Filthy Beautiful Lies(11)

 

It’s not lost on me that she’s likely my best source of information on Colton. I mean, geez, I didn’t even know his first name before she’d told me. I wondered what else I could get her to let slip.

 

When she sees me approach, she smiles at me again. "Ready?"

 

"I think so." I hold up an armful of undergarments. "But take your time." Today’s been all about me so far – something I’m not used to. She can browse if she wants. "That’s cute." I nod to the red demi bra she’s holding.

 

"They don’t have my size." She shoves it back onto the rack and keeps looking.

 

I gather my courage. "Marta?"

 

"Hm?" she says, holding up a sequined tank top.

 

"Who’s Stella?"

 

Her eyes zip over to mine. "He told you about Stella?"

 

Shit. Her accusatory tone and icy stare are too much, that, or my conscious is too big. My gaze drops down to the floor. "Not exactly. His brothers stopped by this morning, and her name might have come up." And his bedroom smells like stale perfume and one half of his closet seems like it’s been hastily emptied out, I mentally add.

 

Marta continues perusing the rack of discounted bras, her brows pinched together like she’s recalling a bad memory. "He’s not been himself since Stella. She did a fucking number on him," she mutters under her breath.

 

I can’t really imagine someone hurting the ever in control Colton Drake, but then again, I have no idea of his past, just like he has no idea of mine. But I intend to find out.

 

Several hours later, Marta drops me off at Colton’s place. We bought so much, all of my shopping bags barely fit in her tiny backseat and trunk. Marta helps me carry them inside and up the stairs. She marches with purpose toward Colton’s bedroom, like it’s a familiar route. The little sting of curiosity is back. I also note that there’s no question about where I’m staying – she didn’t even pretend to assume it was in one of the guest rooms.

 

She sets the bags down inside the mammoth closet and turns to face me. I offer to change out of the clothes she’s let me borrow for the day, but she waves me off.

 

"Thanks for everything today."

 

She nods. "Of course. As a friend of Colton’s, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. And seriously, I meant what I said before – if you need anything – a friend to grab coffee with – or drinks, or just a female to talk to when he drives you insane…Call me."

 

I accept her cell phone number, wondering what she means about him driving me insane.

 

Once Marta leaves me alone, I feel a little awkward placing my clothes on the empty side of the closet once occupied by Stella’s stuff. But maybe that’s what Colton intends bringing me here – for me to replace whatever bad memories she left behind.

 

If that’s what he wants, I’ll do it. Heaven knows I’m running from my own baggage too. I’m here for the money, but as the knot that had permanently taken up residence in my stomach lessens with each passing hour, I realize that’s not the only thing this new way of life can provide me.

 

Being here in LA, in this mansion, brings a sense of relief from the constant worry and heartache I live with every day. I miss my family, well, mostly Becca and of course I worry about her health, but it’s not relentlessly churning in my head like before.

 

I should feel guilty at this realization, but honestly, it’s a relief.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

 

 

 

Colton

 

 

 

 

 

Before we leave the country club, I stop in at the boutique gift shop. The frilly blue lace camisole and panty set hanging in the window catches my attention, making me recall Sophie’s pale blue panties from last night. And like a ship to a beacon of light, I find myself heading straight toward them.

 

"Can I help you find something?" The sales girl asks from behind the counter, letting her gaze wander down my toned chest and halt at the area directly below my belt. "Something for your girlfriend, maybe?" she asks.

 

Her subtlety is lacking. All she sees when she looks at me is a fat cock and a fatter wallet. If I’m at this club, it means I have money, but after the red headed monster from hell, it repulses me to think about ever being with a woman like that again. Just because she throws a pretty smile my way and would drop to her knees at my command doesn’t mean she can have my heart.

 

Girls like her are only interested in the lifestyle I can provide them – the wealth, the status – not the man inside. Which is why I’m not interested in anything more than what I’ve arranged with Sophie. Clean and separate from the rest of me. Sex and intimacy have no place together.

