Lie to Me (22 page)

“Marking me, are you?” he asked, his voice lightening a little.

“I don’t have to mark you.” She lifted her head for a moment. “I own your body and soul. But it will discourage other women from throwing themselves at you.”

He grinned, the most beautiful sight she’d seen all night. It thrilled her. “You really do own me,” he said, and his grin faded.

She told herself not to read too much into his words. He’d said that before, but still thought he shouldn’t go back to her. She focused off of herself and her own pain and concentrated on how to eliminate his. After she’d appropriately marked him, she scooted down and settled between his muscled thighs. Her gaze fixed, for a moment, on the scars on his right leg. Impulsively, she scattered gentle kisses over the scar until he said, “Please don’t, Casey. They’re so ugly.”

“Not to me; we’ve gone over this,” she said, quietly, but she turned toward his pulsating erection. Taking it into her hand she stroked its elegance and he groaned. Without another word, she slid it into her mouth and sucked on it, and he stiffened and groaned again, louder this time, then started cussing under his breath.

Her own breathing hard and heavy, her heart racing, she reluctantly released him. She returned to his lips and kissed him, as he slid his hot erection inside of her. As soon as he filled her, her tight, feminine flesh convulsed around him, tightening then loosening then grabbing him again, over and over, and she had to bite her lip again to keep from screaming. The stars and fireworks returned, and she heard herself chanting his name in a soundless whisper.

When her sated body rested in his arms, he kissed the blood off her lips, stroked her cheek and said to her, “You’re a part of me, babe. It’s going to be so hard to say good-bye to you.” His breath teased her face as he peered into her eyes while holding her close.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her chest, her heart pounding at his words. “Don’t say good-bye, Damian. You never have to say good-bye.”

He lifted his head, smiled, then kissed her completely, hugging her to his sweaty body, like he’d never let her go. After they broke apart, he shut his eyes and cradled her to him, mumbling endearments that she couldn’t always understand. But she could hear the tenderness in his voice. Eventually, he quieted.

A few minutes later he slept, his arm thrown across her chest and his breathing deep and peaceful. She kissed him on the forehead and disengaged herself from underneath him. He slept so soundly that he didn’t stir as his body gently hit the mattress. Love bubbled inside of her and she bent over to brush her lips against his cheek. Then, fearing Miles would wake and find him unclothed, she pulled a couple of warm blankets over his form and his lips turned up and her eyes stung with hot tears.

She’d made him smile tonight. More than once.
Is it still night?
She glanced at the clock on the wall.
One thirty. Technically, morning.
She’d told him not to leave. She knew he didn’t want to go. He must know, after even his brief time with her again, that they belonged together. That they loved as much as desired one another. That they were older and could make it work this time. If she spoke into his ear while he slept, could she plant the suggestion into his brain that he had to stay?

She would have done anything, but Damian was a free spirit. He’d do what he felt was best. She just had to convince him that staying here was best. Her body raced with energy. She knew she could never get to sleep yet. Maybe she wouldn’t sleep; she would certainly have trouble settling down.

Chapter Thirteen

Casey had forgotten to get her nightclothes from her room. She could see the light in her room still on, glowing brightly under the door. Alex must be awake. She could retrieve the appropriate items she’d need for the night. First she’d need to put her street clothing on again. No way could Alex see her in her birthday suit. She threw her red knit short-sleeve top and jeans on with haste, and then strode purposefully toward her bedroom door. Just as she lifted her fist to knock, she heard Alex talking, obviously on his cell phone.

“Sam, put the glass down. You’re drunk enough.”

Casey caught her breath. She shouldn’t eavesdrop.

And nothing on earth could stop her.
Sam drunk?
He rarely drank, and didn’t hold his liquor well when he did. She didn’t dare even breathe.

“Drinking’s the family curse, and you’re already wasted. I lost Mother and almost lost Damian to booze. Sleep it off.”

Casey wrinkled her forehead.
Mother?
Her veins chilled.
Had Damian’s mother been an alcoholic? Had she died because of it? Why did Sam and Alex know, but not Damian?
She put her ear against the door, her heart pounding.

