Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4) (4 page)

I
rose earlier
than everyone else because of Charlotte, who woke hungry and fussy. Trying to be quiet, we tiptoed to the kitchen, where I prepared a bottle. When it was the right temperature, we headed to the porch and sank onto one of the decades-old rocking chairs, and I fed her while inhaling the woodsy morning air.

“’Morning,” mumbled Sarah, who was wearing an old-fashioned pink-and-white flannel nightgown that made me grin. “You okay?”

I nodded. “I actually got pretty good sleep last night. First in a while. Charlotte didn’t wake up and I didn’t have any nightmares.” I’d told Sarah all about the crazy dreams I’d had, even the ménage one about Caleb and Colin.

“Well, that’s an improvement. See? Maybe our little getaway is doing you some good. Why don’t you go take a swim? You love the water. I’ll finish feeding Charlotte.”

“No—” I said reflexively, then noticed her hard stare. “Well, fine. I would like to take a dip before the sun gets really hot. And I haven’t been down to the spring yet.”

I handed my daughter to Sarah and watched her for a moment, happily sucking away at her bottle. I was grateful to have such amazing friends and family who loved my daughter. Who helped with her whenever I needed. Who kept me sane.

Maybe Miami wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.

“Let’s try some applesauce today, too.” Sarah looked up. “See, you thought not being able to breastfeed her was going to irreparably harm her. Look how much she’s grown. Look how much she loves to eat.”

I wanted to say something about how guilt had eaten away at me when my maternal body couldn’t do something as basic as breastfeeding. But since she and Laura had put the IVF attempts on hold because of the search for Caleb, I bit my tongue.

“I’m going to change into my suit. I’ll see you in a half-hour, tops.”

I quickly changed into my boring, black one-piece and slipped out the back door, taking a path to the natural spring on the property. It was a five-minute walk from the house, and I wandered down the path, knowing exactly where I was going and reluctantly enjoying the toasty morning Florida sunshine.

The last time I’d been on this path was with Caleb.

I paused when I reached the lip of the glass-clear spring. The water, the electric blue hue, the anticipation of the sharpness of the temperature, always stole the breath from my lungs. A morning column of sun hit the blue spring, and it seemed to glow and shimmer. The water was so clear I could almost see the grains of white sand at the bottom, some twenty feet below.

I was alone, and nature was putting on a show just for me.

I plunged in, head first, my skin shocked by the cold. I swam furiously underwater and opened my eyes.

Like swimming through air, the water was so crystalline.

Maybe, I thought, if I swam fast enough, Caleb would be on the other side of the spring when I surfaced. Waiting for me, his silver-black hair glistening, his muscular shoulders speckled with water, his sapphire eyes beckoning as if to say,
I want you now, Emma
.
Come here and I’ll show you how much I love you.

I emerged for air, and all I saw was the unforgiving darkness of trees and deep green palmetto scrub, the forest as silent as Caleb’s absence had been for many months.

As the birds whistled and burbled in the distance, I tread water and sobbed. Dunking my head underwater, I blew out bubbles and salty tears leaked from my eyes into the fresh water. I floated on my back and shook, until I finally howled in the direction of the sun.

Why was he taken from me? Was every moment going to be difficult for the rest of my life? Was he really gone for good?

Sighing, suddenly exhausted, I sliced a slow breaststroke through the shimmery spring to shore, where I’d flung my towel on a tree stump.

Scrubbing my face, I dried myself and wrapped the towel tight around my body, then made my way barefoot up the path to the house. Even though the rustic lake house wasn’t visited often by the King family, the grounds were impeccably maintained, with trim jasmine hedges interspersed with a riot of red bougainvillea blooms. I inhaled the heady floral scent.

I rounded a hedge and padded up a few stone steps, looking down as I walked so I wouldn’t trip on the pavers. Raising my glance, I stopped, shocked. And stared.

There was a man in the outdoor shower, his back to me.

Naked.

It was Colin.

Oh, shit. My hand flew to my mouth and my fingers pressed against my lips. I averted my eyes to my feet.

I’d forgotten there was a shower enclosure near the back door, just steps from the pool. I’d only used the shower once, a couple of years ago, when Caleb and I had first visited. We’d been alone, and we’d ravaged each under the spray, with Caleb pressing me against the warm slate backing of the enclosure.

