Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4) (6 page)

He came up behind me and lifted my hair, kissing my neck slowly, sensually. His mouth was soft, addictive. I bit my lip to keep from crying out from the sheer goodness of his lips, but I gave in and moaned softly when he reached around to cup my breasts. His fingers slipped under the edge of my dress and caressed a nipple. I leaned back into him, squeezing my thighs together.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, stunned I was so wet between my legs. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he pulled my head to the side and bit me softly, all while grinding his hips into my ass. His touch was promising and, with the right encouragement, could give me what I desired.

“Bite me harder,” I demanded. This night was already decadent, and I figured I’d just spice it up more by asking for a little roughness. It was what I needed, what I’d missed since…

Since my husband had disappeared.

“The bed, Emma.” His voice was a deep buzz, and I complied, guiltily shoving thoughts of Caleb out of my mind. Apparently I’d moved a little too fast, because the room spun faster when I plopped on the bed and stretched out my legs.

“Take off my flip-flops,” I whispered, unclasping my necklace and tossing it to the nightstand with an expansive flick of my wrist. Jesus, I was drunk.

He bent over and slipped the shoes off my feet. “Wait, stand up.”

I did and watched him carefully pull down the duvet and sheet. He was even more precise than Caleb. The thought made me laugh, then a flicker of sadness lodged in my chest.

“Get in bed, beautiful,” he said, slapping me on the ass as I tumbled onto the bed, the previously sensual mood shattering. I giggled, feeling dirty.

I hadn’t been lying flat for more than a few seconds when he flung himself on top of my body and kissed me, rubbing his large body against mine.

Raising my hands over my head, I hoped he would know to pin me down. Like Caleb used to do.

Colin didn’t. Instead, he got up and turned out the light, allowing the illumination from the moon to pour onto the bed through the open curtains. Caleb always wanted the light on because he wanted to see
all of me
.

I watched Colin undress, the moonlight glinting and shadowing his exercise-honed body. He nearly fell over at one point while removing his pants, then unceremoniously slid on top of me, naked.

“I’ve drank too much to get a hard-on, I think,” he said. “But let’s see how it goes.”

I giggled. Wow. So much for romance. So much for carnal sex.

We kissed more, and I ran my hands down his back, pausing at every ridge and muscle. His skin was smooth, warm. Almost too warm. But he was certainly beautiful, and I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. Not when he’d made me feel so good earlier.

He hiked my dress up to my waist, then slipped it off easily.

I allowed this, although pangs of unease and embarrassment shot through me. Clearly, I hadn’t planned this seduction, I thought, as I looked down at my plain underwear and remembered how I hadn’t shaved, anywhere. Thank God he’d turned out the light.

He didn’t seem to care because he made little moaning noises as he kissed my stomach clumsily.

“I want to go down on you. Please?” he whispered.

“No. Kiss me,” I responded.

Somehow, being underneath him didn’t feel quite as sensual as our make out session in the bar had or when he’d been kissing my neck a few moments before. I’d assumed that, even drunk, Colin would have seduction down pat by the time he got in between the sheets. I’d hoped he would take charge for both of us. I’d wondered if he’d at least be able to get hard.

But this…this was sloppy and lazy. We fumbled and laughed as our noses bumped. Or maybe it was my fluttering heart making me nervous and I was misreading the whole situation.

With an insistent mouth, he kissed down my neck and I thrust my chest toward him. Roughly, he shoved my bra cup down, then wrangled my bra off entirely, flinging it to the floor. He raised himself to his knees, looking at me.

“Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, then hooked his thumbs in my underwear and tugged them off.

I lay there, legs closed and slightly stiff. I was wet, but wasn’t entirely certain sex was what I needed. Or wanted.

What did I want?

But when he flicked his tongue over a nipple, it felt amazing. Soothing, with just the right erotic pressure. I shut my eyes, hoping for more. And he delivered with long, sensual circles interspersed with gentle bites. I melted into him, allowing myself to give in. I ran my fingers through his longish black hair, my white skin an erotic contrast to his black strands.

