Lying Lips (11 page)

“I’ll do that for you and the kids,” I told him. “And Ashton?” I called out to him as the tears fell down my face.

“Yes, London.”

“When this is all said and done, I promise you that it will never happen again.”

“Okay.” He gave me the answer I wanted to hear, but he had no idea that his answer didn’t pertain to a story I was trying to get, but instead to our lives.

“Are we okay now?” I asked him, a headache forming at the base of my skull.

“As much as we can be,” he told me. “As much as is possible when my wife is playing with her life, with
our
lives.”

I felt like a fool.

Then Ashton changed the subject and we spent the next twenty minutes discussing the kids before I saw Asanti’s car coming up the long driveway.

“I have to go, Ashton.”

He paused for a long moment. Then, “Be good, London. And don’t forget you have a family here that
really
loves you.”

“I won’t.” I smiled into the phone as I watched husband number two exit his vehicle.

“I love you Mrs. Bentencourt,” my husband told me.

“I love you too, Ashton,” I replied.

Then the line went dead.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Styles,” My husband, the other one, said to me as he walked up to where I stood in the garden. Just the sight of him turned my legs to Jello. And had he not reached out to embrace me, I’m sure I would have fallen flat on my face in a bush of roses.

“Good afternoon Mr. Styles.”

“Do you know that I love you?” He asked me that question seconds after placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

“And do you know that I love you too?”

Wow.

Less than fifteen seconds prior to that I had just told one man that I loved him and now, mere moments later, I was professing the same love to another man.

When did I become so wicked?

Chapter 11

“Do you love me enough to have lunch with me right now?” my new husband asked me.

“Of course I do,” came my giddy reply when he simply held me, held my gaze.

“How’s the restaurant?” I asked him when we finally went into the house and headed toward the kitchen.

“Ah, the restaurant,” he said as he guided me toward a seat at the huge island, then began retrieving ingredients for a lunch it seemed he was to prepare. “Well, it’s not burning anymore, but it’s going to need lots of work. It wasn’t the financial loss I believed it to be though.”

“So what’s your next move?” I questioned as he settled in front of the island and began to prep for the meal.

“Tear down and rebuild. Since the opportunity is here, I may as well start from scratch and carve out a completely new place.” As he talked he moved about fluidly, gracefully, as if he had been in a kitchen since birth.

“Hmmm,” I gave a distracted response as I watched his nimble fingers handle the foods and remembered how those same fingers handled me.

Suddenly my mouth became dry and I was filled with a lust so strong I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if my air supply had been viciously cut off.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I had one family going crazy with worry about me and instead of hopping on the first thing smoking to get to them and put their fears and worries to rest, I was sitting there, in another state, with another husband, who was still practically a stranger to me, eyeing him like I had not a care in the world.

What was my problem?

It unnerved me a little when I finally looked up and met Asanti’s gaze. “A penny for your thoughts,” he told me as he watched me in that way that told me he knew more than he was letting me believe he knew.

“I uh…” I stumbled. “I was just wondering how you learned to cook and why you made it your profession.” I was becoming too good at this lying thing.

“Well,” he said after raising one eyebrow quizzically, “I learned when I was about six years old. My mother had just run out on me and my father and we were left to fend for ourselves. Since I saw my dad doing so much with so little help, I decided to try and help him. So every time he went into the kitchen, I was on his heels.”

He spoke calmly, but there was iciness in his speech, a coldness, as if he was still affected by whatever took place when he was a child.  “Before I was ten I was able to complete entire meals on my own. Needless to say, my father was very grateful, especially since his cooking was terrible.” He paused, took a deep breath. “It was the least I could do for him. For us.”

“I’m sorry about your mother leaving,” I told him.

“Don’t be,” he looked at me, held my gaze. “Her leaving was the best thing that could have ever happened to me and my father. She didn’t love me, and I don’t love her,” he went to the stove and ignited fire under a skillet.

“You seem angry,” I said to him. “Angry about…” I allowed my sentence to trail off since I wasn’t really sure what it was he was angry about.

“For a long time I was,” he responded without missing a beat. “I was very angry. But what could I do? I was only six when all of that happened.” He became silent as he casually slipped ingredients into pots and had the kitchen smelling like heaven. “It affected me so much that I didn’t begin dating until I was twenty, and even then I was mistrustful of women.”

