way.” Daryl took a toothpick out of his pocket and began rummaging between the stumps of his teeth.

The pencil James was holding snapped, sending shards of wood into the palm of his hand. He may have registered the sensation had he not been struggling so hard to keep himself planted against the faded gold velour cushions of the sofa. His fists itched to punch the man. He had no fucking right to speak about any woman that way. And Megan was his stepdaughter, he had the moral obligation to look after her but he was first in the queue to sell her out.