As he kissed and sucked with a tender mouth, he also cupped my face softly in his hand, his thumb grazing my bottom lip.

His gentle touch was my undoing. A levee that had formed around my heart crumbled, and a flood of need and sadness and desire flowed through me.

I gasped.

“Caleb,” I moaned, then snapped my eyes open. Oh, Christ. I’d just called Colin by his brother’s name. I had no business being here, doing this. I had to leave. Or die. Or something.

He looked up at me and moved up my naked body, propping himself on his forearms. I could feel his half-hard cock on my belly. It was a tense few seconds as he stared at me. Stroking my hair and bestowing a few, fluttering kisses on my mouth, he sighed.

“Let’s just sleep, Emma,” he murmured. “We’re both too drunk for this.”

I nodded as he slid to my side, holding me. His arm clasped me tight, and while it felt good, it also didn’t feel right. I rolled over, so he was spooning me. My body was suddenly too warm, and I wriggled out of his grasp so only his hand rested on my waist. Within minutes, he was snoring.

Fading in and out of drunkenness as the room spun, I wondered what Charlotte was doing.

Charlotte.

My daughter.

My eyes peeled open. Here I was, in bed with my daughter’s uncle. Could I be a worse mother? Guilt surged through me. Jesus! Colin rolled over, away from me, and I shivered. Now I felt chilly. I poked Colin, then rubbed his back, hoping for a reaction. For him to hold me, to act like Caleb would have, something. Any little shred of intimacy.

Colin continued to snore.

I shimmied onto my back, then sat up, wobbling from the exertion.

“Um, Colin?” I shook his shoulder and repeated his name. He didn’t wake up. A cruel mixture of shame and frustration warred within me, and neither were emotions I ever associated with sex.

I inhaled sharply, and Colin’s Armani Mania cologne was suddenly everywhere in my nose, on my hair, and permeating my skin. I was gripped with an urge to run back to my room and shower the smell away.

Without trying to be quiet, I threw on my bra, dress, and flip-flops and went into the bathroom. I turned on the light and pressed my fingers to my mouth, horrified at how red and kiss-stung my lips were.

Stung from a man other than my husband.

His own brother.

My sapphire and diamond engagement ring sparkled in the harsh, unforgiving bathroom light. I looked down and saw Colin had neatly arranged all of his toiletries on the counter; he’d even nestled his toothbrush and toothpaste into a glass. So much like Caleb.

I choked back a sob as I squirted some toothpaste on my finger and swiped it around my teeth. I didn’t bother putting the tube back into the cup and flung it on the side of the lavatory, knowing it would probably annoy him in the morning. Spitting into the sink, disgusted with myself, I turned off the light, pulled open the door, and fled Colin’s room.

He never noticed that I left the bed.

I
spent
the next few hours showering (three times), vomiting (twice), and attempting to sleep (unsuccessfully, for about an hour).

Summoning all of my energy, I called Sarah at six to see how Charlotte was.

“She’s perfect,” Sarah said in a loud, chipper voice that made my head split in two. I wanted to fucking die and vowed to never drink again.

“Awesome!” I mumbled, realizing my voice sounded smoky and hoarse. “I think I’m getting some allergies down here. See you in a few hours.”

A half-hour later, I groaned aloud when I peeked out the curtains and saw the pink-orange Miami sun poke above the bay. I had a ten o’clock flight back to Orlando, and since it was rush hour and because I was moving with all the speed of a tortoise, it would likely take twice the time to get to the airport. I jammed all of my crap into my suitcase and donned my other long maxi-dress, this one with red and white stripes. I paused, looking at the mess in my bag, wondering what I was leaving behind.

