Broken Lies: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 1 Page 16

  The kiss is slow, languid, and careful in a way we’ve never been with each other. He tastes my mouth with purpose, taking time to enjoy the dance of my tongue with his. Slowly, he shifts until he can lie me down, cradling my frame in between his arms, shielded from everything as he hovers over me. Tucked between the coffee table and the couch, all I can see is Eli, the solemnity of his expression, the reassurance in his gaze.

  Reaching back, he tugs the T-shirt he threw on before dinner over his head and discards it. Hard muscle and tanned skin ripple. My fingers trace his abs appreciatively as he yanks my shirt lower on my shoulder and dips his head, pressing kisses mixed with nips up the side of my neck. I turn my head to the side, giving him more access, breathing in his scent and letting his warmth fill me up.

  His hands touch me with a reverence I’ve never known, quieting my doubts and pulling me further into his orbit. My thighs fall to the sides as he settles between them, the weight of his body sheltering me with a security I’ve yearned for.

  Eli pulls back slightly, his eyes focused on one of mine before switching to the other, as if gauging my reaction, confirming that so much more is happening, unfolding, joining under the surface of our physical connection.

  “You can always ask me for the truth, Violet.” His words are raspy, gravel and sand and a million tiny things that create the big things. The ones worth living for. “I won’t lie to you.”

  My heart pangs in my chest. A reminder. A warning.

  I haven’t been honest with him. I’ve shared the darkest of lies, hoping that I could believe in them.

  No, I haven’t been honest with anyone. Not even myself.

  My lips part, and the confession beads on the tip of my tongue, ready to explode forth in the quietest of whispers, but Eli’s mouth captures mine once more. I allow him to swallow my truth along with my fear.

  Relief erupts, washing through my limbs like a salve. My hands move to the back of his neck, my fingertips grazing his hair. His mouth is hot against my skin, his touch certain. He undresses me slowly, as if we have all the time in the world. Moments and decades to explore each other’s bodies, to fall into each other’s minds, to join our souls and blossom into something greater than our individual selves.

  His gaze drags over my skin, inch by inch. His eyes darken, his lids grow heavier, and I feel the appreciation like a caress. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  “Kiss me, Eli. And don’t ever stop.” I guide his face back to mine before my hands drop to the waistband of his sweats.

  In mere moments, we’re naked, our bodies pressed together, melding into one another with a thousand promises I’ll break by week’s end. In this moment, though, even that doesn’t matter. All that matters is him. And me. And us.

  Eli grips my hip, his mouth trailing down my chest, along my stomach, peppering kisses the entire time until he finds my core, wet and desperate for his touch.

  A growl falls from his mouth in the same moment a sigh drops from mine. Anticipation squeezes my stomach, my body nearly trembling as I connect with his gaze. Filled with more than just lust, the depth of his emotion undoes me. Keeping his eyes on mine, his tongue darts out, licking a path right up my center.

  “Eli,” I whisper, entranced by him.

  He doesn’t respond, just grips my thighs harder, parting them, and buries his face between my legs in the most delicious torture I’ve ever experienced.

  “Fuck.” I drop my head back, my fingers tangled in his hair. “Eli.”

  His tongue parts me slowly, seductively, longingly. My body tightens and trembles as he moves even slower. Desperate for more, my mouth parts and then, I feel his fingers enter me. One, two, three.

  Fuck.

  His mouth travels to my clit, licking and nipping and sucking while his fingers pump in and out in a steady rhythm.

  My eyes close, my hips bucking off the floor, but Eli’s weight keeps me steady as my senses heighten. Colors explode in my mind like fireworks, my core tightening, my body shaking.

  “Baby, I’m —” I can’t even get the words out, consumed with sensations that are stronger, deeper, bigger than anything I’ve ever felt before. “Eli —”

  “Come for me, baby.”

