Liars Like Us (Morally Gray Book 1)
Liars Like Us: Chapter 14

The man can kiss, I’ll give him that. He might be the single most aggravating human to ever walk the face of the earth, and he clearly has control issues and a boatload of secrets, but he sure can kiss.

What an unfortunate development.

With one hand wrapped around my jaw, he delves his tongue into my mouth, sliding it against mine with delicious friction. His lips are soft. His body is hard. The arm he has wrapped around my back cradles me tightly. He holds me captive between his spread legs and drinks from my mouth as if from a well of water he’s been crawling over miles of burning sand to reach.

And for all the sniping I’ve done and the annoyance he causes me, I’ve never felt such sweet relief.

Though it pains me to admit it, I’ve been wanting this since I first met him.

Might as well enjoy it while I can, considering I’ll never let it happen again.

I arch into him and slide a hand up around the back of his strong neck, twining my fingers into his hair. He makes a sound of pleasure low in his throat and kisses me deeper. When I whimper softly, he moves his hand down from my jaw to encircle my neck.

“Sweet little lamb,” he murmurs against my lips. “Hungry, aren’t you?”

“Why do you have to ruin everything by talking?”

He chuckles. I open my eyes to replace him gazing down at me, his eyes dark and hazy. A small smile plays over his mouth.

I frown at him. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I can’t help it.”

“If you say one word about how much you think I liked that, I’ll commit an act of unspeakable violence.”

“But you did like it.” He lowers his head to nuzzle his nose against the tender spot beneath my earlobe. Then he whispers into my ear, “You’ll like it even more when I fuck you.”

Hearing him say that makes every one of my body systems slam into red alert. Heat flashes over my skin. My heartbeat takes off like a rocket. My thighs clench, and my nerves stand on end and start screaming.

Which is all very inconvenient, considering I’ve already decided there will be nothing between us but paperwork. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. The sooner I get my hormones on board with it, the better.

Besides, who knows how many other women he’s already sleeping with? The line is probably so long, it circles the city.

When I make a move to escape, he tightens his hand around my throat and holds me in place. His voice gruff, he says, “Here’s where you tell me how you want it.”

“No, here’s where I tell you my temper goes from zero to life in prison faster than you can blink. Let me go.”

“Oh, I know all about that temper of yours. For someone so bookish, you’re surprisingly hotheaded.”

“Calling me bookish isn’t an insult, but nice try. Let me go.”

Ignoring that, he says, “The longer you pretend you don’t want to fuck me, the more punishment you’ll have coming, so you might as well admit it.”

“Stop saying the F word! And you can lay off on the punishment thing too. If you put a hand on me, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“You don’t want to murder me. You want to ride my big stiff cock until you come so hard, you pass out.”

His language makes me gasp in disbelief.

“Admit it.”

“No. Because I don’t!”

My denial does nothing to dent his confidence. His smile is so self-satisfied, it makes me want to rip off his face.

“Let me go. I’m serious.”

“I’m never letting you go, wife. Get used to it.”

The way he said “wife” is so possessive, it makes my face hot. Other parts of me are hot, too. In fact, my entire body is feverish. Desperate to escape, I squirm in his arms.

“Emery, stop wriggling and look at me. No, not at the fucking roof. At me.”

He said that in his commanding tone, the one he uses when he’s trying to intimidate me. He should know by now that it doesn’t work.

When I continue to fight to get away, he says hotly, “Keep fighting me, and I’ll spank your pussy.”

Shocked, I fall still and stare up at him with wide eyes, my heart hammering.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pleased. He kisses my forehead. Then he groans softly. “God, I can’t fucking wait to do that. I want to spank your pussy until you squirt all over my hand.”

My face burns, as do my nether regions. “Callum!”

He growls, “Yes, baby. You’re gonna say my name just like that when I’m fucking your sweet wet cunt nice and hard.”

He releases me abruptly, setting me aside on the seat. Then his cell phone rings, and he starts a casual conversation with someone on the other end, as if he didn’t just shatter my entire perception of reality.

I collapse against the door, press a hand over my pounding heart, and hyperventilate until I see stars. Then I close my eyes and try to convince myself I imagined the whole thing.