I pressed my hand to my chest, panic squeezing my chest. Enough to make me wonder if I was in cardiac arrest. Holy shit, I’d left my underwear in Colin’s room. My plain beige underwear. Shuddering, I threw on a pair of sunglasses, not wanting to face myself in the mirror or think about how he’d find the panties on the floor when he rolled out of bed.

Praying I wouldn’t run into Colin in the hall or the lobby, I quietly asked the concierge to call a taxi. My head and face throbbed with such an awful hangover that I couldn’t even muster the energy to tap my phone for an Uber. Plus, I didn’t want to look at my phone and feel the humiliation of a text from Colin.

Or worse, no text from Colin. After all, he was most likely as mortified as I was and probably wanted to forget about our interlude. I walked to the taxi and rode with a permanent grimace on my face, the expression firmly in place as I checked in.

“Are you sick?” the gate agent asked.

“Allergies,” I whispered, sniffling for effect and wiping tears from my eyes.

After takeoff, I undid the seat back tray table and slumped onto it, trying to sleep. But the flight was bumpy and I became more nauseous. Ignoring the seat belt sign, I wove down the aisle to the bathroom, then dry-heaved at the sight of the toilet.

I was a total mess. Like a college student. Worse. This was quite possibly the least dignified moment of my adult life.

Taking a deep breath and staring at myself in the airplane bathroom mirror, I vowed to forget about the previous night. It was a mistake borne out of grief and sadness and one that wouldn’t be repeated because the guilt percolated within and threatened to engulf me.

I dry heaved again.

I
had
a hangover for a full forty-eight hours. This was the downside of being thirty-six and not used to drinking all night.

“You don’t look good,” Laura observed as she stopped by Monday evening with a new stuffed animal for Charlotte and a stack of legal papers for me to look over. The files had to do with the business, and frankly, I didn’t care and didn’t want to be involved. I’d avoided all meetings with the attorney, claiming Charlotte needed me. The business wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

Finally, Laura had insisted, saying I needed to at least read what was happening with the family’s affairs. Caleb and I hadn’t signed a pre-nup, so apparently, under Florida law, I was under some obligation to make business decisions with the King family.

The only decision I wanted was to go to bed and die from shame and sadness.

“I’ll look at everything, but not for a few days,” I told Laura. Not with this hangover. Not with this guilt. “I feel like crap. Allergies.” I took a sip of my tea with a tremor-stricken hand. “They’re killing me.”

She gazed at me and shook her head. “You just can’t get a break, can you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Have you had a kombucha tea today? It’s a great hangover cure. Or maybe some Echinacea tea to boost your immune system?”

“I’ll try it. Thanks.”

Laura walked to the elevator, needing to pick Sarah up at the bookstore. I gave a tired wave from the sofa, where I was trying to read Charlotte a book.

Charlotte leaned against me and stared at the pictures. I’d chosen
Pat the Bunny
, incapable of anything more complex. With her little, chubby finger, she poked the tactile bunny fur. I kissed the top of her yummy-smelling head and hugged her into me. Her eyes started to flutter shut. After five months of waking up every three hours, Charlotte had become a champion sleeper in her sixth month. Thank God. She was also sleeping in the crib in her nursery now, instead of in the bassinet at my bedside.

My baby girl wanted some alone time, apparently. At first it had stung, but then I was proud she was so independent.

“Let’s get you in bed, little one,” I whispered.

She was out within minutes. Getting her to sleep in her nursery crib might be my biggest achievement in the past month, I thought as I clicked off the light.

In the darkness, I flopped on a nearby plush yellow chair—I couldn’t handle the motion of the swing, not with my queasy stomach—and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look at the alligator Caleb had placed under the swing all those months ago.

I felt like shit in every way possible. I’d betrayed
my husband
. All because I’d been drunk and thought Colin was a suitable substitute for an evening. I was needy and out of control.

