Pretty Liar (The Pretty Trilogy #2) Read online

  A dark, captivating chasm opens up inside me, and as his mouth meets mine, I kiss him hard, with a force that shocks us both. Mashing my mouth against his, teeth clash and tongues collide as he struggles to rise, to meet my passion, to take command. I run my hands through his hair, pulling at the ends, relishing the masculine noises sounding in his throat. His hands pull at my clothing, the tempo for our coupling set. Grasping the hem of my tennis dress, he pulls it from my body, forcing our mouths to part momentarily, smiling at the realization I’m not wearing any undies.

  ‘How could I have missed that?’

  ‘Shush, just get ‘em off,’ I hear myself snarl, my hands tugging at his zipper, pushing his own away as he pushes my bra straps down my arms.

  His trousers are a joint effort; he pulls at the fastening as I tug them down his thighs. His fingers dip into me, teasing and spreading my wetness, then he’s inside me, filling my need, my heat. I rise in response to his coaxing hands on my hips, his mouth alternating between wet kisses on my lips and breasts. We don’t speak—we don’t need to—our bodies saying all that’s to be said. I ride him instinctively, the force of him intense as I impale myself on him over and over again.

  It’s so deep. So much. So sublime.

  Suddenly, his hands fall away and lie at his sides. I settle my mine on his shoulders, our eyes never parting as I rise and fall, undulating against him, this time at my pace.

  ‘Fuck me,’ he whispers the choked plea. ‘Fuck me like I’m yours.’

  His eyes reflect my movement and shine bright. I’m in charge—I hold the power inside of me, quite literally. His jaw tenses, his brows drawing together.

  Knowing he’s close only heightens my pleasure.

  ‘You need to move,’ he rasps.

  I frown back at him without altering my rhythm. I don’t want to move. I’m not finished yet, plus I want to watch his face as he gives up. Gives in. So I close my eyes and let my head fall back.

  ‘We haven’t used anything, I don’t have anything,’ he appeals.

  I straighten but continue my motion. I know what he means and bite my lips against a smile as a wicked thought takes over. Clamping my fingers over his shoulders, I shake my head and horror hits his eyes. Gripping my hips like a vice, he pulls.

  ‘Move,’ he pleads, ‘we can’t.’

  The devil on my shoulder wonders how far I can push him, wonder if I can get him to give in. So I lean my torso back and grab his thighs.

  ‘It’s fine, let go,’ I rasp.

  ‘Fuck,’ he garbles, his fingers brushing my clit and I buck against his hand. Suddenly, he rolls, not leaving my body, ending up above me, trousers ridiculously clinging to his legs.

  ‘You win,’ he growls, pushing my back against the floor and his body harder between my legs. ‘You. Fucking. Win.’ He punctuates his words with thrusts, planting himself deep inside. Lost to all intellectual function, he grinds against me over and over again, utterly beautiful as climax takes him that moment. Dark and resplendent, he pulses into me, lowering his head against my own.

  ‘S’all right,’ I murmur, savouring his aftershocks of pleasure, wrapping my legs around his thighs.

  As he lifts his head, my stomach squirms a little in shame.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’m on the . . . you know, thecontraceptivepill.’

  His eyes blink slowly before he exhales. ‘Thank fuck. Though I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or put you over my knee.’

  ‘I veto the last option. And you promised, remember?’

  ‘So I did,’ he says full of wry amusement. His expression falters, smile reducing as he speaks. ‘Well, that was a whole new experience.’

  ‘Sex on the floor?’ I ask sceptically.

  ‘Sex without a condom. Penetrative sex without a condom,’ he qualifies.

  Ohhh. ‘Never?’ I cough out, wincing, needing neither the imagery nor semantics. I want to ask why. Has he never gotten close to someone, never trusted enough?

  ‘Should I feel honoured? ‘Cos I only feel guilt?’ Wow, I think I just said that out loud.

  ‘For taking advantage, I shouldn’t wonder. I didn’t think I’d be able to move,’ he says running a hand down his face. Withdrawing, he lies next to me, propping his head on one bent arm.

  ‘Laugh, cry and rage all you like, you can’t punish me.’ I readjust my bra, pulling a couple of throw pillows from the sofa above, shoving them under my head.