 

"I’m good, thank you." I know Marta will have everything covered today, but that doesn’t stop me from looking around while I wait for Pace and Collins to finish in the locker room. I’m hot and tired after playing thirty-six holes of golf – but I’d much rather shower at home where I can put on fresh clothes after, than here with a bunch of men. And I wasn’t joking when I told Sophie to be ready for me when I got home. Last night’s prelude wasn’t enough. I haven’t stopped thinking about her luscious mouth or perky tits once.

 

Moving past the rows of silk panties and lacey camisoles I stop beside a display of lotions and oils. Grabbing one of the bottles, I head to the register to pay.

 

"Nice choice," the cashier beams up at me.

 

Ignoring her, I check my Rolex. I wonder if Sophie and Marta are back yet. The sales girl, obviously annoyed at my lack of attention, despite her skin tight top unbuttoned to show off the top of her bra, stuffs my purchase into a gift bag and shoves it at me.

 

I find Pace and Collins in the grand foyer of the club, rehydrating with bottles of water. "You ready, ladies?" I ask.

 

Collins tosses me a bottle of water. "Come on," he says to Pace, "we’ve got to get princess home in time for his blowjob."

 

Yes, please.

 

***

 

The house is silent when I return and I wander the rooms downstairs, checking the den and kitchen before heading upstairs. Disappointment courses through me at the idea that she’s not back yet. At least I can get a shower in before she returns. The least I can do is wash myself before I expect her to devour my cock.

 

Stripping my shirt off over my head as I head toward my bedroom, I’m surprised to find Sophie sitting in the center of my bed with her phone in her lap and a frown on her face.

 

"Everything okay?"

 

She startles at my voice and drops her phone on the bed. Her gaze wanders lazily down my naked chest and her frowns falls away. Good girl.

 

"It’s fine." She sets her phone beside her on the bedside table. I wonder if she was talking to someone from home again. "How was golf?"

 

"Hot. I’m going to shower."

 

She nods, her eyes not daring to stray from mine, though I can tell she’s drawn to my body.

 

I wash quickly, without waiting for the water to warm, soaping up my chest, abs, under my arms and of course the parts of me I want her mouth on. Wrapping a towel around my hips, I enter the bedroom once again, but this time Sophie’s gone. The fuck? Apparently we needed to cover some ground rules. Like rule number one, be naked and waiting on my bed for me at all times.

 

Releasing a frustrated sigh, I drop the towel and dress before heading downstairs to find her.

 

Sophie’s sitting in the den, the same spot we sat last night. Her legs are curled under her and she’s holding a book in her lap. All I can think of when I enter this room is her on her knees in front of me, taking my dick deep into her warm mouth. Christ, it’s been way too long since I’ve been laid.

 

Her eyes lift from the book and settle on mine when I sit down across from her.

 

"Find something good?" I nod toward the book in her hands, which I assume has come from my personal library.

 

"Charlotte Bronte." She holds up the cover of Wuthering Heights for me to see. It’s a dark and twisted love story. Story of my damn life.

 

"Have you read it before?"

 

"In high school. But I don’t remember much of it." Setting the book down on the cushion beside her, she folds her hands in her lap and looks at me expectantly. She’s curious about what’s going to happen next.

 

"Are you hungry?" I surprise her by asking.

 

She nods carefully. I’m starving after the long afternoon spent on the course and when I reach for her hand, she carefully places her palm against mine. I tell myself that it’s important I get her comfortable with me, but in actuality, I just like touching her.

 

I lead her into the kitchen. Sunday is the only day I don’t have a staff here to prepare meals, but Beth usually leaves me with enough leftovers to survive for one day without her. I find the fixings for club sandwiches left in plastic containers and labeled in Beth’s efficient script. Turkey, strips of crisp bacon, avocado spread, gruyere cheese, and thick slices of tomato marinated in vinaigrette.