Beautiful Deception Read online

  I follow his gaze to the pink puffs staining the blood-red sky.

  “Beautiful?” I balk. I can’t remember the last time I was truly impressed with anything or anyone. “I guess it’s beautiful—in the government-is-trying-to-kill-me-chemtrail sort of way.” I withhold the smile from blooming on my lips. Everyone knows that a blood-red sky means trouble, and, if my sexual intuition is right, that’s exactly what he’s about to offer. I take him in with his lean, mean I’m-going-to-eat-you-for-breakfast lewd hint of a grin, and my thighs quiver.

  “Whoa.” He connects his silver-blue eyes to mine, and a jolt of electricity spasms through me, quick and viral like the hot lash of a whip. “No need to drag the government into this.” He grins as he says it. “That’s no chemtrail. It’s dragon’s breath—everyone knows that.” A deep comma-like dimple goes off in his cheek. He bears into me a minute too long as that amused look slides from his face.

  “Go away.” I turn my back to him and continue to admire the landscape. There’s not a man on this planet who can chase me to bed with one wicked grin.

  “Are you always so friendly?”

  “Only to people I like.”

  He steps into my view, and I turn slightly to annoy him.

  “So you like me, then.” More dimples. “I’ll admit I thought it might be an uphill battle.”

  “It will be.”

  “Then we have a future.” An arrogant laugh gets caught in his throat.

  “A future ‘restraining order’ if you don’t get out of my way.” Not that I plan on sticking around long enough to file one.

  “My stepfather is a great attorney. If you want, I can introduce you. He’ll need a ten-thousand dollar retainer. I have to warn you, though, he’s a dick from the get-go.”

  Something warms in me when he berates his stepfather. His features soften as he gives a slight grin, and my insides explode with heat. Girls are still twisting in his direction, listening in, looking for an opening so they can interject themselves into our conversation, or lack thereof.

  “Are we bonding over familial issues?” Why am I still speaking with him?

  “Bonding?” He steps in so close, his chest sears my bare arm. “Finally, we’re headed in the right direction.”

  “I bet you’d like to bond, wouldn’t you?” I glance to his crotch then back to his guilt-riddled face as if I caught his penis in the nooky jar.

  “You’re the one who mentioned bonding. All I wanted to do was spout off a few wishes.” He swallows a laugh. “I hear if you make a wish under a dragon’s blood sky it has to come true.”

  Something in me stirs as he says those words. He’s older, maybe ten, fifteen years. He has slight crinkles around his smiling eyes, and his full lips twitch as if they have a secret.

  My heart hammers against my chest, trying to kick its way out. My adrenaline gives a violent surge until it feels as if my head is about to pop off, and I wish it would. Something needs to stop me from falling under the dragon’s blood spell he’s casting. But it’s too late. I’m up for just about anything he has to offer. Nothing will matter tomorrow anyway because for me tomorrow will never come.

  “Well then”—I clear my throat—“it looks like tonight was made for wishes.” My face burns with heat as he watches me with those expectant eyes—that hungry, disconnected gaze I’ve seen before on a thousand frat boys. Mr. Dragon’s Blood Wishes is fostering a hard-on, and it’s becoming crystal clear that me and my skintight jeans are exactly what he’s hoping for.

  “I hear wishes have a better chance of coming true if you whisper them at the beach.” He rakes over me with his amusement.

  The beach ball is in my court. I could volley this mattress tourney any way I wanted.

  I cut a quick glance to a fleet of Town Cars and limos knifed over the landscape in the barren lot below the estate.

  “I don’t have a ride.” It’s the truth. I came with Kinsley, and my only hope is bribing a valet to take me back to Rigby.

  He plucks a lone key from his pocket and dangles it next to his white flash of a smile. A brown, paper tag is attached to the key ring.

  I glance back at the valets with their white shirts rolled up at the elbows, their dark pressed pants and note he’s wearing the exact same thing.

  “Are you a driver?” I whisper deliciously at the thought he had slithered his way into my father’s ritzy wannabe nightclub, trying to fornicate with the upper crust.