Unwelcome thoughts raced through my mind. Was I a terrible person for nearly hooking up with my husband’s brother, someone I’d grown so close to? Relied upon, even? What would Caleb say about this, especially since Colin had slept with Tara, who eventually became Caleb’s wife?

I thought about my left-behind underwear and made a horrified face. Covered my eyes withy my hand.

Why hadn’t I heard from Colin?

Eventually I would. When I did, would it be awkward?

Maybe it wouldn’t. My mind lulled into a half-sleep and drifted to Colin’s kiss, the way he’d softly nuzzled my neck and ran his tongue around the rim of my ear. Maybe we’d had a true spark the other night. I allowed myself a moment of fantasy, starting with Colin’s sensual kisses in the bar and forgetting about our sloppy attempt at sex in the room. Would those kisses have turned into much more if we’d been sober?

It had felt so damned good that night in Miami to be wanted by someone who looked a little like my husband. Who sounded like my husband. Who whispered kind and sexy things to me right when I was at my neediest. I longed for someone to nuzzle my neck, play with my hair, caress my breasts.

I also wanted to be fucked hard and well.

The distant sound of my phone ringing in the kitchen made me jump up and race to answer. I didn’t want Charlotte to wake. I shut the nursery door gingerly.

“Hello,” I said in a hushed voice.

“It’s the concierge. Mr. Colin King is here to see you. Shall I send him up?”

Oh shit.

“Yes, please do.”

I raced into the bedroom to strip off my Minnie Mouse sleep shirt with spit-up on the shoulder and threw on a pair of clean, pink silk pajamas. Why the hell was Colin stopping by at eight on a Monday night?

I heard the elevator doors slide open and padded out to greet him.

“Hey,” I said, aware my voice was creaky and awkward.

He was in a dark blue suit, looking like he’d stepped off a Milan runway. The way his clothes fit his tall body made my mind go temporarily blank. He grinned, and his light blue eyes shimmered as they fixed, unblinking, on me. My heartbeat skipped a little. I smoothed my curls with my hand and felt my nipples poke against the silk of my top.

Those reactions were pure biology, I reminded myself. Not real emotion.

“Hi. I brought this for you.” He reached into his pocket and took out my necklace. It looked clunky and cheap next to the Piaget on his wrist. Because it was.

“Thanks.” I laughed nervously and took it from him, making sure our fingers didn’t touch, then clasped it around my neck. I thought about my underwear in the hotel room and pressed a hand to my chest as if to hold in the embarrassment.

“I was worried you’d left the necklace in the room or you’d thrown it away or given it to the maid or something.”

He scowled and spoke in a clipped tone. “I wouldn’t do that, Emma.”

“No. Of course not. Hey, um, you want something to drink?”

He shook his head, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. This clearly was as awkward for him as it was for me. His phone rang. He squinted and held up a finger as he answered.

“Lourdes, I can’t talk tonight,” he murmured. “No, probably not the weekend, either. I’ve got family stuff to deal with. Yeah. Maybe next week. No, I won’t be in Miami until then. I’ll call you when I return.” He hung up. “Sorry.”

I shrugged, and a little pang of irrational jealousy shredded my earlier fantasy around the edges. “Hey, I’m the sorry one. Sorry about the other night,” I said, sinking into the sofa, wondering if he’d hooked up with Lourdes before or after our night together. The thought made me feel even cheaper.

He eased next to me and shook his head. “I’m not sorry.”

“You’re not?” My eyes went wide.

“No. We did what came natural to us. It was actually very excellent and balanced. And maybe we could see how it goes from here.” He shot me a little smile and blinked lazily. “You know…without the gin and whiskey.”

I pushed out a breath. “Well, it makes me feel guilty. Like I’ve moved on too quick from your brother when I haven’t—”

His phone chirped, interrupting us, and he extracted it from his pocket.

Another woman’s name popped up on the screen, and he shut it off, then slid the device onto the coffee table. I watched him move with a controlled grace and tucked my legs under me, feeling uneasy, like an intruder in my own home.

