Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

3

Sunshine cascades across my skin,sending rays of heat over my arms and face.

I roll over in bed, stretching my legs but keeping my eyes closed. My muscles are tender, and a slight throbbing sensation perks up in the back of my head, making me question just how much alcohol I had last night.

Three drinks shouldn’t have worn me out this much, but I suppose any tolerance I built in college has disappeared in the years since I dropped out.

Warmth spreads in my chest, and I lift my fingers to my mouth, recalling the events of last night. Nate finding and kissing me, causing all my worries to float away, as if nothing had ever ended between us in the first place.

Buzzing comes from my right, and I blindly throw my arm out, sweeping my hand over the polished wood nightstand to search for my phone. I don’t even glance at the screen before I accept the call, pressing the speaker to my ear.

“Hello?”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Cora’s voice shreds through my sleepy haze, and I blink, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling as I try to gather my bearings. “What the actual fuck, Violet? You traipse off alone somewhere at the fundraiser, and then no one hears from you the rest of the night? Do you realize how worried I was? Kal was beside himself—”

“M’eudail.” Alistair’s term of endearment for her is soft as it comes through the line, his British accent smooth as butter. “You’re yelling.”

“You’re goddamn right I am. I thought—” She breaks off on a sob, and there’s movement on their side, the shuffling of fabric and murmured voices for several seconds. “I thought something had happened to you.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard my cousin cry before. Not even when she lost her brother. My throat, dry as a desert, grows tight, and I wipe my eye with a closed fist, still trying to understand what’s going on.

“Cor,” I say, “what are you even talking about? I’m fine. Literally in bed right now.”

The hushed voices pause.

Then, Alistair asks, “Whose bed? Not the one in our guest room.”

Suddenly, the phone is torn from my grasp, and a deep male voice fills the air. I whip my head to the side, barely processing the long, veiny fingers and the tanned forearm or the messy, dark hair feathering out over a white pillow.

“She’s fine,” the man—the stranger!—quips in a gruff breath that offers no room for argument. “I’ll have her returned to you in an hour.”

His big thumb ends the call, and I watch with wide, burning eyes as he tosses the device toward the foot of the bed. My breaths come in quick, shallow bursts as I take in the scenery before me—the plush white linens on top of us, the abstract art hanging on the walls, the big gold mirror, where my reflection stares back.

My hair is a mess, still half in the updo from last night, and my makeup is smeared.

And I’m naked.

Bringing my hands to my collarbone, I clutch the end of the comforter and try to calm the panic seizing my lungs. I turn my head as he rolls his, further barring his face from my line of sight as he burrows beneath a pillow.

Heartbeat stuttering, I think back to what happened last night, although most of the details are foggy. Me kissing Nate, him throwing me out of the orgy, then him finding me later and pressing me against the wall.

His lips capturing mine, relentless as they stole my breath. Heat coursing through my limbs like fire, his thigh between my legs, rubbing—

The goat mask scraping against my chin, my cheeks, my nose. Anywhere we touched, the leather glided across my skin. It was uncomfortable, but I pushed on because it felt good to be finally kissing Nate again.

Plus, there was something titillating about not being able to see his face while he ravaged me. An anonymity otherwise never afforded, like we could do anything, be anyone, and there would be no consequences.

With the slowest of blinks, my eyes dart to the nightstand on his side of the bed. On the surface lies a discarded gold Venetian mask and…

His. Turned over, but the horns are unmistakable.

I swallow over the bitter bile rising in my throat.

Slowly, I slide my right leg free from the comforter, keeping my gaze trained on the stranger’s form in case he makes an unexpected movement. My head feels like it’s on the verge of complete collapse, and the only thing preventing a full-blown panic attack is my potential escape.

Exhaling, I free my right arm and then roll the covers back. Anxiety claws at my throat as I slink off the mattress, barely putting weight on one foot to keep from jostling him.

If he senses my absence, he doesn’t move.

