Filthy Gorgeous Lies: Book 1

Copyright © 2015
Sophie Night

All Rights Reserved

1st Electronic Edition

Cover Design: Sophie Night

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Interior design:
Pencastle Publications

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Svetlana Shirokova
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This is a work of fiction.

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I’m seriously crazy.

Even as I scan the crowded bar for Michael’s face, I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. When he called me this morning, he’d said he was in New York for business and that he’d love to see me. Just hearing his voice after six months of silence had made my heart skip. After the way things ended between us in Michigan, I never thought I’d hear from him again.

I glance at my phone. It’s nine ten. He’s ten minutes late and there’s no message from him. He’s staying in the swanky hotel above the bar. Maybe I misunderstood and he wanted me to meet him in the lobby?

I’m debating whether or not I should text him when a man slides onto the stool next to me. I don’t look up from my phone, but I can smell his expensive cologne and I can feel his eyes on me.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

A British accent rolls off his tongue, smooth and sexy. Instinctively, I look up and into a pair of pale blue eyes. For a minute, the air is caught in my throat and I can’t breathe. He’s gorgeous — at least six feet tall with dark, wavy hair and a strong, angular jaw. But it’s his eyes I’m drawn to. They’re so pale, they almost look colorless against his dark features.

His gaze slowly rakes up my body and settles on my breasts, which are practically falling out of my dress. This was the sexiest dress I owned and I’d chosen it to tempt Michael. I want to tease him, make him want me. But what I really want is a good fuck. It’s been too long — six months, to be exact — and my body is hungry for it. But not so hungry I’d take a stranger to bed.

I place my phone on the bar and smile. “I am, actually. He’s late.”

The handsome stranger signals to the bartender, orders a scotch and another of whatever I’m having — an apple martini. It’s my favorite drink, and the only thing I order when I’m at places like this.

When the bartender returns with our drinks, I take a sip. The tartness makes my lips pucker, and he laughs.

“What’s your name?”

“Lexi,” I say.

“Cole,” he offers back.

He leans back with an air of self–confidence that few men posses. Finger tracing the rim of his glass, he watches me. “You’re waiting for your ex.”

It’s not a question or a judgement. It’s an observation and his accuracy startles me. I try to play it cool. “Maybe I’m waiting for a blind date,” I say.

“I’m guessing you’re a nice girl. And nice girls don’t wear dresses like that unless they’re hungry for a good fucking.” I suck in a sharp breath, shocked by his crude words. He smiles. “And you don’t look like the type that fucks on a first date.”

I arch a brow, annoyed a complete stranger would presume to know anything about me. “You seem awfully confident about that.”

Reaching out, he touches his finger to my necklace, just above my collarbone. It’s a double strand of pearls interspersed with pale pink and green gemstones.

“Pink pearls.” He smiles to himself and drops his hand. “Expensive. More than someone in their early twenties can usually afford. I’d wager they’re a gift from your mum.”

Actually, they were, but I wasn’t going to admit that. I didn’t want to feed his cockiness. “What does my pearl necklace have to do with my unwillingness to fuck on the first date?”

“It speaks to your innocence,” he says simply. “Your purity. Your vulnerability.”

There’s something in his eyes — a dark hunger that sends tingles down my spine. My nipples tighten and heat spirals through my veins. I try to push the feelings away, but they won’t budge. This man does something to me — something I can’t quite explain. Even to myself.

My phone vibrates, breaking the spell. I glance down as the screen lights up. It’s a text from Michael.

Sorry, babe. Flight was delayed. Just landed at JFK.

Disappointment washes over me. Damn. By the time he gets here, it’ll be late. Way late. And I’m opening at the coffee shop tomorrow. As much as I’d love to blow it off, scrubbing tables and schlepping overpriced coffee is what pays the bills. Even if it’s just barely.

I text back.

Rain check for tomorrow?

He replies immediately.

You got it, babe. I’ll call you.

I sigh and stuff my phone into my tiny, wallet–sized clutch.

“Everything okay?”

I look up into those blue eyes and shrug. I should probably be irritated by his curiosity, but I actually think it’s kind of sweet. “His flight was delayed.”