  His strangled command pushes me over the edge. Waterfalls burst through me, a flood of pleasure that seems endless in its intensity. I cry out as Eli drags one last lick through my center.

  “Oh God,” I murmur, returning to reality.

  Glancing down, he’s perched casually between my thighs, grinning at me like a goddamn quarterback who threw the winning touchdown.

  “Like your sounds, babe,” he smirks.

  “Jesus.” I drop my head back once more.

  In the next moment, Eli distracts me again. Slides into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like we fit together perfectly, like we were made for each other. My heart stutters in my chest, overwhelming emotions rising in me like high tide. Gripping Eli closer, I press kisses over his shoulders and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Losing myself to his touch, the sensations they elicit, I break apart in his arms once more.

  * * *

  “You okay, Violet?” he asks me afterwards.

  After I gave him a blow job to rival all blow jobs in the steam of his shower, the water beating down on us, his fingers locked in my hair. After we had sex again, this time with my back pressed against the shower wall, the tiles chafing against my skin. After we were forced to shower all over again and I kissed him hard when I realized he bought the coconut shampoo I like. After we toweled off and I rang out the ends of my sopping wet hair while he used his forearm to clear the steam from the mirror.

  Standing in his ridiculous bathroom, a towel hangs low on his hips and the cutest grin glances off his lips. Lips that devoured me with an insatiable hunger. One that was more than just physical.

  Deeper than just like. One that was different than anything I ever experienced.

  “Truth?” I look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

  “Please.” He turns and slides onto the vanity, his thigh next to my hand.

  Reaching out, I place my palm on his thigh and grip the terrycloth of the towel. “I know this is supposed to be fun. Not complicated. A hook-up for our time in the Seychelles. But I like you, Eli Holt. And it scares the hell out of me.”

  His grin grows cockier, his chest puffing out slightly. But his eyes, they search mine out with a vulnerability I want to hold onto as he opens his mouth and murmurs, “I’ve been there for a while now, baby.”

  22

  Eli

  “It’s different with her.” I explain to my brother on FaceTime.

  “Different how?” He narrows his eyes but he’s grinning. I know he’s happy for me even though he can’t help but worry. I don’t have a great track record with women.

  “I just feel like we’ve spent time getting to know each other.”

  “It’s barely been two months.”

  “On an island where we spend a ridiculous amount of time in each other’s company.”

  “I guess,” Evan says, but his tone holds a note of skepticism that bothers me. “Just…be careful, Eli.”

  “She’s different, Evan. I’m telling you. Violet is nothing like Natalie.”

  “Yeah, well, Natalie wasn’t always like Natalie either,” my brother murmurs. “Or Sophie.”

  I wince, knowing how difficult it is to even say his ex-wife’s name.

  At this point, I think it bothers Evan more that she left Ollie than him. That even if Sophie didn’t want him, she should have still chosen her son. Stuck around for Ollie if not for anyone else. And he’s right.

  I hate how parents manipulate their kids for their own gain. When I have kids, I’m going to show up for them, every single day. Put their needs ahead of my own. You know, parent.

  “How’s Ollie?” I ask, switching the topic to the world’s best nephew.

  Evan brightens immediately. “Man, he�
�s awesome. Doing great in school. Scored two goals last week. Indoor soccer now.”

  “Damn, I wish I was there.”

  “Yeah, Connor surprised him at his last game and got some good photos. I’ll ask him to send them your way. Oh, and thank you for the sea turtle pictures and stuffed animal you sent. Ollie sleeps with it every night.”

  I laugh, swiping a beer off the coffee table and relaxing back into the couch. “I’m glad he likes it.” I take a swig. “Tell me about home. Are you dating anyone?”

  Evan freezes, as if I asked him something I shouldn’t have. I shift in my seat.

  “Who is she?” I press.

  He shakes his head and sighs. “No one worth mentioning now.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “It burned out before it had an opportunity to properly take off,” he says by way of explanation before launching into a story about one of his cases.