  He raises a brow. “Yes, I am a driver.” He shakes his head. “And I happen to be taking off for the night, so, if you want to head down to Shipwrecks, you’re in luck.”

  Shipwrecks Cove is a fifteen-minute drive. It’s saddled with rows of overpriced homes that have rooted themselves to the shoreline. My grandmother used to take Claire and me there until the great blue Pacific tried to swallow me whole, and then we never went back.

  I consider this for a moment. It’s my birthday. It’s also the last night of my brief existence. The anniversary of my birth and death all on the same date. It’s almost romantic. The worst thing, and, perhaps the best that can happen is that this stunning stranger wraps his strong hands around my neck and spares me the privilege of sending myself into the great beyond.

  I blink up at him, flirting, assuring his hard-on of things to come. I’m pretty sure wishes are low on his priority list tonight. The only thing he’s wishing for is me, naked in the sand.

  “What’s your name?” I snap as the words swim around us for a moment.

  He winces before taking a breath.

  “Ford. And yours?” He shifts, expanding his chest as if he just bent the truth. His chest swells twice its girth, and I feel smaller than a comma standing next to him.

  “Stevie.” I shake my head just enough as if I told my own lie right back. “Your worst nightmare.”

  His chest vibrates as he swallows a laugh. He holds out his hand, and I accept his thick, rough fingers over mine, like falling into a warm bath.

  “Stevie—beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He rumbles it out with that lewd grin twitching on his lips again. His eyes rake over my body in a tactile manner, getting intimate with my every curve. “You seem more of a dream to me.”

  “Well, then, tonight is going to be beautiful,” I assure him.

  Here we are, just this side of strangers, ready to jog down powder white beaches, blowing wishes into a dragon’s blood sky. We are hinging on liars and lovers, and I have a feeling tonight we’ll be both.

  In fact, I know we will.

  Ford drives us down in a Town Car, and I can’t help feel like we swiped it out of the lot. He doesn’t strike me as a valet even if his wardrobe is playing the part. Half the guys there tonight looked like they could have parked my car. I give a slight smirk as I steal glances at his cut features, that inky dark hair that begs for my fingers to dig in and stay a while. I wish I wasn’t so attracted to him. I’ve always steered away from pretty boys, not that he is one. He’s much more rugged. His face is peppered with just the right amount of stubble, and he’s got those bedroom eyes he can’t quite turn down the volume on. A part of me wants him to like me, not just the girl in the skintight jeans but the heart and soul of who I really am, and I hate that feeling. I hate feeling helpless and desperate in wanting someone else’s approval. I’ve tried that my entire life with my father and failed. Besides, it takes all of my power away, and I’m greedy with how I spend it.

  We hit Shipwrecks, and he pulls into a short, brick driveway. The garage door yawns to life like the mouth of a sleepy giant. We pull in, and he waits until the door closes before killing the engine. A prickling fear comes over me as the last bit of daylight exits the small space. I glance over at Ford and wonder if death is going to come a little quicker, and in a far less glamorous fashion than I suspected.

  “Hope you don’t mind.” His teeth ignite the darkness like a flash of lightning. “It’s my brother’s beach house. He’s primarily based in New York.” His cheek tugs to the side as if he
were being sarcastic at the mention of this beach-house-owning brother, but I’m stuck on the word primarily and wonder how many valets are using it today. “Let’s do this.” He pats my knee, and I follow him into a bright-lit home laden with nautical décor, an expensive leather sectional and a TV the size of the wall.

  “Nice place.” It’s opulent and far more pretentious than I gave it credit for after experiencing the overgrowth and peeling paint in the front.

  “He thinks so.” He smears it with a tired look and sums up his relationship with his brother with less than a facial gesture.