It doesn’t work. Every cell in my body has it on replay.

His words echo on my skin, in my head, through my veins. And especially between my legs, where a pulsing, repetitive beat of please please please has started. I squeeze my thighs together, which only makes the ache worse.

The rest of the ride is spent the same way, with Callum on the phone and me attempting to piece myself back together.

But no matter how attracted to him I am, I can’t allow myself to be another one of his conquests. I can’t risk getting my heart involved.

I already know I’m nothing to him but a means to an end.

We turn off Sunset Boulevard and pass through the massive gates that mark the entry to Bel Air. It looks like a movie set with the towering palm trees, carved limestone blocks, and elaborate ironwork. After following the road for a few miles, we turn into a long, curving driveway, at the end of which is a closed wooden gate. The driver rolls down his window and punches a few buttons on the black box on the pole standing beside the gate. With a creak, the gate slowly opens. We drive through.

“Home sweet home,” says Callum, disconnecting his call. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m about to shit myself is what I think. That’s your house?”

“No, that’s our house.”

I look away from the enormous chateau looming past the windshield and stare nervously at Callum’s handsome profile.

Looking straight ahead, he says, “Don’t be scared.”

“That sounds like bad advice.”

He turns his head and gazes at me. After a thoughtful pause, he says, “You never have to be afraid of anything again. If you have a problem, I’ll fix it. If you need something, I’ll give it to you. If anyone bothers you, I’ll make them wish they hadn’t. Whatever you want or need, you tell me, and you’ll have it. You’re mine now.”

He reaches out and caresses my cheek. His voice drops, and his eyes start to burn. “You belong to me.”

His intensity terrifies me. So does the you belong to me stuff.

“I feel like it’s important to mention at this point in the conversation that I’m not your property. Just because we signed some paperwork—”

“You’re mine,” he interrupts firmly. “And if you ever start to doubt that, look at the ring on your finger.”

I search his face. A sickening feeling of fear takes root under my breastbone. “I need to be honest with you about something now.”

“What is it?”

“You’re scaring me.”

“What did I just tell you about that?”

“It feels important to reiterate.”

He gazes at me for a moment, then says in a softer voice, “When I said you don’t have to be afraid of anything again, that includes me. I’ll never harm you, Emery. And deep down, you know that, or you’d never have agreed to become my wife.”

I lick my dry lips and swallow, darting a glance at the driver before lowering my voice.

“It might be all the sex talk that’s got me so worried. Especially this consummate-the-marriage thing. You never mentioned anything about that before. In fact, you promised I could have my own bedroom if I wanted. I’ve decided to take you up on that.”

Callum’s smile comes on slowly. He seems to be amused by a thought, but doesn’t say it aloud.

“What’s that face you’re wearing?”

“Why? Is it making you nervous?”

“Yes.”

His smile grows wider. “It should.”

I want to thump him on the shoulder, but don’t. Who knows how he’d retaliate? I could be over his knee getting my bare ass spanked in five seconds flat.

I’m not sure if I hate that idea or love it. I’m also not sure what it says about me that I can’t make up my mind.

“I’ll ignore that to head back to reality for a moment. Will you please call William and ask him to lock up the shop? The spare keys are under the—”

“It’s handled,” he interrupts.

Confused, I furrow my brow. “How?”

“I gave him instructions before we arrived.”

All the creaky gears in my brain struggle to make sense of that new piece of information. They don’t have much luck. “You told your attorney to lock my store before you even knew we’d be going to your house today?”

“Our house. And everything I do is planned carefully in advance, so yes, I told him before I got there to lock up the shop when we left.”

I’m still confused, but now I’m frustrated and annoyed too. “So you just assumed I’d agree to marry you on the spot?”

“I didn’t assume. I knew.”

“How?” I demand, growing angrier.

With a trace of darkness in his voice, he says, “Because I know everything about you, wife. Including where you hide your spare set of keys.”

I stare at him for a moment, my mind and my pulse both racing. “You really did hire a private investigator to spy on me, didn’t you?”

His small smile is the only answer I need.