A shaky breath rattles my chest, and I pull my other leg out. Sweat drips down my spine as it lands on the carpet, and then I bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door shut and plastering my back against it.

Not my best move, but it gives me a few seconds to collect myself. Then again, if the man was interested in murdering me, would he have—apparently—slept by my side all night or let me keep my phone?

Shit. My phone.

Still, that’s hardly the most pressing matter. I take a few seconds to run my hands over my body, feeling for evidence of memories I can’t place. My bones ache, and my pulse flares between my legs. There are red patches of inflamed skin around my nipples and at the base of my throat, which vaguely look like teeth, but otherwise, I don’t feel that different.

Certainly not like someone who just lost her virginity to some stranger.

Groaning into my hands, I walk over to the marble sink and splash cold water on my face, using my fingers to erase some of the makeup smudged beneath my eyes.

The only window in the bathroom is octagonal-shaped and made of thick, frosted glass, so I can’t even see how high up we are. Presumably, we’re at the same hotel as last night, although I suppose I could be wrong about that too.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I quickly swipe them away. They won’t do me any good. I can’t cry over a simple mistake even if it’s one that might have cost me everything.

Swallowing, I walk back to the door and press my ear to the wood, trying to hear movement from the bedroom. Any signs of life that might indicate where that stranger is and how much time I have to grab my dress and phone and make a run for it.

I don’t hear anything. When I crouch down on the floor to look through the gap beneath the door, I don’t see any shadows or detect any other movements. For all I know, he’s still asleep, which means maybe I can actually make it through without necessitating a confrontation.

Either way, I can’t hide out here all morning. Cora will certainly come looking for me eventually and probably drag Kal out with her. I don’t want either of them to know what happened.

Gripping the doorknob, I grit my teeth so hard that my vision blurs. My heart lurches into my throat, strangling me as I ease the door open, keeping myself hidden in case he decides to jump out of nowhere.

My eyes find the bed first, and I let out a stuttered breath when I see the man still lying in the same position as before. His muscular shoulders jut out as his arms disappear beneath the pillow, where his head remains.

Breathing slow and deep, I creep out of the bathroom and glance around, searching for last night’s outfit. A single black heel is wedged under the bed, and I sneak a peek into the wire wastebasket near the nightstand.

It’s empty.

Nausea churns violently in my stomach.

Does that mean he didn’t use anything or that we didn’t get that far?

Pushing to my feet, I hook my finger in the heel’s ankle strap and turn around slowly, cataloging everything in the room. I don’t see my dress anywhere, which makes the panic in my chest rise to all new levels.

When I glance over the mattress, I stop breathing altogether.

Vivid, striking emerald eyes stare at me, set around a long nose and bow-shaped lips, and I remember—the man in the orgy room last night. His eyes glowed green, and I thought it was a trick of the fire.

Thought it was Nate, though there’s no mistaking the harsh gaze glaring at me from the bed.

Light stubble lines the severe cut of his jaw, and I realize he’s handsome in an immortal way. Like an ancient god who once fraternized with the humans and then found himself trapped as one.

“It’s impolite to leave without saying good-bye,” he rasps, that voice deep and melodic and rife with sleep.

When his gaze dips to my body, I suck in a sudden gasp as it dawns on me that I’m naked.

He seems perfectly unbothered by my nudity. The thick slants of his dark brows draw inward, both slashed with a tiny dash of missing hair, but otherwise, he remains completely in place. Unflappable and unmoving.

It’s annoying.

I feel like I’m going to vomit.

“What is going on?” I finally manage, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. “Who are you?”

“Wow, already a nameless notch on your bedpost?”

“We did not have sex.”

His brows arch. “For someone who can’t remember my name, or what she’s doing waking up in bed with a gorgeous stranger, you seem awfully sure about that.”

I am sure—a girl is supposed to know, right? The tenderness in my muscles is there, particularly when I flex my legs, but other than that, there’s no real evidence. I don’t feel anything—raw or sticky or violated. I don’t feel different.