  “It looks expensive. Your brother is obviously doing very well in New York.” I’m probing. I want to hear him bitch about his minimum wage career-move in the car parking business—hear him moan about how people never bother to tip. In truth, it was his everyman quality that lured me here in the end. After living in my father’s social bubble for the last seven years, a part of me craves the underdog just trying to claw his way to his next paycheck. In a world where everyone is handed a gold card upon graduation, it’s pioneering to see that some people still have to pull themselves up by the bootstraps.

  “He’s doing okay. He thinks his boss is an ass.” His dimples bury themselves in his cheeks, and that sweet spot between my thighs cinches.

  “Who doesn’t?” I run my finger along the matte limestone counter. “I have a brother,” I offer unprovoked. “Two sisters.” I leave Claire out of it for now, but I can feel her bubbling to the surface, demanding to be a part of the fornicating folly that’s about to take place. She wanted to sleep with Billy Knoxville on her deathbed, and I wouldn’t let her, and, here I am, on my proverbial deathbed about to upgrade miles above Billy Knoxville. She must be pissed—either that or elated for me, and, knowing her, it’s the latter. My final night will be robed in ecstasy, with my limbs wrapped around this beautiful man. I can practically feel Claire rolling her eyes, accusing me of catching all the green lights. “I’m not a part of the core, though.” I shrug as he motions me through the double slider, and we step onto the porch. The menacing Pacific slaps me in the face like the hand of God. It’s brilliant, and mammoth, deep as it is wide, angry as it is strong. I trap a salted breath in my lungs as the panoramic ocean unfurls before us like a scroll. I’ve stepped into a dream—nothing but miles of snow-white shoreline—the hard line of the Pacific roaring to life like a lion threating to devour us.

  “The core?” He lands his arm around my waist as we begin to walk along the sand, and, oddly, his hand warming my hip feels natural. I pluck off my heels and hinge them in the crook of my fingers.

  “The core consists of my father’s true children, Lincoln and Kinsley. Lincoln works for my dad, and Kinsley is trying to kick her way into acting by way of her Louboutin stilettos. Then there’s Aspen, the brooding artist. She likes exclusive things. Her nightgown was hand sewn by Amish teenagers. She won’t wear jewelry unless it’s made by women in Africa selling it to make a living. She’s very ecologically sound—whatever that means. But for the most part, she’s amazing—very talented, married to a man who thinks he acquired her to his personal collection just like he did her art. Aspen and I are the unwanted counterfeits—the products of my father’s multiple affairs. He’s quite the lady’s man much to my stepmother’s horror.”

  He barks out a laugh as if I just told a mean joke.

  “No, really it’s true. I’ve spent all my life trying to get into my father’s good graces.” I pull him in like we’re a couple, and his cologne rolls over me, warm and spiced, subtler than it was earlier. “The core even looks like my father, blonde hair, blue eyes. The rest of us are literally from the dark-side—raven-haired beauties.” I give a little wink and feel cheesy about it. I don’t think a major seduction is needed on my part but I’m anxious to move the show along, to have his mouth sinking over mine, his body deep inside me.

  My face floods with heat, and I force myself to look at the ocean with its furious whitecaps slapping against each other ten feet offshore.

  “Chestnut.” He leans in and takes a sniff. “You have chestnut hair, deep red highlights that reflect the sky.” His features dim like he’s telling the truth, but he doesn’t want to. “And I definitely agree, you are a beauty.”

  “Yeah, well, I couldn’t look any less related to my father if I tried.” I never could take a compliment. “He’s as greedy with his Nordic genes as he is with his money.”

  He laughs again, and my hip bumps against his leg as we walk.

  “You said the rest, how many more are there?”

  “My twin sister, Claire.” And there she is. I knew it wouldn’t take long. “But she’s gone now.”

  He pauses for a second, inadvertently pulling me back. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So am I.” My eyes widen as I glance down at the sand with its impossible divots every few inches. It’s thick and cool and far more uncomfortable to walk through than I remember. “Anyway.” I shoot a quick glance to the ocean and omit the fact I’m planning a reunion. “Tonight’s my birthday.” I shake my head at how pathetic it came out—how unbelievable it sounded.