  ‘Thank fuck for contraception. I dread to think . . .’ his words trail off. And yeah, I’d dread that, too. ‘You didn’t come though, did you?’

  Cue an inward wince, a rude word alert.

  ‘No,’ I say slowly.

  ‘Then there’s your punishment.’ He smiles. ‘I think you have sadistic leanings, Miss Saunders.’

  ‘I think I was just too busy watching you lose control.’

  ‘Thanks, I think, but don’t get too used to it. I can’t say I’ve ever paid attention to my own come face, but yours, that’s something to behold.’ Come face . . . eww. I don’t think I could be any redder, even if I held my breath. ‘I’ve never tried complete orgasm denial, maybe now would be the time to start.’

  ‘It’s a bit late,’ I laugh, ‘and what happened to you can resist anything but temptation?’

  ‘I meant for you.’

  ‘Ha, then deny away! Strictly speaking, I don’t need you for that.’ I may be talking a big game, but can feel I’m still beet-red.

  ‘You’ll have to show me sometime again,’ he answers in a honeyed purr. ‘Maybe when you’re out of your period of denial. You know, when I allow you to touch yourself again.’

  ‘Geez, you’re full of strange ideas. How’d a girl put her make-up on in the morning if she can’t touch her face?’

  He rolls his body above mine, his mouth a whisper from my ear. ‘For being deliberately obtuse, it looks like your punishment will have to be orgasm overload.’

  A shiver rolls down my spine, catching me off-guard. ‘You’re good, but you’re not superhuman,’ I reply, my words sounding libidinous quite without intent.

  ‘I think you’ll find I’ll manage,’ he murmurs, grasping my hands in his larger ones, pulling them above my head and feeding them into one of his hands. ‘So compliant,’ he smirks, running his free hand across my ribs and tantalizingly close to my breasts. ‘But it’ll have to be on account. I have other plans for us today.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I question breathlessly. ‘What’s first on your agenda?’

  ‘Getting dressed.’ Eyes alight, he kisses my forehead. Rolling onto his back, he jostles his pants back into place before rocking onto the balls of his feet, he propels himself to stand.

  ‘You ratbag,’ I complain, aiming a sofa cushion for his head as he collects the leather weekend bag from the kitchen bench, disappearing into my tiny bathroom with a laugh.

  Eighteen

  Outside, it’s another hot one today, my sunglasses instantly fogging as the cool of the lenses react with the moisture in the air.

  ‘What happened to the grey one?’

  ‘Grey? Oh, the Bentley?’ Kai asks, continuing to the black SUV standing in the Bentley’s parking space. ‘Rashid. We need this one for today.’

  ‘Why, where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘I don’t like surprises,’ I whine as he points the key fob at the mammoth SUV. Its lights flash like a warning beacon as I admit to myself that isn’t strictly true. In my secret reveries, I adore surprises, but that’s only when they take me by surprise, as in I have no knowledge of anything coming my way. When I’ve an inkling of a surprise, it’s like an itch I can’t reach.

  ‘You don’t?’ he asks, eyes widening in simulated surprise. ‘Even when you’ve learned how liberating it can be to let someone else take control?’

  I don’t have an answer as he opens the car door, holding out his hand in assistance.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t just tell me?’

 
; ‘Good things come to those who wait,’ he replies, voice dripping with suggestion again.

  I decide to sit quietly, mainly as I don’t have a witty retort.

  Tucked into the luxurious interior, I’m reminded of the last time I rode in this car, marinating in sensory overload. My mind feeds from image to image of that evening like charms on a chain.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Kai asks as his seatbelt clicks and he settles himself. ‘Or is the smell of leather turning you on?’ he jokes as the engine roars to life.

  ‘You’re not far wrong,’ I murmur in an undertone. Damn him and his body perceptions. If he hears my words, he tactfully, or maybe surprisingly, doesn’t say, instead reaching for my hand across the console as he pulls away from the curb.

  ‘So you can’t give me a hint at this mystery destination?’

  His eyes gleam with mischief. ‘I could, I’m just not going to. You’re the least patient person I know.’

  ‘I’ll just whine all the way. Are we there yet, are we there yet?’

  ‘You’ll force me to take evasive action.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I scoff. ‘While you’re driving? Do your worst, mate.’