Then again, I don’t remember anything either. There’s just this emptiness floating around my mind, like dense rain clouds blocking out all sunlight.

With a sigh, the man climbs out of bed, revealing the harsh, taut planes of his back and rigid muscles in his arms. I scan the large tattoo etched into his tanned skin, then glance again at the mask, wondering what this guy’s deal is with goats and goat-like creatures; the shaded ram skull spans his entire upper back with the horns curling over broad shoulder blades.

It feels sinister, and I’m now doubly concerned for my well-being.

I clench my fingers into fists when he strides, fully naked, to an orange armchair in the corner of the room. A black suit is draped over the upholstered back, and he sluggishly steps into the pants, then pulls the white undershirt on, turning as he fastens each button up his sternum with an unhurried gait I imagine he must have practiced.

He reaches behind himself and snatches a black garment, then tosses it in my direction. It lands at my feet and I realize it’s my dress from last night.

Nausea thrashes around in my stomach again.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

I can’t force any words past my parched throat.

He stuffs his massive hands into his pants pockets, rocking back on his heels as he fishes out a small wallet and holds it up between two fingers. Barely big enough to hold a license and a useless debit card, but I still managed to tuck it into a sheer red garter on one of my thighs.

The garter that’s now missing, evidently not with the dress he’s returned to me.

The man sighs, shaking his head. Dark brown strands of hair fall into his eyes.

Finally, my voice appears again. “Look, I don’t know what happened last night, but clearly, this is some colossal misunderstanding. I’m not… I don’t do things like this. Ever.”

“What, kiss total strangers? Take them to bed?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Little Echo. Quite thoroughly, might I add. Some might even say you were rather enthusiastic about it.”

Heat fans my face, like an open flame to a candle, but the full memories won’t slot into place. It’s like trying to pick up glass that’s shattered into a thousand little pieces, but some of the shards are missing or cutting me open.

How could I do this to Nate?

I went looking for him last night. Wanted my first time to be his, and yet I’ve given it to some random mistake and can’t even remember any of it.

Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin. “I didn’t know who you were when that mistaken kiss took place. I never would have approached the likes of you.”

Someone pushy and brazen, clearly not used to being rejected or told off. His arrogance is palpable, and it makes me want to hurl a shoe at his head.

He crosses the room in several quick strides, and I watch, pathetically numb, as his legs eat up the distance easily. A flick of his thick, corded wrist sends my wallet soaring, and I snatch it and bend to grab my dress before he can change his mind.

“The likes of me.” His green eyes almost glitter in the room lighting, like the early morning sun scattering its shine across a small pond. “What exactly did my dear brother tell you about me?”

“Your—” My sentence cuts off as confusion constricts my vocal cords. I scan his face—the cut of his high cheekbones, the angry set of his jaw.

So familiar and yet I’m only now comprehending the relation.

His brother.

Since I’ve met the oldest James heir, Harrison, I can only assume this is Grayson. The youngest, and supposedly the least sane of the three. Rumor has it that he left his university teaching job a few months back after some sort of psychotic break. Now, they say he spends his time hiding in a cabin in the woods, refusing to come out, except to steal from the attendees of the wild parties he throws on the weekends.

Jewelry, cash, identities. The belief among the general public is that he’ll take anything, and you’ll never see it—or him—again.

My blood freezes.

Oh God.

What have I done?

He chuckles, towering over me.

I can’t believe I didn’t notice the slight differences in his frame versus Nate’s—Grayson has an inch or two on his brother in height, not to mention several pounds of muscle. Nate isn’t out of shape by any means, but still, it’s clear the James son before me cares far more about his appearance.

“Disappointed, Little Echo?”

“What—you can’t call me that,” I rasp, shaking my head. “Don’t give me a nickname like we’re friends.”

His brows rise. “It’s fitting, considering the only thing you seemed capable of last night was calling for God so loud that it rattled the walls of this hotel room.”