“And now?” I asked him, my heart thundering. “Are you still mistrustful of women?”

I was afraid of what his answer might be.

“Not anymore,” he smiled at me. “Not since I decided to let my feelings out. And definitely not now since I have you.”

Damn
!

“Why did she leave?” I questioned past the apple sized lump in my throat.

His answer was whip quick. “Because she’d made another family with another man,” he looked up at me and paused all movement. “She had been married to my father for eight years. Had made a child with him,” he said as he placed the knife he had been using to chop seasoning on the countertop. “Then one day she meets this new man and just like that she was gone. My father and I were no longer useful to her. In fact, it seemed as if we were just in her way.”

Was it really possible to feel anymore guilty than I was already feeling?  Did he really have to drive more shameful nails into my already tightly sealed coffin? Out of all of the women in the world, did he have to choose me, an almost carbon copy of his mother? The one who was going to break his heart the same way his mother did?

Damn!

“Again, I’m sorr—” I never got to finish my sentence.

“You didn’t leave me, Legaci,” he snapped his words out at me as he began cooking again. “
She
did.” Although his eyes were calm, I could see a deadly storm raging behind them. A storm that had been brewing since this grown man was a small child. At that moment I understood that my new husband was someone to fear. “You don’t owe me any apologies. Besides, you’re nothing like her. That’s why I married you.”

“Yeah,” was all I could utter.

“Now, enough of that talk,” he said with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “How about lunch?”

When I looked at him, he was sliding a plate in front of me. A plate filled with shrimp and pasta and Alfredo sauce that smelled so good I wanted to bite the plate.

But when had he completed the cooking? When had he served the dish? Why the hell was I even there about to partake of it?

I should have been home with my real family.

“Asanti, I have to go,” I announced.

Where the hell did those words come from? I was shocked that I had just blurted them out like that.

“I figured as much,” was what he said to me as he handed me a glass of vintage red wine. “Actually, I thought about that during my meeting this morning.” He took a seat across the island from me. “And I made arrangements for you to fly back to New Orleans whenever you’re ready.”

Wow.

I had no idea what to say to him. Here he was looking out for me, having my best interest at heart, and there I was being the wolf in sheep’s clothing ready to devour him the first chance I got. I meant him no good. I was definitely going to break his heart.

Suddenly I burst into tears.

Damn!

“Hey, hey,” he crooned gently as he left his seat and immediately made his way to my side of the island. Instantly he took me into his arms. “What’s all this about?” He hugged me and gently rubbed my back. “What are the tears for?”

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. I hated myself.

And still, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I mean, what was I supposed to say?
Hey baby, you’re husband number two? And I’m going to break your heart just like your mother did
? At that moment I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just jet lag, and then your restaurant, and thinking about you as a kid and how sad it must have been to have a mother abandon you like that.”

“Sweetheart,” he cajoled, “I’m okay.” He chuckled lightly. “But you’re not.”

His words, although sweet and caring, made me sob even more. He was right. I wasn’t alright. I hadn’t been alright since I’d met him. I’d been nothing but the devil since I’d met him. Why did I have to meet him? And be so stupid in the aftermath?

Mentally I was so tired. Doing my best to stay inspired… to make up lies so big and so bold. Making up more lies to maintain one’s already told. Too coward to woman up and tell the truth. I was dirty and deceitful all the way down to my roots. Who had I become? What had I done? And how did I end this treachery?

“No, really. I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. I tried to get it together.

“No, really. You’re not,” was his reply. “And I think it’s because you’ve been through so much in the last month,” he spoke softly as he stroked my hair. “You’ve just met me, we’ve just gotten married. You’re trying to adjust to that new married life, trying to be a good wife and still work your demanding job. The fire, the constant traveling. It’s all taking its toll on you. You need to slow down for a minute. You need rest.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I resigned. “Maybe I do need rest.”

