Tempt (Secrets and Lies Book 1) Read online

  “What happens next?” he asks, his voice low enough that this is just for us. The other passengers can’t hear it. “On the page. With this ice demon and his beloved, stuck on the train.”

  “She knows the ice demon is upset. And she’s worried that he doesn’t know the strength of his own abilities.” I like the way Sam leans in as I start weaving the story. I don’t want to like it too much, but there’s something about the look in his eye that emboldens me. Like he’ll like anything I say here, I can be as wild as I want with this fantasy tale. “Maybe he doesn’t know that a storm can interfere with travel plans, cause car accidents, or down power lines.”

  And that’s when the lights in our car flicker and go out.

  I don’t gasp. Other people do, further down the train car, and then I hear Sam chuckle.

  “That was a neat trick,” he says as he taps his phone, lighting up the space between us weakly. I refocus my eyes on his grin. “What next, storyteller?”

  “The ice demon takes a nap and the lights came back on,” I say under my breath, but no such luck. I take a sip of wine. “Our heroine realizes she needs to find a way to communicate with the ice demon.”

  “Whoa, hold up, we’ve got a major plot hole.” Sam clears his throat. “With all due respect to the narrator. But how did they fall in love if they can’t talk?”

  “Well he’s not always in the form of a giant ice demon conjuring a storm. When he’s not upset, he’s like…seven feet tall and built like a cross between an NFL and an NBA player. And whatever he touches turns a little bit cold. Like he makes you shiver with each stroke, every caress.”

  “Sexy,” Sam deadpans. He lifts his glass and takes another big swallow of rye, then wipes his mouth. My eyes have adjusted to the dim light, the entire car dark except for electronic glows here and there. It’s eerie and intimate at the same time.

  But more importantly, Sam doesn’t understand the appeal of a sexy ice demon. I re-focus my attention. “You haven’t had enough fun with—”

  He reaches across the table and touches my hand. Hidden under his fingers is an ice cube, and the cold press against my skin makes me shiver exactly as I just explained.

  “Ice,” I whisper, finishing my thought.

  “Tell me more about him,” Sam murmurs, his eyes carefully watching me. “He’s a man?”

  “Some of the time.” I suck in a breath as he moves his touch up my hand and onto my wrist.

  “More?” His fingers slide onto the inside of my arm and I turn my hand over.

  Yes, more.

  He continues asking questions like he’s not molesting my skin with a melting ice cube. “And the rest of the time?”

  “Uh, he’s a storm. Well, a larger-than-life man-shaped demon surrounded by a storm. He needs to take that shape regularly, although he can be an only slightly larger-than-life man most of the time.”

  “What happens in the summer?”

  “You and your plot holes.” I swallow hard. “He’s gone in the summer. He has to travel somewhere cold.”

  “Brutal.”

  The lights flicker, and in a flash, Sam’s touch is gone. By the time the train car is fully lit again, he’s leaning back in his seat, the quintessential picture of the unconcerned man. I blink, adjusting to the brightness, and it’s almost like all of that didn’t just happen.

  “Bon soir…” The announcement apologies for the temporary power interruption in French first, and then English. “A power cable unhooked between the cars. The problem has been repaired, and your dinner service will begin shortly.”

  “No ice demon,” I say.

  Sam almost smirks, but he reins it in at the last second. “Are you disappointed?”

  I don’t answer him. Instead, I drain my wine glass.

  “Do you want another drink?” He twists around, looking for the attendant.

  I take a deep breath. “Probably shouldn’t.”

  He smiles again, a slow and dangerous grin. “Probably not.”

  A hot, needy tug pulls low in my belly.

  His gaze slides down my body as if he knows what the wolfish smile does to me inside. Then he snaps his eyes back to my face. “Do you want to play it safe, Aibhlin?”

  The inflection is more effective than a bucket of ice water on my libido. My back straightens, and I tighten my legs.

