Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

14

Soft light spillsin from the open doorway. A chilled breeze floats over me, gently brushing my bare skin and causing goose bumps to sprout in its wake.

I burrow deeper into my covers.

The door clicks shut, and darkness surrounds me once again. The moon outside is partially obscured by clouds, so other than a small glow of white slanting across the floor, it’s pitch-black. I can’t even see my hand right in front of my face.

A thick knot balls up in the back of my throat with each still second that passes. I know he’s in here. I can feel it—that otherworldly, overwhelming essence that thrums around him. Some sort of dark energy that should repel my sensibilities but only seems to entice them instead.

Shadows move like ink through the room. My blood turns to ice in my veins, and my nipples harden with awareness.

God, this is so wrong. Him sneaking in here. Me excited by the fact that he can’t seem to stay away even though I’m committed in my mind to getting back with his brother.

Nate isn’t here though. I haven’t even heard from him since we broke up, and since he didn’t show himself at the fundraiser, a part of me wonders if it’s stupid to still want him. Clearly, the feelings are one-sided, and his fear of my brother doesn’t make his desire for me burn brighter.

I clutch the sheets at my sides as the whisper of a presence stops at the foot of the bed. My toes curl.

Nothing happens. He doesn’t come closer, doesn’t say a word. It’s as if the mask I’m certain he’s still wearing has created some invisible force and he can no longer play past his hand.

Unease swims in my stomach. I sit up a little, straightening my spine against the headboard. Outside, stars scatter themselves in the night sky, tucked away between clouds, like they’re not supposed to be there.

“Grayson?” My voice is a mere whisper, barely audible.

The shadows move, drifting like velvet wisps of obsidian-colored air. I imagine them reaching out and over, blanketing me in their depths.

The hairs on my arms stand up straight, and I push back the covers slowly. The way you might approach a wild animal—with care and precision, so as to avoid getting bitten.

Rising to my knees, I shift down the mattress toward the figure, though as I get closer, it becomes harder to make out its shape.

My fingers curl over the footboard, and I’m so close to the shadows that I can practically feel them brushing against me. Testing the waters to see how far I’ll let them go.

For tonight, I want them to push my boundaries. If only so I can maybe remember the first time. What it felt like to have Grayson’s hands roaming freely, what his body felt like on mine. All I remember now is the slant of his lips, how they were somehow hard yet soft, all at the same time.

He tasted like mint, whiskey, and cherries. Dark and clean and almost deadly.

That’s all I know.

Between my legs, my pulse flares at the memory.

When I reach out with shaky fingers, desperate to relive that night, my hand falls into nothingness. Suddenly, there’s no figure at the foot of the bed, and that presence has zapped from the room entirely.

My hand falls to my side with a heavy thump. I sit back on my heels, brow furrowing as I scan the darkness.

I’m alone even though I know someone was here seconds ago.

Grayson wouldn’t have left without a word. Definitely not with me crawling to him.

But the shadows seem to have vanished into thin air.

* * *

The next morning,I’m half-tempted to stay in my room out of spite. I take longer than normal to bathe, using the aromatherapy soaps and milk bath that Willow brought me from town.

My fingers and toes are pruny by the time the door to my bedroom swings open, and Grayson strides inside. It’s six, and the sun hasn’t even come up yet, so the early glow of the morning sky makes him look like a god as he pauses in the center of the room, searching for me.

I slide forward, hiding myself with the edge of the porcelain claw-foot tub. It’s deep, so I’m hidden below my shoulders, but when he turns and spots me, I somehow feel completely on display.

“Well, no wonder the water bill has risen significantly since your arrival,” he says, and I note the disheveled hair and the five-o’clock shadow. “Do you always wake up so early to soak in your own filth?”

“Not always. Only when I need to relax because I’ve been locked in my room by my deranged captor.”

He runs a hand down his crumpled, half-buttoned shirt. It’s white with black smudges that don’t appear to be part of the design, and it looks like he slept in it.

Truth be told, he doesn’t look very good at all.

I mean, he looks good. The man’s a god with his chiseled jaw and emerald eyes. The strong slope of his broad shoulders, which taper off to his long fingers.

As he steps into the bathroom, an image of him using those fingers flashes past my eyes. Almost like a memory, but not quite.