  His eyes on the road, he glances at me. ‘Did you just call me mate?’

  ‘I could call you stud, if you’d prefer. Or spunk.’

  ‘I’m not sure I much like being referred to as seminal fluid and we’ve already established I’m not your friend, pal or mate. Come here,’ he commands casually.

  ‘No way,’ I reply with no small hint of incredulity in my tone.

  ‘Come here, or I’ll pull over and come to you.’

  ‘We’re on the freaking highway!’

  ‘There’s always the hard shoulder.’

  ‘That’s for emergencies.’

  ‘This could be critical. Come here.’

  He tugs at my hand, pulling me playfully towards him as I shuffle closer, stopping as my hip hits the middle console. Loosening his hand from mine, he lowers it to my skirt, his fingers gathering the cotton material in small increments. Mesmerized, I watch those elegant hands and corded forearms, veins and tendons prominent with the movement.

  ‘There. That’s what I want,’ he murmurs silkily, his fingers finding the soft flesh of my inner thigh. ‘Anymore whining from you and I’ll be forced to make you moan all the way.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, we’re in the car—we’ll get arrested!’ True, the windows are almost completely blacked out by tint, but it’s still a risk I’m not willing to take. ‘We could have an accident!’

  ‘I thought we almost did,’ he rumbles. ‘Do as you’re told and put on some music.’

  ‘Bossy,’ I grumble as I pick up the connected iPhone and scroll through his music. ‘Maybe I’ll have a sticky-beak at your pictures,’ I tease, but I’m only half joking as I stare at him from under my lashes, gauging his reaction.

  ‘Sticky? A look? Be my guest.’

  Torn between the avaricious need to know, and the saner version of myself that I’d like to portray, I try not to but don’t succeed. As my thumb swipes the appropriate icon, I feel a little queasy at the images I might find.

  There are a couple of images of building sites. One of what looks like heather—‘Montmartre, Paris,’ he says—but other than that, as I swipe the screen, my face appears time after time. Hair billowing out around a pillow, eyes closed, and pouting.

  ‘When did you take these?’ I ask absently as I scan.

  ‘Whenever. While you sleep.’ His reply is soft, his eyes resolutely ahead. My heart swells at that moment, like a balloon in my chest. He watches me while I sleep. That must be a bit of adoration there, I hope. ‘You’ve gone my favourite colour,’ he murmurs as his eyes flick my way.

  ‘Boiled lobster?’

  ‘I think I’d call it Aftermath Red.’

  ‘I doubt that one’s on the colour chart. Why aftermath?’

  ‘It’s a similar shade to when you’re all swollen lips and just fucked.’

  The words bloom and blossom inside in an aching instant. ‘Maybe it should be Cardinal Red,’ I whisper.

  ‘Why, are you worried about your eternal soul? If God was against sex, surely he wouldn’t have made it feel so good.’

  ‘You’d have sold loads from that apple cart,’ I reply. My eyes flutter closed as his fingers find my knee. Laughing softly, he moves his hand back to the steering wheel, and without the distraction, I resume flicking through his phone.

  There are at least a dozen photos of me, and in not one do I recognize having been conscious of posing. Okay, there are a few I look completely unconscious in, but at least I’m covered. By a sheet. Even if I do look kind of mussed-up and sexed in them. Cute and flattering, in a bit of a stalkerish way. Should I feel disturbed? Oh. Maybe. There’s one of my naked nipple. I’d recognise that one in a cold line-up any day.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ He laughs as his eyes slide to the phone. ‘Must’ve been a cold night.’

  I clear my throat, but really, I don’t mind. Truthfully, I’m secretly thrilled. ‘Music?’

  ‘That was the original plan.’

  Randomly selecting a playlist, the soft strains of Dire Straits leak from the stereo system, the sweet opening melody of Romeo and Juliet fills the car.

  ‘An old one but a good one,’ he approves.

  We’re each silent, just enjoying listening, I suppose. Then, for a brief moment, the lyrics almost strike a chord, the words ringing in my head. Words about falling for riches and pretty strangers. Falling for their promises. As I push their echoes from my head, a line from Shakespeare’s play appears instead: They stumble that run fast.

  Please, I silently pray. Don’t let this song be prophetic. For there has been nothing slow or wise in falling in love with Kai.