  No more languid fun. This train can get moving any time now. We didn’t even get to dinner. “Oh, Sam. Why did you have to go and say it like that? Our game was so lovely there for a hot second.”

  His face tightens up. “Is that what it was to you? Some kind of game?”

  “Of course. And it was for you, too. Obviously, with your ‘I’m Sam. Sam Preston,’ nonsense.”

  His eyes flick to the window, to the now more chaotic snow and the darkness beyond. When he looks back, his smile is more familiar. Rueful.

  Boyish, like I remember it from ten years ago.

  2

  Sam

  Ten years earlier

  “What up, Preston?”

  I barely have the door open to my apartment when the guys shoulder their way in. Some of them, anyway. Not the whole crew.

  I’ve been pissing people off lately, so when I put out the blast that I want to go out and get wasted tonight, I didn’t know who would show.

  Frankly, I don’t give a fuck who’s up for it or not.

  Regan has a new boyfriend. Her prerogative. Good for her. All I need to do is get laid tonight and everything will be right with the world again.

  Go and find Hazel in the library. No, not that.

  Pursuing Regan’s best friend is a bad idea. The worst.

  The hottest, too.

  Hazel with the knowing eyes and the wet little mouth. Hazel with the filthy jokes.

  Which is why I need drinks tonight, and a lot of them. Because if I’m sober, I won’t be able to shut down my brain, the obnoxious part of it that thinks and spins and calculates the odds until I can figure out how to bend them in my favour.

  I can wear Hazel down. Of course I can. She’s a dirty girl, deep down, and nobody else knows that about her. I’m the only one who knows her secret. I don’t even fucking know how I know that, but I do. I see her. We’re more alike that Hazel would like.

  That’s how I know.

  She’s me, only not fucked up. She’s me, without the cards and booze and the money.

  She’s me, except she likes herself.

  I grab the bottle of Jack off the counter. “This is what’s up, motherfuckers. We are almost at the end of our collegiate careers, you jackoffs. We are going to celebrate tonight.”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Fuck yeah. The motto to my entire university career. And if I get out of it alive, it’ll be a fucking miracle. I pour a round of shots, welcoming the familiar burn.

  One more term. Five more C+ papers, five more exams, and a passing attendance record, and I’ll have the degree I need to access my trust fund. One more term, and I never need to speak to my parents again. Don’t need to play their games.

  Dark, bitter thoughts swirl through my head, and I chase them away with another shot of Jack.

  We hit a club just south of campus, close enough it’s more students than anyone else. I want to cut loose, I want to find some pussy. Those are my goals. But when I walk through the doors and I see a couple of guys who were a few years behind me at St. Mike’s, guys I know have money to burn, I can’t help the networker inside me.

  “I’ll catch up to you at the bar,” I say to my friends, then swing wide to the second years clustered around a table. “Dylan, nice to see you, man.” I take his hand, shaking it whether he wants to or not. Then I sling my arm around the neck of the guy next to him, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me, but I’m pretty sure I fucked his sister at her homecoming dance. She was not my date. It didn’t matter. “Everyone having a good time tonight?”

  I’m looking for a couple of things in a conversation like this. Recognition is key. If they don’t know who I am and what kind of games I organize, I’m not going to tell them. My reputation is king. The rule is, I’m a nice guy. Approachable, friendly. But my games are hard to get into, and people need to ask.

  Repeatedly.

  None of these douchebags have asked yet, and I don’t know if that’s because my rep isn’t as good with them as it should be, or if they’re not sure they’ll get into the game.

  Dude-Whose-Sister-I-Banged, though, his eyes light up.

  That’s a great sign.

  “Sam,” he says, a little breathless. And his breath is whew, heavy with the vodka. Good, he won’t remember that I don’t know his name.

  “What’s up, bro?” I scruff him a little. “Haven’t seen you around. You guys having a good time tonight?”

  One of the others puffs his chest up. “Always.”

  “Great. Good.” I wink and point finger guns at them all. “See you soon, buds.”