The rest of the shower was only partitioned off by a knee-high stone wall, which meant I could see all of my brother-in-law’s body. His broad shoulders leading down to his trim waist, which flowed into his extraordinarily muscular ass.

My god, his ass. It was like hand-forged iron. My heart hammered with embarrassment and the shame of appreciating a man’s body.

I knew I shouldn’t stand there and stare at my brother-in-law, but in a sweaty rush, I came to a realization. Two, actually.

One, I was lonely. And, two,
Jesus Christ some men were inexplicably gorgeous when naked
. The thoughts didn’t make me feel any less guilty, though, and I wondered if I was betraying Caleb for checking out his brother.

I lowered my eyes again, my face hot with shame. How could I forgive myself for my momentarily lusty glance? I silently stepped behind a tall bush, mortified.

Crap. And how would I get to the back door without being seen by Colin? Turn around and go back to the spring, walk past him, or hide—those were my choices.

My gaze flicked up, through a thatch of leaves. He must have gone swimming in the pool because his trunks were slung over the wall. A towel was draped over a hook near the entrance.

He turned, so I was staring at his profile, and my breath hitched. He soaped up his muscular legs, then his ass, and then around to his… I looked down, just as he washed and tugged at his cock. I exhaled a thin strand of air, feeling warmer by the moment. He looked just enough like Caleb to take my breath away.

A dirty thought ran through my mind: what if he started jerking off? No, he wouldn’t. But what if he did? What would I do?

Jesus! What was wrong with me? Was I really standing and ogling my brother-in-law? I tried to tell myself that it was a natural reaction to seeing a naked man. After all, I
had been
an erotica writer, once upon a time.

My heart thumped erratically. I had more important things to think about, like avoiding being seen in the bushes. Colin would never let me live it down if he saw me spying on him.

I stared at my feet, which were perilously close to a fire ant hill. Dammit.

Raising my eyes again, it was a relief to see him was soaping up his chest, not pleasuring himself. He ran a big hand over his hard pecs and the valleys of his abdomen. The sun came out from behind a cloud and hit the shower just right, making Colin’s body look golden from the rays and the water droplets.

I recalled the day my husband and I stood in that very spot and how the sun had dappled Caleb’s skin much the same way, making his leg muscles glint as they tensed while we fucked. How exhilarating it had been to have him enter me in broad daylight, the humid air mixing with the warm water on our skin. Caleb had even gotten on his knees to lick between my legs, and I recalled how I’d propped my foot on the wall, giving his mouth better access to my clitoris. How I’d spread myself open for him, without shame. I’d ground myself into his face, crying out from my orgasm, my voice lost in the branches of tall oak trees draped with Spanish moss. When I came, I’d gasped only one thing:
I love you, Caleb Matthew King.

I shifted slightly away from the fire ants, feeling an uncomfortable wetness between my legs at the memory.

God, how I wanted my husband back so he’d lick me until I screamed.

I swallowed a lump, and a pang of fear went through me as Colin turned so he was facing the bush I was hiding behind.

I held my breath, hoping he didn’t see me. His eyes appeared shut because his head was tilted back into the spray as he washed the soap out of his hair, which had grown longish over the past few months. I hadn’t quite noticed how long it had become until that moment. Not down to his collar or anything, but just slightly long on top, enough so it would be satisfying to tug on. My eyes continued down his body.

The column of his neck was powerful and corded, and it made me remember biting my husband’s neck as his orgasm peaked.

What the hell? These thoughts were coming from a place of emptiness, I knew. Intense loneliness. A mortally wounded place, even.

Colin turned his back to me, and my breath leaked out of my mouth. Numbly, I wondered how one family could produce two beautiful men. And while Colin was a stunning piece of man-candy, seeing him naked didn’t actually make me want
him
.

It made me crave my husband.

After a couple of minutes—it seemed like much longer—he shut the spray off. Grabbing the towel, he dried, wrapped it around his waist, and ambled away.

I swallowed hard and waited a few more minutes in stillness. I didn’t want to return to the house and have to pretend like I wasn’t short of breath, that my heart wasn’t racing for something I couldn’t have.