He smiles faintly, as though he expected my answer — which is strange, but I immediately dismiss it. He doesn’t even know Michael, for God’s sake. Let alone whether or not his flight will be delayed.

Then, unexpectedly, Cole reaches up and traces his index finger along my jaw, and down my neck. I don’t stop him. I don’t even move. I can’t. My heart is beating so hard, I’m convinced it’ll hammer right out of my chest.

“So damn beautiful,” he murmurs. His voice is so low, I wonder if I misheard him. In fact, I’m sure I did. No one has ever called me beautiful. Not even Michael. I’ve been called cute, spunky, adorable, but never beautiful.

I swallow as his finger trails down my bare arm, sending tingles up my spine. I run my tongue along my bottom lip nervously. “I should go,” I say.

“I have a suite upstairs,” he offers. “Come up with me.”

God, yes. I want to be under this man so damn bad it hurts.

But he’s right. Deep down, I’m a good girl and I’ve never had a one–night stand. And as tempting as it is, I’m not about to start now. Especially not when things with Michael might be heating up again.

“You said it yourself — I’m not the type of girl who fucks on the first date.”

He smiles. “Ah, but this isn’t a date.”

Well, he totally has me there.

When I don’t say anything, he leans close and his warm breath brushes across my cheek. “Have you ever truly surrendered to a man, Lexi? Experienced the freedom of complete submission? I want show you how fucking good it feels to be bad. I want to tie you down, make you beg. I want to take you to the edge.”

The words are said with such dark, hungry desire that my nipples instantly harden. I should probably be horrified a stranger is talking to me this way, but I’m not. Not even close. My breasts feel heavy, and my core is wet, aching to be filled. I want him to fuck me and for a split second, I’m tempted to follow him up to his suite and let him.

“Hey sexy.” A woman in a tight, low–cut dress sidles up next to us and runs her hand along the back of Cole’s neck, twining her elegant fingers through his dark hair.

Silky blond curls spill down her bare shoulders, past her perky, rounded breasts. Every inch of her is waxed, plucked and sculpted to perfection. She’s my exact opposite in just about every way and I suddenly feel…inadequate.

She doesn’t even glance at me as she leans down and coos seductively in his ear, “I’ve missed you.”

Wait, what? Who the hell is this woman?

As her fingers gently stroke his hair, it becomes apparent that she’s someone he’s fucked. Someone he’s currently fucking by the looks of it.

He glances up at her and I decide I don’t want to find out. Whoever she is, she can have him. Fucking cheating bastard.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say as I hop off the stool and make a beeline for the exit.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing home so early?”

Nick, one of my roommates, is sitting on the couch in his pajama bottoms, watching TV when I walk in. I toss my keys onto the small table next to the door and immediately strip off my heels. I groan as I rub my sore feet. “The evening was a complete fail. Michael didn’t show up and I got hit on by a gorgeous asshole.”

He laughs, but doesn’t ask for details — probably because he’s a gorgeous asshole himself. Okay, not an asshole. Nick is actually pretty sweet. He’s got a smoking hot body and no shortage of women. Thank God, the sexy surfer type isn’t my thing or I’d be in trouble.

“Where’s Avery?” I ask.

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know. I think she had to work tonight.”

Damn. I wanted to talk to her about the Michael situation. In the six months since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve come to depend on Avery’s sage advice. She has an unflinching honesty I really need right now. I need the brutal, honest truth.

“Why, what’s up?” Nick asks.

I plop down on the couch next to him and sigh. “Michael’s flight was delayed. Do you think it was some sort of sign? Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me we aren’t meant to be together or something. That I shouldn’t even go down this path again.”

Nick pinches his brows in confusion. “Remind me who Michael is again.”

“My ex?” I say in a duh–you’re–an–idiot tone. I only mentioned his name about a zillion times after I moved here. He was my only topic of conversation for months.

“Oh, right. That Michael, yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “I think it was just a delayed flight, Lex. You’re over thinking.”

Yeah, he’s probably right. I had the habit of over thinking every situation. Driving myself crazy in the process. Not to mention everyone around me. If only I could live as impulsively as Nick. But even as a kid — I’d had to be the rational one, the one who made sure mom got up in time for work. By the time I was ten, I was making dinner and getting myself off to school. Impulsiveness never even crossed my mind.