We drive down a sloped driveway and pull into an enormous underground garage. A few dozen luxury vehicles in various models and colors line each side. As the driver parks, I look around, taking in the sheer size of the place. Soft overhead lighting makes the cars and floors gleam. It’s immaculate, like a showroom.

Callum exits the car, then comes around to my side and opens my door for me. Looking up at him in growing alarm, I stall by saying, “I left my purse at the store.”

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have someone bring it here. Give me your hand.”

I look at his outstretched hand, telling myself not to be a coward, that everything is going to be okay, and that if it isn’t, I’ll deal with it.

I’ve made it this far in life. I’m sure I can handle a bossy billionaire who apparently has a predilection for spanking tender body parts.

“Give me your hand.”

His command is spoken in a gentle tone, but there’s steel underneath.

Trembling, I glance up at his face. Then I chew on my lip, undecided.

Callum reaches in, grasps my hand, hauls me out of the car, then lifts me and tosses me over his shoulder. I squawk in panic and grab his suit jacket for balance as he starts to walk away from the car.

“Hey!”

“Yes, wife?”

“Put me down!”

“Soon.”

When I kick my feet in frustration, he gives me a sharp smack on my behind to settle me down. It does the opposite.

“Do that again, and you’ll regret it!”

My threat does nothing but earn me one of his annoying, self-satisfied chuckles.

He carries me through a door at one end of the garage with the ease of a man accustomed to abducting adults from their places of business, scrambling their brains with some unexpected, filthy sex talk, then speeding away with them to his bachelor pad in the hills.

I barely have time to wonder if his backyard is full of buried bodies before we’re moving through a lavish marble foyer with a staircase on one side. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the space.

I’m starting to get dizzy.

“May I please not be upside down anymore? I don’t like this.”

He stops midstride and sets me on my feet, then steadies me with his hands on my shoulders when I sway to one side.

I thank him breathlessly. He smiles, then bends, lifts me into his arms, and starts walking again. I gaze up at his handsome face and try to figure out what the hell this crazy person thinks he’s accomplishing by this.

Noticing my expression, he says, “Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m going on the record right now to inform you that the next time you say that, I’ll hit you in the head with something heavy. Put me down.”

He smirks. “And you say I’m bossy.”

Then he’s taking the stairs, two at a time.

Pretending I’m not impressed—or freaked out, or in shock, or any of the other things I currently am—I say calmly, “Your home is lovely. A bit gargantuan for one person, but I suppose you need all the extra space for your ego. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the French country décor type.”

He slants me a look, warm and full of secrets. “I’m not.”

“I’d ask if you could be any more irritating, but I already know the answer. Why are you carrying me?”

“It’s traditional for the groom to carry his bride across the threshold.”

I’m about to argue with him about the absurdity of that statement when we reach the top of the staircase and he makes a sharp left turn down a corridor. It’s lined with gilt-framed portraits of people who all look like they need more fiber in their diets.

“I’m afraid to ask, but I will. Where are we going?”

“To bed.”

I stare at his profile. He doesn’t smile, so I have to assume he’s not making a joke.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

“I think you should put me down now.”

“And I think you should admit that you’d like to have sex with me so that we can dispense with the bullshit once and for all.”

He strides through an open set of carved wooden doors. We’re in what looks like the master suite. It’s elegantly decorated in shades of cream and gold, with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room and a cozy sitting area on the other. Complete with gauzy white panels of fabric and too many plush ivory throw pillows to count, a king-size antique canopy bed dominates another wall.

Callum heads straight for it.

“Whoa, cowboy!” I say, panicking.

His sideways glance is so hot, it sears me. He grins and chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’m a cowboy all right. Just wait until I show you my pistol.”

He stops at the edge of the bed, drops me onto it, then flattens his body over mine. I try to roll out from under him, but the man weighs a thousand pounds. With his forearms braced on either side of my shoulders, he holds my head in both huge hands as he gazes down into my wide eyes.

He smiles.

I swallow nervously and dart a glance toward the door. He lowers his head and inhales deeply against my neck. His beard tickles my cheek. He smells like soap and clean skin. When he exhales, it’s with a low groan that vibrates all the way through me.