A
month later
, I followed on Sarah’s suggestion—her urging, really, because she practically pushed me onto a flight—and went to Miami for the book fair. I missed Charlotte with a fierce ache, and even though I talked to what felt like thousands of people, I couldn’t ignore one fact: my one-year wedding anniversary was two weeks away.

It was late Saturday afternoon, and with the book festival over, I walked back to my hotel instead of taking an Uber, wanting to soak up the big-city vibe of bumper-to-bumper traffic and endless car horns to distract myself from my thoughts. Along the way, I stopped at a Cuban restaurant for a strong shot of sweetened coffee and slurped it down at the counter, smiling at the old man who’d made it with care and a wink.

“
Guapísima
,” he said, telling me I was beautiful in Spanish, proving that men were never too elderly to flirt. I lowered my eyes and murmured thanks, following up with a shy smile.

“
Pero, chica
. Don’t look so sad.” He slid a guava pastry toward me through the window. “It’s on the house. I hope it will make you happy.”

Out of habit of accommodating men even when I didn’t feel like flirting, I giggled and waved goodbye, eating the sweet treat along the way. It was delicious, I had to admit. Within a couple of blocks, I was riding high on a caffeine and sugar buzz, moving fast and feeling purposeful.

Little beads of perspiration formed on my forehead as I walked over the bridge to Brickell Key, but I didn’t much care. Maybe it was the powerful coffee, or maybe it was because I’d distracted my mind all day with conversations about books, but for the first time in months, I felt functional. Not good and definitely not happy; happiness might be forever elusive without my husband. And I certainly didn’t feel beautiful. Between Caleb’s absence and the first six months of motherhood, I even didn’t much feel like a woman anymore.

But I did feel like an adult, for about five minutes, and then the image of my daughter popped into my head. My chest felt achy and heavy from her absence. I dialed Sarah for the tenth time as I spotted the hotel from a few blocks away.

“How’s Charlotte doing?” I demanded.

“She and Laura are crawling around on the floor. Wait, no, she’s rolling around on her back and Laura’s tickling her. Listen.” In the background I heard my baby’s giggles, and I laughed, too. This would be my one and only weekend away from her for the foreseeable future, I decided.

Being apart from the one human who made me feel good was too difficult.

And yet, walking into my hotel suite, I briefly allowed myself to revel in the silence. After just two days, I’d cluttered it up good, scattering each hair care product and lipstick on every available surface. I let my clothes drop where I’d removed them and kicked my flats off and flung them a few feet across the room in an act of freedom. Since moving into Caleb’s sterile penthouse and becoming a mother, I’d learned to be a little neater.

Now, in the hotel room, I treated myself to disorganization.

A long, scalding shower followed by a blast of cool water relaxed my tired legs. Shoving aside a towel, a book, and a phone charger, I flopped on the king-sized bed, naked. It was as close to bliss as I’d felt in months. I felt myself drifting off, the cool sheets against my bare skin.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed and my eyes snapped open. My stomach tightened. Every time the phone went off, I had an involuntary pang of nerves. My hands shook as I rustled around for my purse on the floor.

It was a text from Colin.

Hey. I’m at the bar downstairs. Want to meet me for a drink?

I dunno. I’m pretty beat.
I rubbed my eye and yawned.

Come on. You deserve a cocktail.

Groaning out loud, I tapped on my phone.
Fine. One drink. But I’m not dressing up.

No need to dress up for me.

I paused at a chair and ottoman, where the contents of my suitcase seemingly had exploded. Did I really want to go out? The big, crisp bed called to me, as did room service and a night of HBO uninterrupted by a baby’s cries. But I’d told Colin I’d meet him, and I needed to stop hiding from the world every time someone asked me to step outside of my bubble.

I threw on an old beige cotton bra and panty set—those were all I wore because I’d stuffed all of the sexy scraps I’d bought for Caleb’s pleasure in a bag in my closet—and shoved my feet into some black flip-flops. Then I pulled on a long, floral maxi dress with a halter top. It was loose-fitting, shapeless, and long. It hid a multitude of figure flaws. After childbirth, I definitely contained multitudes of flaws.