  I open my mouth to dig deeper, but he speaks over me and I let the topic drop.

  As Evan fills me in on his life, his work, and shares jokes from Ollie, I find myself hanging onto his every word. Grinning. Laughing. Enjoying his stories with a desire to hear more.

  My mind wanders. What would it be like if Zoe and I moved back home? Together? Could we raise a baby there, near his or her cousin Ollie? Would they play soccer together?

  I could help Zoe’s dad out at Shooters. She could continue to work the MMA training circuit while I was on location, filming.

  We could make this work.

  A whole world of possibilities expands in my head, coloring my mind with the kind of future I always wanted and was too scared to hope for after Natalie.

  But with Zoe, everything seems possible.

  Everything is within reach, as long as I’m doing it with her by my side.

  * * *

  “Hey sexy.” I snap my towel against her ass as she steps out of my rain shower. Leaning back against the counter, still sporting the hair and makeup look from set, I’m ready to rinse off and crawl in bed with my girl.

  “Hey yourself.” She forces a smile, a cough interrupting her words.

  Frowning, I step closer, peering into her pale face. Her eyes are watery, the tip of her nose red. I brush some of her wet hair out of her face. “You okay?”

  Zoe sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I think it’s just sinuses. I feel off.”

  “You’re probably run-down. Burning that midnight oil.”

  She snorts, a foghorn in the empty bathroom. “Yeah, who’s fault is that?”

  I smirk, dropping a robe around her shoulders. “Go get in bed. I’m going to rinse off really fast, and then I’ll bring you a tea and whatever magazine is lying around.”

  “Ooh, I hope it’s Gossip.” She grins over her shoulder, sashaying to the master bedroom.

  “Take that back!” I call after her, grinning like a lunatic.

  Zoe laughs, the sound of her lightness trailing back to the bathroom. Shaking my head at her retreating figure, I strip down and jump in the shower. The hot water rains down and I finally relax from a long day of shooting.

  Playing Dr. Henry Shorn, absorbing his fears, portraying his uncertainties, is more mentally taxing then I anticipated. It makes me think about Violet’s dad and how he managed to raise an incredible daughter while re-learning how to just exist in the world. That would all be devastating enough without grieving for his wife or opening a new business. When I think of the man I’ve met in passing at Shooters, never knowing he was Violet’s dad, or who Zoe even was, I can’t help but be impressed.

  Deep in thought, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. By the time I make it into the bedroom, ready to have another serious discussion with Zoe — one that delves more into the possibility of us being a couple after the movie wraps — her light snores pierce the air.

  She’s passed out, still clad in the hotel robe, her hair soaking wet. Grinning at her sweet face, I tug one of my T-shirts over her head and wrap her in an extra blanket, relieved that I’ll be slipping into bed next to her tonight.

  * * *

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Zoe greets me the next morning, her hair piled in a tangle on top of her head.

  “I like your hair.” I lean over the kitchen island, sipping my coffee.

  Zoe flips me off and I snort.

  “I was exhausted last night.”

  “I know, babe. How’re you feeling today?”

  Zoe pours herself a cup of coffee and rests her back against the kitchen counter. My T-shirt hits her mid-thigh, and even though she’s a train wreck she still looks so adorable that I can’t help but trail my gaze down her toned legs. “Eyes up here, Hollywood.”

  I look up, a blaze of concern spiking when I take in her paleness. “You okay?”

  She gulps her coffee. “Yeah, I don’t know. I feel strange, just…off somehow.” She pushes her hair out of her eyes, grimacing as her knuckles snag on a tangle. “I feel exhausted.”

  “Not pregnant, are you?” I joke, although I don’t hate the idea.

  I don’t hate it at all and that’s the problem.

  Zoe blanches, shaking her head. “Definitely not that.” It’s a whisper, threaded with unease.

  “I’m kidding, Violet. Probably just a bug. Let’s call off our workout today so I can nurse you back to health.”