And even though I’ve not heard him play a single instrument, I know he’s talented.

Like he can sense the direction my thoughts have veered, his hand flexes at his sides. Claws at his black slacks.

“Captor?” Grayson chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think good girls are supposed to tell lies, Little Echo.”

That fucking nickname. So condescending.

“And I don’t think employers usually trap their employees. What would you call yourself in that case?”

“Practical.” He shrugs, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. A thumb pushes one through its hole, and I find myself entranced by the motion. “Those parties tend to get out of control. I can’t have my best employee getting involved. Though I do think the better question is, why do you want to be?”

“I don’t want to go to your parties. I just think it’s rude to remove the option from me entirely.”

“What did I tell you about choices, Violet?”

“It’s kind of alarming that you don’t seem to understand free will.”

“Oh, I understand it.” Another button is released from its prison of fabric, and a larger swatch of skin enters my line of sight. “I’m just saying, it’s not real. Choice is a myth concocted by people who want to manipulate you without your knowledge.”

“Yeah, I remember. You think everyone is a victim of circumstance. Doom, gloom.” I rest my head on the lip of the tub. “Ever think this house is rotting your brain?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he finishes off the buttons and meets my gaze.

Something sinister ripples in the air between us, like a hot, wet fog. As he pushes the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall from him and land softly on the wooden floor, I remind myself that this is the wrong brother.

I’m here because of him—not in spite of.

Yet when Grayson approaches the tub, kicking his shoes and socks off, all I can do is watch.

His torso is as toned and smooth as I remember with the tips of black ink from his ram skull tattoo peeking over his shoulders. But he doesn’t turn his back to me, so I can’t recall any other specifics of the design.

My chest tightens when he reaches for his belt, dragging it through the loops with a slothfulness I find infuriating. He snaps the black leather in his hands, and I flinch, lifting my eyes to his. They heat, emerald catching fire and burning like scorched earth.

His throat bobs, and he moves toward the end of the tub where my feet are.

I press myself into the porcelain, the material somehow cool on my bare nipples, even with the warm water. “What are you doing?”

“You said the bath relaxes you. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Alarm courses through my veins like a flash flood. I curl into myself, pressing my ankles tighter together to try and keep my pussy from his view even though the water isn’t clear. It still feels like he can see through it.

“There’s no need to be shy, Violet.”

“You cannot get in this tub.”

“Why not?” He lifts a leg and swings it over. The water breaks for him, rocking against me. “There’s plenty of room.”

True, but not the point. “You’re wearing pants!”

A cruel smirk makes him look feline. The other leg follows, and then he’s standing in the tub, and I think I might combust.

“Should I remove them?” He reaches for the fly, and my eyes fall quickly to where his fingers work that button through.

Heat bleeds into my skin, choking me with its onslaught. My face feels like it’s on fire because beneath the quick work of his hands, the unmistakable evidence of his attraction to me, to the situation, strains at the fabric.

He’s big, which unfortunately explains the accompanying arrogance. I suppose when you have the equipment to back yourself up, you can get away with anything.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Grayson sighs and gives up on his pants, though he doesn’t bother to button them back up. Instead, I’m stuck staring at the parted material and the veiny flesh it reveals.

“It smells weird in here.” He crouches down, dragging two fingers through the milky water and stopping as he comes to a rose petal. “Why are there flowers?”

“I like flowers.”

“Are these mine?”

“I think something stops belonging to you when you’ve neglected it to near death.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, gripping the sides of the tub with both hands.

As he slowly lowers himself in, a prickly sensation washes over me. One of his legs shoves between my body and the porcelain, and then I’m trapped between his calves, eye-level with his bent knees.

“You can unclench, you know. I don’t bite.”

“And I don’t believe you.” I remember the teeth-shaped marks on my breasts the day after the fundraiser. It certainly wasn’t me who put those there.

That smirk again. “Smart girl. I’d bite if you let me.”

My muscles coil even tighter.

He sinks lower, bending his legs more until he can rest his neck on the edge of the bath. I gnaw on my bottom lip, trying to look everywhere, except directly at him, like an eclipse.

“Why do you need to relax?” I probe, trying to shift some of my discomfort elsewhere.

He rests his head on the lip of the tub, closing his eyes. “I find this life to be incredibly exhausting.”