“No maybe, sweetheart, definitely. So, I’m going to take back what I said earlier about you leaving anytime you want and returning to work.” Immediately my body stiffened. My hands clinched. I had to get back to Ashton and the kids. My family needed me. I needed them. “It’s okay,’ Asanti spoke soothingly as he stroked my back, trying to release the tension that had just crept into me at his words. “You can still get back to work, I just want you to take the rest of the weekend off and rest.”

“But I need to—” again he cut me off.

“You need to take care of yourself. And as your husband I’m going to make sure you do that.” He looked at me. Intently. His eyes serious, his grip strong. “And I’m going to take care of you too.”

He then lifted me from my seat and sat me on the island so that he and I were face to face and eye level. Using one hand he spread my legs and walked between them. I stared at him. He kissed me gently. Wiped my tears away.

“And the first thing we’re going to do is put you back in bed and then feed you lunch in bed,” he informed me as he rubbed his hands up and down my arms in a comforting manner. “As soon as I put the icing on this cake,” he said as he turned me to face the kitchen so that he could watch me, watch what I was doing.

But it was I who watched him.

And watch I did.

In no time at all my mind had gone from worry and stress to a sexy mess. My heart thudded as I watched him handle that spatula, my thoughts more sensual, more decadent than usual. I saw him ease his fingers around the edge of the cake, dip the tip into the icing, and gently ease the icing onto the cake. That simple, non-sexual act was turning me on like crazy. Lunch wasn’t on my mind anymore. My other family wasn’t on my mind anymore. He was. Asanti was. Being roughly taken was.

And the Bentencourt’s would have to take a back seat once again.

Without realizing what I was doing, my body went into Asanti mode. Immediately I began unbuttoning my blouse. One by one, slowly tantalizingly. Asanti looked up from the cake. Looked at me. My hands. My fingers. My blouse. But he never moved from the spot where he was firmly planted. And he never stopped slathering butter-cream on that cake.

When I was done with every button, I reached down and unhooked my bra. Slowly, easily, my breasts tumbled forward, my nipples aimed high and at him. They were sore, tender, desperate for his attention. I saw his hand tighten around the spatula, his knuckles practically turning white. And still he didn’t move other than to tend to the dessert.

With my eyes now on his and his eyes on mine, I began to slowly fondle, massage, one breast. Tweaking my nipple gently between my thumb and forefinger. With the other hand, I aimed for the button on my slacks, slowly, teasingly. In a heartbeat, I had it unbuttoned and I licked my lips like they were tasty treats as I watched him watching me unzip my pants.

Around and around the cake Asanti smoothly moved that spatula all the while his eyes were on me. Easing my other hand down toward my pants, I lay back on the long kitchen island with my head toward the edge and my feet on either side of the double sink that was in the middle of that countertop.

Resting my shoulders on the granite, and my feet firmly on the hard but smooth surface, I lifted my hips and butt and in one smooth motion, slipped my pants down and off.

Asanti inhaled sharply. But never moved.

Wasting not another second, I removed my blouse and bra and in the blink of an eye, I gripped and then ripped my thong completely off.

And there I was. Naked before him. Hot for him.

And that’s when my husband moved.

Fast as lightning his hands were no longer on the cake. They were on me. As I lay on the island, my body facing the ceiling, braced on my elbows, my new groom came to me. With my knees bent and aimed for the ceiling, my feet planted firmly on the surface of the counter, I spread my legs and watched the lust take over Asanti muscle by muscle.

The feel of his hands on me was wonderful. The way he eased them over me. Across me. Down me. The way he gently caressed me as if I was fine china that he didn’t want to break. The spatula that he had spent so much time using on the cake was now being used to lavish icing on me. On my nipples. On my belly button. Between my thighs, on my puffy, distended lips.

“Mmmm,” I moaned as the feel of the cold topping between my hot legs thrilled me. “Aaaaaahhh,” I moaned again as I watched him use his magic fingers to spread those lips and slather more icing there.

I began to tremble. To shudder.

And then his mouth was on my breasts. Licking away the same icing he had just applied. “Mmmm,” he moaned as if I was delicious.

On to the next breast he moved, tasting, feasting, gorging on the sweetness until there was nothing left but my taut nipple which he gently, firmly bit into. Suddenly I was dizzy. The room began to spin. My husband began using his mouth to move down, further and further until his face was planted firmly between my thighs.