This feels like something very different than a business arrangement.

The rock-hard erection pulsing against my hip especially doesn’t feel very businesslike.

Lying stiffly beneath him with my pulse screaming through my veins, I whisper, “Will you please let me up?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He sucks on my earlobe, then opens his mouth over the throbbing pulse on the side of my neck and softly bites me.

My nipples harden. Heat spreads throughout my lower body, belly to thighs. I shiver involuntarily, which encourages my captor to flex his hips into mine. Then he’s kissing my throat down to my collarbone as I lose my breath and a big chunk of my mind.

“Should I have asked when?”

As an answer, he rubs his cheek against my chest, dragging it over my hard nipples. Then he cups my breasts in both hands and bites one of my nipples right through my blouse and bra.

When I cry out and arch into his hands, he presses slightly harder with his teeth and firmly pinches my other nipple.

Pleasure ripples through me in hot, delicious waves. Sweat mists my skin. I grab the back of his jacket and try desperately not to give in to the growing need to rock my pelvis against his.

I already know that my panties are wet, because my clit is throbbing.

He breathes, “Tell me you want me.”

He might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on my head for what it does to my state of arousal. Flinging my arms out against the bed, I groan. “This again? Why is that so damn important?”

“Tell me.”

“Are you really such a narcissist that you need every woman in your orbit to want to have sex with you?”

“No. Only you. Tell me.”

I’m so frustrated now that I pummel his back with my fists. I might as well be smacking a brick wall. He doesn’t budge, but he does take my face in his hands and stares down at me in blazing hot intensity, his lips thinned and his nostrils flaring.

He growls, “You’re getting your ten million dollars. Now I want you to—”

“Twenty.”

He closes his eyes, breathes for a moment, then opens his eyes again and incinerates me with his gaze.

“Yes. Twenty. It seems like a very small fucking thing for me to ask you to tell me the truth in return.”

“Maybe you should’ve put it in the contract.”

Through gritted teeth, he says, “Goddammit, Emery.”

“And by the way, what you’re getting in return is your entire inheritance, right? All your billions and your lavish lifestyle? You can continue being Mr. Rich Guy and eating salty lobster in the Caribbean and terrifying poor hostesses in the restaurants in all the buildings you own all over the world. So what difference can it possibly make if I say I want you or not?”

“Admit you want to fuck me, and I’ll give you another ten million dollars.”

That stuns me into silence. I gaze up at him in confusion, searching his face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

The way he’s staring at my mouth is thrilling. His heart beats raggedly against my chest. His breathing is uneven. His hands on either side of my head are hot and trembling, as is the rest of his body.

I realize with a shock like a slap across the face that this isn’t about his ego.

This is about him needing the woman he wants to tell him she feels the same way.

He wants me.

Me, the girl he couldn’t manage to replace a better compliment for than that I wasn’t repulsive. Me, the girl who rolls her eyes at him, and laughs at him, and defies him at every turn.

Me. His married-for-convenience wife.

He flexes his hips again, digging his erection into my thigh. My heart pounds impossibly hard. I can’t catch my breath. I know we’re on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid, but I’m not sure I could stop myself if I tried.

He lowers his head to kiss me, but then from inside his suit jacket his cell phone rings.

It’s a creepy electronic version of the nursery rhyme “London Bridge Is Falling Down,” very different from the simple ringtone I heard in the car.

Callum closes his eyes and mutters, “Fuck.”

He rolls off me, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes the call.

He takes the call.

“McCord.” He listens in silence for what seems like a long time. Then he exhales heavily and says, “I’ll be there.”

He disconnects and stares at the wall as I lie crumpled and wet on the bed like a discarded tissue.

Standing, he puts his phone back into his pocket. He cracks his knuckles and smooths his hands down his lapels and over his hair. Then he turns and gazes down at me with distant eyes, his face expressionless.

“I have to go. I’ll be back in a few days. Familiarize yourself with the house while I’m gone. If you need anything, Arlo will assist you.”

Without further explanation, my new husband turns on his heel and walks out.