  An hour later, Dude-Whose-Sister-I-Banged shows up at the table we’ve scored. He’s greedy, I can see it in his eyes. Behind him is a waitress with a bottle, and it’s good stuff. He didn’t cheap out.

  “Guys,” I say expansively. “Introduce yourselves to our new friend.”

  It works. They all shake his hand, and he tells each of them—unnecessarily—that his name is Cody. Cody Dewar. Over and over again, and then we drink his three-hundred dollar bottle of whiskey.

  I’m barely into my second glass when I see Hazel at the bar.

  She’s looking at me, where I’m holding court, like I’m a piece of shit. She’s not wrong.

  I gesture for her to join us, and she shakes her head, but then something makes her change her mind, and she shrugs.

  The way she stalks in our direction is fucking hot. Like she do
esn’t give a fuck if anyone thinks she’s mad—she’s not, Hazel doesn’t get mad. She just goes cold. The worst thing Hazel can give you is indifference. It fucking cuts.

  And since she’s bulldozing her way to my table, she is not indifferent. Not tonight. I’m grinning when she stops next to us.

  “Cody,” I bark. “There’s a lady present. Get up and give her your seat.”

  She snorts. “I’m not staying. Just stopped by to remind Sam that he still has a paper due on Monday.”

  We had one class together in four years. It just ended. Well, it ends on Monday, but the joke’s on Hazel. “I turned it in this afternoon.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You only started writing it yesterday.”

  “I know, I don’t usually spend that much time on an assignment,” I drawl. Then I stand up.

  Cody tries to stand, too, but stumbles.

  I shove him back into his seat.

  He’s misread the situation badly, because he thinks it’s a good idea to tell Hazel she should smile more.

  She acts like she didn’t hear him. That indifference, whew. It hurts.

  “I said—”

  She leans right into his face and nods. “I heard your bro tip. I disregarded it immediately.”

  “A bro tip is a pro tip.” He says it like it’s fucking clever. It’s not.

  Hazel visibly cringes, and something hardens inside me. A need to prove to her I’m not that guy, even though I clearly am—or at least, I’m a guy happy to drink that guy’s booze and take his money. “Can we talk?”

  Her eyes flash. No. The answer is no. It has to be.

  I move in and lower my voice. “Please.” She watches my mouth. Maybe she didn’t hear me over the music. I reach for her hand, circling my fingers around her wrist, and she doesn’t pull away. “Come on,” I say. Calculating the odds. Making my bet.

  And when I tug, she follows.

  We weave our way off the dance floor, through the sweaty, grinding crowd, and past the bar. Down the hallway.

  My pulse is thumping now. Hard and fast. Heady.

  She hops up onto a wooden ledge in a nook, where there used to be a payphone, and now it’s a place for people to get up to no good in the shadows.

  I want to get up to no good with Hazel. I want to bury my hand between her bare thighs and discover what her pussy feels like. If she has soft curls or bare skin, if she’s already wet. Fuck, I don’t know what would be hotter. If she’d already be ready for my fingers to slide deeper, or if she would need some coaxing.

  There is zero chance she’s going to let me finger fuck her in a club, but I want that so much it burns. I want her pussy juice to soak into my hand, so I can smell it as I get myself off later.

  “You finished your paper already?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Is it any good?”

  “It’s a pass.” I drop my gaze to where her bare legs are bright in the relative darkness of our little nook.

  “Sam.” She says my name like she knows I’m a pervert, and she isn’t impressed. “You wanted to talk?”

  I wanted to get her alone so I could talk her into making a mistake with me. “It was too loud out there.”

  “Loud and gross. Those guys are obnoxious.”

  “Yeah.” But they’re the only people who can stand me anymore, so…fuck it. “They’re my friends, though. Sorry.”

  She doesn’t say anything to that.

  She doesn’t need to.

  Fuck. “This isn’t why I wanted to talk about.”