  “No kidding?” He pauses again, and this time I stop, too.

  “No shit.”

  Our eyes lock as the wind steals the neatness from my hair, making it dance like flames toward the dragon-red sky.

  “Happy birthday, Stevie.” His lips twist with a wry smile, and, for a minute, I think he’s going to kiss me. “Name anything. I’ll make sure it happens.” He takes up both my hands and swings them between us. There’s something comfortable about him, familiar. He’s gorgeous, and kind, and perhaps a serial killer, but, sadly, I’m okay with anything he has to offer.

  A shadow catches my eye from over his shoulder. A tall, dappled horse plods its way down the beach in the opposite direction.

  “I want that.” God, I haven’t ridden since that day, since Claire died. My heart detonates at the prospect. “I want to ride. Right here, tonight.”

  “Done.” He speeds us over three houses down and walks straight into a makeshift barn. He saddles up two gorgeous steeds and helps me onto the black one that gives off a blue cast in the dim light of the stable.

  We ride out onto the sand as the poor beast’s hooves sink, leaving me gyrating unnaturally. My body rotates in rhythm to the saddle, up and down, grinding my hips in rotation, steady like a gear.

  “So did we just horse-jack these babies?” I’m only half kidding. “I’ll admit when you said you’d give me anything, my adrenaline spiked. And now here we are, horse-napping. I always did get a rise in taking something that wasn’t mine to begin with.” Usually that consists of borrowing my roommate’s sweaters. I’ve yet to add a mammal-related felony to the list.

  “I promise we’re allowed. The owners rent the stables in hopes the locals will take them out for a ride and give them a workout. Works like a charm.” He holds up the reins.

  “Wow. I wonder if I leave my running shoes on the porch if someone will wear out the soles for me?” That was dumb. “I always did hate working out.” Hand to God. “But I bet you’ll make it enjoyable.” I bat my lashes quick as a butterfly trying to escape a jar. “That’s what tonight is about, right?” I run my gaze down his body slow as tar and just as scalding.

  His cheeks pull back with a quick grin. “I thought tonight was about wishes and horses. But, hey, you’re the birthday girl, and I did say anything. I think my brother has a weight room in the back. I can help you with some curls and pushups if you want.”

  “Ha ha. I forgot to laugh. Are you always this funny, or is this something you have to rehearse in the mirror before crawling into bed at night?”

  “Oh, sweetie”—his head tilts to the side—“there’s not a darn thing I have to rehearse before crawling into anyone’s bed, least of all mine.”

  “Is that where the magic happens?”

  “That’s where the miracles happen. But if you want a magic show, you got it.”

  We plod
toward the damp shore where the ride becomes smoother, and I can feel the horse relax beneath me.

  “I think it’s time to test out your magician skills, cowboy—see if you’ve got a miracle or two left in you for the night.” I nod over at a defunct pier in the distance. “Last one in has to stare at the ceiling.”

  “The ceiling?” He cocks his head before his eyes widen with the epiphany. “The ceiling.”

  But I’m already gone, racing down the waterline, the wild wind screaming through my hair, shouting at me to turn around and ride all the way back to Rigby and pretend this day never happened—avoid this night like the STD plague it might turn out to be. Maybe buy a cupcake on the way home and stab it in the heart with a candle.

  “Stevie!” Ford’s voice cuts through the wind with a warbling roar. It sounds lonely and distal like the cry of a desperate lover who lived a thousand years ago and found a way to rip open time, making his way back to me. I can picture it, our unstoppable, incurable love—the angst of it all. A part of me has always yearned for that, belly-burning, chest-squeezing infliction. To become so inexplicably dependent on someone else’s heart, their smile, that it literally drives you insane. I guess I expected it on some level, after all, that’s the story of my mother’s life in a nutshell. She always said love was a dangerous plague once it found you—with no cure and certain death in the end. But I romanticized her black and white notion. A part of me chose to believe love had the ability to walk right over death like a stone in its path and endure for the expanse of all eternity.