  Sometime later we arrive at a walled compound and a set of imposing entrance gates, solid with an air of impenetrability. Security cameras slowly turn in our direction, the gates mechanically opening a moment later. Inside the compound the land is very green, palm trees and grass forming a large turning circle with several avenues drawing off in sand coloured paths. Kai takes the centre option, driving through a road lined with trees that look a little sandblasted, pulling up at the entrance of a house shortly after. Though mansion might be a better description for it. Spanish hacienda meets Moorish design, the sprawling mud-brick effect building is roofed in terracotta tiles; wrought iron gates and impressive archways the immediate focus.

  ‘Is this your house?’ I ask, my heart beating a little faster. Am I really going to see his actual home, not his hotel suite?

  ‘No, this is my mother’s home.’

  I feel slightly put-out, and a little disappointed, as the front doors open, Kai’s mother, Mishael stepping out into the daylight. She glides down the steps, adjusting sunglasses in response to the intense light.

  ‘How lovely!’ she exclaims as Kai opens my door. ‘I was beginning to worry.’

  ‘My fault, Mum, sorry were late. We stopped for cake.’ Kai smirks in my direction as he extends a hand to help me out.

  ‘But Regina has made brunch,’ his mother protests.

  ‘Don’t worry. Kate has quite an appetite.’

  Bastard. I frown in his direction. ‘Yeah, I’m famished,’ I say cheerily. It was only a tiny morsel, barely a lick.’

  I take his hand and step from the car, bringing down my sunnies to cover my eyes.

  ‘Shall we?’ he asks, bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing it, laughing softly.

  Inside, the entrance hall is cool and dark. Slate tiles cover the floor and contrast stylishly against the warm ochre walls. We follow Mishael through a heavily carved archway and into a high-ceilinged room, brightly lit by several sets of French windows, leading out onto a terrace and the large freeform pool beyond.

  ‘Sit down, lovelies.’ Mishael directs us enthusiastically to pale sofas placed over bright oriental rugs. ‘Tell the old bird what you’ve been up to today.’

  The fami
liar flush of cardinal red creeps across my cheeks. I hope it doesn’t make the answer too obvious.

  ‘Old bird?’ Kai repeats with scorn. ‘Do you see where I get my inclination towards flattery and compliments?’ His gaze slides to mine, before returning warmly to his mother. ‘We haven’t been up to much, just hung out, read a little. Your old favourite, Layla and Kais.’

  I’d managed to source a copy of it in the school library. Kai spotted it on my bedside cabinet, laughingly asking if I’d found any smutty bits in it.

  Mishael looks surprised for a moment, her mouth opening into a small ‘o’ before morphing into a smile. ‘But you hate that book! Said you’d wished I’d called you Peter or something. It must be you, Kate, he wouldn’t know good literature if it fell right off the shelf and hit him on the head.’

  ‘Actually, Kai read a little to me.’

  ‘No.’ He groans, ‘I’ll never live that down. I’m going to need a drink if you’re going to gang up on me.’

  ‘But it’s barely lunchtime,’ his mother cautions, one censorious eyebrow raised. Eyebrow action is obviously a family trait.

  ‘Mother, I’m being politic. By excusing myself to get a bottle of wine, I’m allowing you to quiz Kate about her intentions towards your only child.’

  ‘Kais!’ his mother exclaims. ‘Behave yourself! Bugger off and get yourself a bottle if you must, but don’t upset Regina.’

  Kissing the top of my head, he murmurs, ‘I’ll be back soon. Be sure to make her get the thumb screws out.’

  ‘He’ll only be a few minutes. I don’t have an extensive cellar here.’ Rising, Mishael comes to sit on the sofa next to me. ‘Though he may go to his own house if he wants a particular wine.’

  ‘No worries. He’s next door, right?’

  ‘Yes, one of the other houses on the compound. I’m sure he’ll show you around.’ She waves her hand dismissively. ‘He really is a lovely man, a little stubborn, but he has a heart of gold.’

  ‘That sounds like him,’ I say lightly.

  ‘Yes, but in this case, I wanted him out of the room, anyway.’

  ‘Oh.’ Or more likely, uh-oh.

  ‘I did want to have a quick chat with you, without him around.’