  “Get out of here.” She reaches into a tin to retrieve a muffin, takes a nibble, and tosses the rest to me. “You need to get to work. And so do I.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

  “I’m not. I’m going to grab smoothies with Harlow in a bit.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  “Duh.”

  Chuckling, I slip off the barstool and round the corner, my hands going to either side of Violet’s hips, caging her in. I can count the freckles that spread across her nose, more vivid now against the paleness of her skin. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh yeah?” She looks up, her eyebrow quirking, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Enlighten me.”

  “I’m still working out the logistics.”

  “Maybe I can help.” She chews the corner of her mouth, batting her eyelashes like a flirt.

  God, why is being with her so much fun? Even the hard parts, like talking about our future. Even the parts I dreaded and avoided with every woman I’ve dated since Natalie, are exciting with Zoe.

  “We’ve got, what, two more months here?”

  She nods, her body stilling, her eyes growing serious.

  “I don’t want to give you up, my baby.” I move one hand to her hip, inching the material of the T-shirt up until I can slip my hand underneath, feel her skin against mine.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice is low, hesitant.

  “I mean, I want to make this real between us. I want us to figure out how to make it work so we can both flourish in the jobs we love but still come home to each other at the end of the day. I want to be with you.”

  Her eyes widen, surprise blooming in her expression. “You’re serious?”

  “Very.” I tug her hips against mine and when she feels my erection, she grins.

  “You want to be my boyfriend?” she clarifies.

  “I don’t care what you call it, babe. As long as you’re in my bed at the end of the day and we both know there’s no one else. Just us.”

  “Just us,” she repeats, a smile breaking across her face like sunshine after a long winter. “I like just us.”

  “I like you.” I drop my mouth to hers, kissing her sweetly.

  But the sweet quickly morphs into spice, and forty-minutes later, I walk onto set thirty minutes late without a care in the world. Because I left my girl completely sated on top of the kitchen counter.

  And she’s agreed to be mine.

  23

  Zoe

  The hot water feels good against my skin after two intense workouts with Eli.

  The first happened during our circuit training on the beach. The second, in my
bed, just before Eli left for a dinner with his publicist.

  My body, now sore and sated, totally relaxed, stills beneath the showerhead, breathing in the steam.

  It’s been nearly a week since Eli’s confession. Since he whispered sweet words against my skin, spread me out on his kitchen countertop, and made me his.

  For keeps.

  Charlie nearly had an aneurysm, dancing around the bar like a showgirl, complete with jazz hands and twirls. Poor Fred thought she lost her mind.

  Tonight, I’m FaceTiming with Dad to tell him all about my new beau. The one he’s apparently known for years and has never mentioned. It would be so Dad to not give a shit that a Hollywood actor frequents his pub.

  Laughing as I imagine his reaction to my news — “I’m coming home next month with a boyfriend. You know, Eli Holt?” — I reach for my shower gel, completely forgetting that it’s empty and I was supposed to buy more.

  Tossing the empty bottle out of the shower, I swipe the bar of soap Eli uses instead.

  And then, it happens.

  It happens, and I freeze, the steam suddenly blinding, the water sharp, whipping my skin angrily.

  “No.” I spread the suds around my chest again.

  I feel it. Again.

  As small as a pea. As hard as a marble.

  A bump.

  A lump.

  My body stills immediately, the soap dropping from my hand. I follow its fall, feel the spray of water as it shoots over my lower legs. Think about how dangerous it would be if I slipped.

  I should pick up the soap, but my fingers are still feeling around my left breast.

  Did I imagine it? No.

  Is it what I think it is? Yes.

  Fear that’s been sleeping dormant in the epicenter of my stomach for over a decade wakes up and roars. My body burns hot and cold.

  The water lashes at my skin, angry and painful. Flipping the faucet, I stand in the steam, my mind racing.