  “Did you want to talk, Sam?” The mockery drips off her voice. Or did you want to fuck me in a dark hallway?

  Yes.

  The answer is fucking yes.

  “We keep bumping into each other.”

  “We go to the same school.”

  “I’ve seen you more in the last couple of weeks than usual.”

  “Maybe you’re just noticing me for the first time.”

  Not at all. “We’ve been friends for a while.”

  She frowns.

  I move closer. “Aren’t we friends, Hazel?”

  She licks her lips, a quick swipe of a pink tongue, and glances to the side. When she twists her head back, I’m closer still. There’s little space between us now, and I drag in a rough breath, inhaling some of her scent.

  “Maybe we’re not exactly friends,” I whisper.

  And she fucking shudders. Hard, raw, real. With a gasp, she scrambles back, but she’s sitting on a ledge, her legs spread enough for me to wedge myself between them and brace my arms on either side of her.

  “Don’t run away,” I growl.

  She gives me a wide-eyed glare. “This isn’t talking.”

  “I’m saying plenty.” I smirk when she drops her gaze to my mouth. Oh, the things I want to do to her with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. “I want you. Can we talk about that?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re pretty. Because you’re smart. Because you tell the dirtiest jokes I’ve ever heard, and when everyone else is cackling, you go to a different place. You get a little dreamy.” I brush my mouth against her cheek. “I want to be a part of your dirty dreams.”

  “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, because yes she does.

  I want to crow. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

  “Everyone is,” she whispers. Then she turns her head and kisses me, her lips swollen and soft and perfect.

  We kiss until she’s breathless and I’m hard, my brain a little fuzzy, and I finally put my hands on her bare fucking thighs.

  She trembles under my touch.

  “You make me want to do filthy things, Hazel. You know that?”

  She moans as my fingers stroke higher on her thighs. Almost there. I want her shaking by the time I touch her pussy.

  I licked her neck. Fuck, she tastes good. “I wanted to do this in the library. When you called me on my shit. Would you have let me then?”

  She freezes.

  “You wanted me in the library?” Her voice catches. “Weeks ago?”

  There’s a warning flag here, but I’m not following. “Fuck, yeah.”

  Wrong answer. Fuck me.

  “No.” She shoves me back, stronger than she looks. Shaking, she takes two steps back towards the pulsing dance floor. Then she stops and shoots me a drop dead, asshole look. “This can’t happen, Sam. You’re an asshole. And if you want a bro tip…those assholes aren’t really your friends. But you know that, and you hang out with them anyway. So you know what? I’m done with you. If you ever see me again, pretend you don’t know me.”

  3

  Sam

  Present Day

  I didn’t see her again. She dodged me for an entire term and didn’t show up at convocation.

  What were the odds she would slide into the seat across from me a decade later?

  She gave me a fake name, and that was fine. I did my part. I pretended not to know her, but I do—or did. Except she was into it, too.

  Fuck.

  And now she’s staring at me like I’ve ruined everything. Again.

  “None of your business,” Hazel says, her eyes bright and challenging. “You started playing the game. I just took it to the next level. It’s a shame for both of us you couldn’t keep it there.”

  I genuinely thought I’d never see this woman again.

  I was not prepared for this evening on any level.

  And yet.

  And yet, I can still feel it. The sizzle, the connection. The what-almost-was, the what-never-could-be. To be fair to the missed opportunity, none of that sizzle had existed for ninety-five percent of the time we knew each other.

  She’d been Regan’s best friend, and no matter how complicated and childish the relationship I’d had with my college girlfriend had been, I’d only had eyes for her.

  And cards.

  But no other women.

  After it ended badly, so completely my fault, Hazel hated me for having hurt Regan. Fair enough.

  So it had surprised the hell out of both of us when one day, there it was.

  Sizzle.

  Spark.

  A connection neither of us saw coming. A mocking tone turned into a lighthearted tease in the library, and bam, I suddenly saw Hazel McLaughlin in a whole new light.