“Sam, it’s late. You hit enough bars. Stay home.”

She lifted her hand to her mouth. A plan formed in her mind. One she didn’t think she could resist. Sam wasted. Sam couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he drank. She’d witnessed it a few times. Alex wanted Sam to stay home the rest of the night, what was left of it.

Her heart raced faster.

“If you don’t promise to stay in, man, I’m coming over… No, I don’t have my car here and I feel like crap. But I’ll come anyways. I’ll walk. And you know I mean it.”

She swallowed hard. Could she? What if she went over there and Sam had passed out? She certainly couldn’t call him in advance to make sure he was awake.

She’d take that chance. She couldn’t waste this opportunity to talk to Sam in this condition.

“No,” Alex said. “I don’t believe that. Stop it.”

Casey had heard enough. She wouldn’t need her nightclothes. Before she left, she went back to Damian and bounced on the mattress, lying on her belly to reach him and make sure he was still sound asleep.

His snoring reassured her. When she kissed his parted lips, he smiled a little again and she stroked his warm, hard cheek and silky hair. With fresh resolve she vowed to find out all she could from Sam. Nothing would be better than talking to him with his tongue loose.

Damian needed to know. In his heart, behind the hatred, he loved his big brother. And in her heart she didn’t believe Sam had done it. The enemies list puzzled her though. If Sam were truly wasted, he wouldn’t remember their conversation in the morning. She’d ask him about the list and, if he broached the topic it while he nursed a whopping hangover the next day, she’d deny knowing what he was talking about.

“Sam, cut it out,” Alex said, in a tired voice. “Sleep it off, and I’ll call you in the morning, dude… Look, I’m getting dizzy. I have to get to sleep myself. Promise you’ll stay home, so I don’t worry and I can actually rest… ’Kay, thanks. Take care, bro.”

Casey let out a breath and tiptoed away from the door. A few minutes later, the light under the door went out. Quickly, Casey ran into the kitchen, found a piece of scrap paper and a pencil and wrote a note to Damian.

Honey, I went out. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon.

Love, Casey

As she set it beside his head, she almost laughed at herself. Like he wouldn’t worry if he awakened and read it. She knew he’d think of Sam right away and probably storm after her. Well, if he did, maybe Sam would have spilled his guts to her by then. She had to take the chance. It would be a long time before Sam got drunk again.

Casey sat in the recliner for about fifteen minutes, giving Alex time to fall asleep. She knew he’d come out if he heard her leaving at this hour.

Finally, at almost two o’clock in the morning, unsure if Sam would even be awake, she grabbed her keys, her white cardigan sweater, and left the apartment, shutting the door quietly. She still had her gun in her purse in case some nut tried to attack her, but she didn’t expect it. For the most part, Weipeka had little crime. She wasn’t the target of whoever was harassing the Ballantines anyways.

Sam lived in the only elite part of Wepeika. Casey anticipated no trouble with the guard standing in front of the condominium complex. He knew her from the times she’d brought Miles to visit Sam.

“Night shift, Dan?” she asked, flashing him a pleasant smile, hoping he didn’t see her lips trembling.

“I switched with somebody,” the young man said, in an amicable voice. “Going to see Mr. Ballantine at this hour?” His eyes gleamed in a way that indicated he felt it was a romantic tryst.

“Yes.” She didn’t need to explain.

As she entered the huge, marble lobby, she lifted her hand to press the buzzer, praying that Sam was both awake and willing to let her inside. Just as her trembling finger almost touched the button, the glass doors to the lobby slid open as somebody stepped out. Running, Casey beat the shutting doors before they closed.

The elevators were draped in red velvet and smelled fresh. So unlike her own dismal place. When she stepped off the elevator, her heart pounded. She hoped she hadn’t come here for nothing. The heels of her loafers clicked against the shiny white and black tiles. As she gazed around gold and mirrors struck her gaze. As always, she grimaced. This just wasn’t her style. Way too fancy. Even if her parents had given her all their money right now there was no way she’d live in a place like this. A big, rambling home in the outer outskirts of Weipeka—maybe a farm—
Casey, don’t try to distract yourself from this task. Focus!