I steal a glance at myself in the mirror, noting the crimson searing my cheeks, my neck. A trait of mine I didn’t used to mind, but that I’m quickly coming to resent.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I stand up straighter, focusing a glare at Grayson. “So, what? You found a drunk girl downstairs and took advantage of her? No wonder no one in your family ever talks about you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be sweet. All sunshine, no rain.” Malice drips from his intense stare as he leans in, eyes narrowed.

Our faces are so close that, if I exhaled, my nose would brush his.

I don’t let myself breathe.

“You weren’t drunk. If that’s what you want to tell yourself to feel better, fine.” A devilish smirk slides across his mouth, and he reaches out, twirling a strand of my hair around two fingers.

I have a sudden flash of him doing the same last night, of him kissing me against a wall and tilting my entire universe on its axis.

“It won’t make my brother any less angry when he finds out about us.”

My head jerks back reflexively, and he drops my hair, shifting away.

“You can’t tell him,” I rush out, panic swirling like a thunderstorm in my chest. “The whole point of me being there last night was to get him back, and now—”

“You think he’ll be disgusted with you.” There’s no emotion in his words.

I don’t say anything. Not sure there’s anything tosay.

“What will you do to keep me quiet?”

“Huh?”

Grayson shrugs. “You don’t want me to tell Nathaniel so you can, presumably, get back together and live the perfect little fairy-tale life with him. Requests like that come with a price.”

“It wasn’t a request,” I reply slowly. “Haven’t you ever done something just for the sake of a good deed?”

He seems to consider this. Then, “No. You don’t get anywhere in life by doing things for free.”

“It’s not free. It’s a good deed.”

“That I get nothing out of.”

Irritation rises in my gut, replacing my anxiety with its leaden weight. Was my body not payment enough? “You get the knowledge that you did something for someone. Something helpful.”

For a moment, he stays silent, scanning my face. I can’t help wondering what he sees.

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t interest me.”

My facial expression falls, and he must find it amusing because he laughs again.

“Jesus, where did Nathaniel find you? Do you always expect people to want to do the right thing? A bit naive, don’t you think?”

Ignoring that, I point at him. “What do you want from me?”

His gaze dips to my bare shoulders, and I attempt to cover myself with the dress.

“I’ve already seen it all, but go ahead and try to maintain some modesty for the future. You’re going to need it.”

I start to ask what that means and why he can’t speak in anything but cryptic riddles when he reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a tiny white business card.

Grayson James, Professor of Composition, New England Art Academy.

When I turn it over, there’s an address scribbled on the back. Some town I’ve never heard of. I look up at him, brows scrunching together, and he flicks the card.

“Show up here, and I’ll tell you what I want.”

“Are you going to murder me?”

A cloud of some unrecognizable emotion passes over his face, shadowing the stark angles. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead before you could wake up and identify me.”

I stare down at the card, blinking rapidly as I try to compute everything that’s happened. The throbbing in my head renews itself, and I curl my fingers around the cardstock, wondering if I have a choice in the matter.

He watches me silently for several long beats. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but that isn’t even what bothers me most—it’s that my memories from last night are wiped completely.

I can’t remember what it feels like to be beneath him or to have him beneath me. Inside me. I gave him something I’d kept for so long, and this is my only reward. My only proof.

It’s unnerving. Disappointing even.

“Get dressed,” he finally says, walking to the bathroom door and yanking it open with a single jerk. He doesn’t look back at me, his shoulders stiff and unmoving. “I’ll have a driver take you to the residence of your choosing.”

The door closes with a firm, final thud.

My fingers shake as I collect myself and shake out my dress, still not sure what’s happening or what to do about it. Information hurtles toward me at the speed of light, and all I can do is dodge the pieces, hoping that whatever hits the ground makes enough sense for me to piece together.

I stay in place for several long moments, staring at the closed door. Afraid that he might come back and considering what I’ll do if he does.

In the end, fifteen minutes pass.

He doesn’t return.

I get dressed in silence and leave.