“Why are you here?” I blurted.

He studied me. Something about his appraisal, calculated and sharp, sent a pang of anxious need through me. It baffled me how I was suddenly, magnetically attracted to him. Was I so starved for attention?

“I wanted to see how you were doing. And apologize for getting so drunk. I feel like I’ve been drinking more since…since everything happened—”

I interrupted. “I understand.”

We both nodded, uneasily, and looked at our hands. It made me feel a little better he was as uncomfortable as I was.

“I’m…still hungover.” I laughed genuinely, breaking the tension.

He chuckled and nodded, then moved a little closer, his cologne surrounding me and scattering my thoughts. He lightly swept hair away from my face, and his fingertips grazed my cheek in the process. I was shocked by how light his touch was compared to the veritable clumsiness of our time in bed. It made me stop breathing and lean back a few inches, away from him.

It was dangerous, just the two of us on the sofa. I was too lonely, he was too handsome, and there was a spark of attraction between us, if the tattoo of my heart was any indication. I didn’t want to give in to my biological response to him, didn’t want to succumb to attraction. Intellectually, I knew what was happening. My body, though, wanted something purely carnal.

“I also wanted to take you out to dinner some time this week. Somewhere nice and expensive. How’s Saturday?”

“Oh! You mean, me and Charlotte?”

He shook his head. “Just you. I was thinking Charlotte could go to Laura and Sarah’s. For the night.”

I swallowed. “Um…”

What? My sober brain couldn’t process the idea of planning to spend the entire night with a man. With my brother-in-law. I’d been susceptible to the idea when I was drunk and in Miami. Now, in my Orlando living room, my defenses had almost returned. I was semi-sane again, and the idea of spending the night with Colin probably wasn’t a solid one.

“Why don’t you think about it and call me tomorrow?” He mentioned an expensive restaurant downtown, then leaned in and kissed me, seized my lips with a familiar insistence.

I didn’t inhale him like I had the other night, but I did return his kiss. Tonight I was tentative and shy, and he groaned softly, the noise tugging at something deep inside me.

Now that I was sober, I recognized he kissed differently than my husband. Not in a bad way, just different. Colin’s kisses, like his eyes, were more distant than his brother’s.

At least when he was sober. When he was drunk, he was more sensual. Or maybe those had been my intoxicated perceptions. I was an unreliable narrator of my own story, apparently.

“I’m going to go now so you can get some sleep. I want you rested for Saturday,” he murmured, then planted a single, soft kiss on my mouth. He devoured me slowly, carefully, as if he knew exactly how to erase my hesitations.

Now
that
was a kiss to take my breath away. Why did his parting gesture have to be such an excellent kiss?

He grabbed his phone, then paused to study me, his eyes flickering to my mouth. Twirling one of my curls in his finger, he looked amused. “Stunning, even when hungover.”

Open-mouthed and mute, I gaped at him as he rose and walked to the elevator and pushed the button. The doors slid open.

“Wait.”

He turned, a half-smile on his face. I rose from the sofa and stood in front of him. My lips still tingled from the kiss and my heart crashed around my ribcage. I knew what I had to do. Knew what I had to say.

“Do you want me to stay?” Colin said this in a hopeful whisper, and my stomach tightened with lust. I’d always been a sucker for a man with a deep voice. But tonight, my rational mind overruled my libido.

“No,” I replied. “I don’t.”

Colin lifted an eyebrow. “Then why did you ask me to wait?”

I summoned my courage with an inhale. “I won’t be having dinner with you. I don’t want to see how it goes. I think I know how it would go.”

He grinned. “It would be sublime, I think.”

I shook my head.

“You seemed to be interested the other night in Miami.” His magnetic gaze bored into me, and I reminded myself to stay strong. I didn’t want mindless lust, expensive restaurants, men who wore watches worth more than I’d ever make in a lifetime.