She blinked a few times and found herself standing before the heavy dark brown oak door that belonged to Sam. At once she perked up as she heard music coming from his condo. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t passed out.

Think positive, Casey.
She knocked on the door, at the same time calling, “Sam, it’s Casey! Let me in.”

She shifted from one leg to the other, and waited. Minutes seemed to slip by and her heart sank. Just as she turned to leave, she heard stumbling footsteps. A moment later, Sam stood before her, leaning his swaying body against the doorway, his dark hair mussed up, his navy eyes glazed, and his blue cotton shirt unbuttoned. The shirttails hung over darker blue cargo pants. He wore no shoes. Sam squinted at her. “Casey? Are there two of you?”

Casey stopped herself from averting her gaze. The strong smell of whiskey reminded her of darker days with Damian. “Can I come in?” she asked, unable to suppress a smirk. Sam had always been so hard on Damian for drinking.

Sam swept his hand toward the bar in the corner of his living room. He almost fell over, but only stumbled a few steps. Casey ran to catch him.

“I’ve never seen you this drunk,” she mumbled as she shut the door.

Sam steadied himself and headed toward the bar. “I’m gettin’ drunker.”

Casey followed him to the bar, spotting an opened bottle of whiskey on the counter.

He reached for the bottle when he got there and Casey grew alarmed. At this rate he’d get sick and pass out. She’d get nothing out of him if that happened.

“Sam, cut it out,” she scolded from the other side of the bar.

“No.” He threw his head back and drank the whiskey straight from the bottle.

Casey covered her eyes. “Sam, why are you doing this?” she asked, adding a groan.

Sam banged the whiskey bottle back on the counter and let out a drunken laugh. “Had a bad night. Oh, yeah. You saw.” He smirked. “So I wen’ out to the bars, everyone said they didn’t know anything, an’ I got thrown outta the last bar for fightin’.”

“Oh, your dad will love the headlines,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

“I didn’ mean to get this wasted, not at first.” He lifted the whisky bottle again.

Casey grabbed it before he could put it to his lips.

“Hey!” he protested.

“I think that’s enough. Didn’t you promise Alex you’d just sleep it off?” She glared at him. And hoped he could see straight to notice her expression.

Sam stared at her with bloodshot eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“I accidentally overheard Alex’s side of the conversation.”

Sam stumbled back into the wall and laughed. “Accidentally?”

“Sam, please.” She needed to get down to business. She could lose him at any time. “It’s so not like you to go to bars at all, even when you’re upset. Make me understand why you did it tonight.”

He sent her a hostile glance. “Why d’ya come here, Casey? You wanna fuck me? Be happy to try, dunno if I can.”

Casey let out an exasperated breath. Sam at his most obnoxious. “Sam, what do you know about Alex’s beating and the slashed tires?”

“What d’ya think I know?”

“I’m really not sure.” Her hands felt sticky on the whiskey bottle. “Do you know if that shovel attack was meant for Alex, or was it meant for Damian?” She held her breath.

He dropped to his forearms to the bar counter and his dark hair spilled just above his eyes. “I think they meant it for Damian, and mebbe they thought Alex was him. Nobody’d wanna hurt Alex. He’s got nothin’ to do with the mill—”

“Neither does Damian.”

“Damian has a his’try with the mill.” He flashed her a silly grin. “An’ in his drinkin’ days, he pissed off plenty o’ people. Almos’ as much as me.”

“Not possible, Sam.”

“He did.” Sam shook his head. “Look, I don’ know who’s behind this crap. I wen’ to a few bars where the workers hang out, asked around to see if anyone knew who was doin’ this to my fam’ly, even offered money if somebody would talk.” He balled his fists and his features tightened, impressing Casey with his passion. “
I want to know who’s doin’ this shit too
, but asswipe—he’s sure it was me.” He stared at her with heavy-lidded, smoldering dark blue eyes.