A swipe of lipstick and a twist of my hair into a messy bun were my halfhearted attempts at looking presentable. I threw on my favorite necklace, a silver heart I’d bought years before, when I first started writing romance. I was ready.

And anyway, I was only having a drink with Colin. He’d seen me in far worse states. The worst, truly.

I wandered to one bar on a terrace and didn’t find him. Then I recalled there was a second outdoor bar and strolled there, enjoying the polished teak and light blue minimalist décor of the hotel along the way. Walking slowly down a curved staircase, I found the other place. It was set on a wide deck next to a shimmering infinity pool overlooking Biscayne Bay and the expansive skyline. Strains of a slow-beat chill soundtrack wafted in the air; they seemed to be everywhere in ultra-cool Miami. Colin lounged in a chair at the far end of the bar, looking supremely relaxed and self-assured. I slid into a seat next to him.

“Dude,” I joked.

“Hey. How was the book festival?”

“Not bad.” I shrugged. “I met some authors. Asked a few up to Orlando to do a signing. Made some contacts with other booksellers. Made me feel almost normal, y’know?”

He nodded once, curtly, and drained his drink. These days we rarely talked about Caleb unless one of the detectives from Brazil called, which hadn’t happened in weeks. The wound was just too raw for the both of us.

“What would you care to drink this evening, Emma?”

I sighed, annoyed. Now that we were in Miami, in public, he was back to the formal Colin. Hopefully he wouldn’t morph into the pretentious Colin, otherwise I’d be cutting the evening short. Cable TV held better rewards than Colin.

I pointed at his empty glass, bored. “What are you drinking?”

“Tanqueray and tonic.”

“A perfect warm weather drink. Sounds good to me.”

Colin ordered, and when the bartender brought the glasses, I plucked out my straw and wrung my lime into the clear liquid. I took a huge gulp.

“Wow, that’s good. I haven’t had a G-and-T in…well, a long time.” I smiled faintly, remembering how Caleb had bought me a gin martini the night we met. As soon as the memory washed over me, I chided myself.

Don’t think about that. Not now, not here. Live in the present. It’s what Caleb would want you to do.

The side of Colin’s mouth quirked. “Is this your first drink since Charlotte was born?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This deserves a toast. Cheers.” We clinked glasses.

Twisting in my seat away from him, I scanned the patio. The Mandarin was where I’d always stayed in Miami with Caleb because the King family had built the hotel years before. When I was single and had visited the city for the book festival, I’d always crashed at a rundown Art Deco hotel on the beach because it was cheap and within walking distance to the best vintage clothing stores. As I looked around at the gorgeous international guests and their taut bodies draped fashionably on chaises, I wondered if I would have been happier at my old haunt on the beach.

No, I wouldn’t.

I was comfortable among luxury now. It was a sentiment I never thought I’d have, and didn’t feel like analyzing why. I was beyond caring about so much these days.

So what if I was wearing a shapeless, unsexy dress that hid my post-pregnancy belly? And so what if I had stubbly armpits? Maybe I was finally just comfortable in my own skin, despite all of the sadness layered within me. There was something about the warm Miami breeze that made me feel a little carefree and confident, more so than I’d been in months.

Miami was a city you could lose yourself in, however temporarily.

I turned to Colin. “And you? How was your meeting? You think you’ll be able to pull this new building off?”

He nodded thoughtfully and angled his tall body toward my chair. “We just might be able to. It might require me relocating here for a year or so because it’s a complicated project. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Hmm. Well, hopefully you’ll make time every so often to see your favorite niece.”

Colin laughed, a genuine chuckle. “You know I can’t stay away from her. She’s really incredible, Emma. Of all the bad things this year, she’s the one bright spot. She’s kept all of us sane.”

I took another sip, trying to distract myself so I wouldn’t tear up. Colin obviously noticed and began talking about his project, animatedly retelling the various regulatory hurdles of building a high rise in South Florida and how the politicians had to be glad-handled and possibly even bribed in a subtle way to make sure things went smoothly.