“Even though you’re not working?”

“That’s precisely what does it. My work, my music… it’s my entire life. Creating, perfecting, erasing, and reinventing until everything is just right. I’m one of the lucky bastards who gets to monetize what others consider only a hobby. Only, right now, I can’t do any of it. It’s all I want to do, and I can’t make sense of the notes or melodies anymore. Harmonies sound wrong, rifts are out of place… I spend all of my time trying to work out the kinks in my head, and that, Little Echo, is exhausting.”

It’s weirdly honest, and I sit with the weight of his words for a long while, wondering why he’s chosen now to reveal them to me. It’s as if he pulled back the curtain protecting his soul, just enough to let me peek inside. Maybe I should feel a little empathy or something like it, but all the sentiment does is confuse me more.

I can’t figure him out, and what’s terrifying about that is that I want to.

Silence fills the bathroom, traveling like wisps of soft wind to the vaulted ceiling. This is one of the few rooms in the mansion without a wall of windows, and I didn’t realize how accustomed I’d become to the constant view of nature until now. Not even the washed petals floating around the essential oil–enhanced water can ground me as tension knots in my stomach and the silence becomes an unbearable white noise.

Swallowing, I scoot away from his leg. My left side collides with the opposite one, and I grit my teeth against the sensation of being completely surrounded.

After a while, it becomes entirely too much.

“Do you ever think about that night?” I blurt the first thought that comes to mind and immediately wish I could die.

His eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t move, but his answer is instantaneous. “Every second of every day.”

My mouth dries up. “What?”

“It can’t come as a surprise to you that I’ve thought of very little else since.”

Air constricts in my lungs, and I shift, moving my arms so my knees are covering my breasts. I stare at the water, the rose petals drifting slowly in circles, and try my best to remember.

All I get are bits here and there—like soft, guttural sounds of pleasure rippling through the room. They taunt me, pressing in and around, as if trying to wring similar noises from me. Rough, callous prints covering me in places I’ve only let a few others venture before.

They didn’t feel like this though. Like having his hand between my thighs, scrubbing over my nipples, clutching my throat, or palming my back is something absolutely vital to my being. I crave the sensation of fire and fury he leaves behind, arching into each touch like I’m afraid it’ll never be this way again.

But I can’t put faces to the scenes. I can’t remember what the actual deed felt like or what happened leading up and after. It’s like the memories are there but submerged under ice, and I have to wait for them to thaw out.

“I don’t…” I start, shame scalding my cheeks and making me hesitate. “I don’t remember it.”

Now, he does open his eyes. For a few seconds, he stares at the ceiling, then lifts his chin. “Nothing at all?”

I shake my head, taking a rose petal and crumpling it into my palm.

Tension mounts between us the longer he studies me. I can’t help wondering what he sees—if it’s the same thing his brother saw or something completely different.

Nate was easy. We met at some political event in Boston a few months ago, and since Alistair happened to know him from some humanitarian work they’d both done years back, he introduced us. Conversation flowed effortlessly, he was handsome, and it felt… nice. Being the center of someone’s attention and not having to work for any of it.

After such a long time spent wandering, practically homeless and unable to visit family, having the an attractive, important man be into me was like hitting the jackpot. We clicked, and our relationship just sort of slotted into place.

It was easy, and I wanted that.

And then he found out about Kal, and the dynamic shifted. Crumbled really.

Eventually, easy wasn’t good enough. Not compared to the harm my brother could inflict.

“I know I wasn’t drunk. But for some reason, when I think back, I can only remember certain feelings. Nothing concrete or whole. It’s this chunk of time that’s completely missing from my brain, like there’s a hole in my head where the memories have just fallen out.”

Maybe if I could remember, I’d feel worse about betraying Nate.

Grayson brings one of his hands to his mouth. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, staring at me with hooded eyes. “Do you want a refresher?”

My eyes go wide, and I sputter, “Excuse me?”

“It could trigger the memories.”

Inside my chest, my heart squeezes hard. I push farther away, so my back is against the opposite end of the tub, though it doesn’t really create any extra distance between us. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If we did that again, it would—”

“I won’t touch you.” His hand falls, re-gripping the tub with white knuckles. “I’m more than happy to sit like a good boy and watch.”