As he spoke, I studied his face. Maybe it was because I was seeing him outside of our respective homes in Orlando, but it was as if I was looking at him for the first time. Tonight in the twilight, he was strikingly similar to Caleb, with little glints of gray sprouting in his raven-colored hair, which was longer than Caleb’s. His voice nearly matched my husband’s timbre, and the precise movements of his brutally large hands were also similar. He wore a casual, white linen shirt and slightly baggy, tan linen pants. His shirtsleeves were perfectly, evenly rolled, exposing powerful forearms and a titanium Piguet watch. I remembered how he’d bought the watch in London. He’d flown home and immediately come by the condo to show Caleb. It was only days after I’d told Caleb about my pregnancy.

“A half-million dollars?” Caleb had exclaimed, incredulous. “Come on, man.” That was Colin: excessive. And that was also Caleb: down-to-earth yet a man who loved luxury on a slightly smaller scale.

Colin had just laughed and, eventually, got Caleb to as well. We’d all gone out to brunch, and I remembered both of them encouraging me to eat more, more,
more
because of the baby.

“Stop, you two!” I’d groaned. “I’m going to burst.”

Now, almost a whole year and one unthinkable tragedy later, I was here in Miami watching Colin talk. He was getting into the details now, and I detected a glint in his blue eyes. If there was one thing he loved, it was talking about business. He told stories about deals and money and, as usual, was quite entertaining as he gestured expansively with his hands, pausing for comedic effect every so often, taking a sip of his drink.

He was charming, that was certain.

As I listened, I spotted several other women on the terrace raking their eyes over his broad shoulders, his full head of hair, his long legs. Like my husband, Colin had a commanding presence, and watching the women stare at Colin amused me. I remembered the day I saw him naked in the outdoor shower, and a little pang of embarrassment swept over me and I grimaced.

“What?” he said, grinning and interrupting his story about how a rare snake had been found at one Miami development site and had put the project on hold for months, much to his annoyance.

I quickly motioned with my head. Of course I wouldn’t tell him what I was really thinking about. “Oh! See the woman over there, the one in the yellow sarong? I think she’s sitting just over my left shoulder?”

He shifted and glanced with a raised eyebrow. “The blonde? What about her?”

“When she walked by, she stared at you as if you were a prime cut of London broil.”

He laughed and shrugged. “Whatever.”

I laughed, too. I’d noticed in recent months how Colin hadn’t kept up his usual pace of women. He’d still dated some, but not as much as before, it seemed. I’d chalked it up to Caleb’s disappearance and considered asking him about his changed dating habits, but we were having such an easy moment together I didn’t want the sadness to settle in the air once again.

“So back to the snake. I hate reptiles, but please tell me you saved him. I hate hearing about animals being killed,” I said.

Colin put his hand on my forearm. “Yes. The snake. I made money off the snake. Let me tell you how.”

He returned to the story, which ended up making me laugh hard.

As I giggled about his characterization of the serpent—“fat, like a slug, but black and ten inches”—we locked eyes and I suddenly recalled the filthy ménage dream I’d had about him. I blinked, rapidly, feeling my face get hot.

“You okay? Something in your eye?” he asked.

I turned to my drink and rattled the ice in my glass. A little smile crept on my face. “I’m good. Allergies, I think.”

Never mind I hadn’t experienced allergies in my life, not in Miami and not in Orlando. I glanced up to see him staring at me, his mouth quirked.

“So back to the snake. I was with the governor…” I zoned out during the rest of his sentence, thinking about his searching, magnetic eyes that made me somehow feel like I was the only woman in Miami.

How weird.

I drank and snuck glances at his face. The only thing substantially different between the two brothers were Colin’s eyes, I noted. They were a blazing, icy blue. I kept drinking, grateful he was keeping the conversation going, that we were talking about something other than Caleb and family and depression. Grateful he was smart enough to know to make me laugh so I wouldn’t weep. Grateful he had such beautiful eyes.

I couldn’t stop looking at them. I stared a little harder and saw they were flecked with black around the ring.

“Business talk must bore you. I’m sorry to ramble,” he said.

“No. Don’t apologize. I’m actually interested. Your business is fascinating. You and your family have shaped the state. Remade it. Florida would be very different without you.”

“You could say that.” Was the grin one of triumph? I couldn’t decipher it.