Devious Lies: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“What if the only word people knew was thank you?” I asked from the floor of Nash’s penthouse.

I laid on the living room carpet, rolling around in four king-size comforters. Excessive, yes, but so plush. I imagined riding a unicorn through a wave of rainbows and cotton candy clouds compared to this.

Being sick is amazing.

My excuse for missing work the past four days ended yesterday, but I’d convinced my hot boss to call in sick for me. (Nash. Not Chantilly.)

The philophobia shirt rose up my stomach. I didn’t bother to lower it. Nash sat on the couch, wearing nothing but dark gray Nike joggers, scars on display for me to feast on.

Tipping my chin at the extra comforter, I summoned it with my eyes. In reality, Nash tossed it on me, adding to the pile of bliss.

He watched me turn myself into a human burrito, lips finally—fucking finally—turned up since his visit with Dad. “That’s two words.”

“Humor me.”

“Thank you would become meaningless.”

“Or everything would improve. Think of it this way—would you rather say you’re sorry for being late or you’re thankful someone waited for you? I’d rather be thankful than sorry.” I mimicked an explosion with my mouth. “Boom! Game changer. Perspective forever altered.”

He muttered something under his breath and gazed at me with hooded eyes. The joint cradled between two fingers came from Reed’s stash. He never lit it, but I often caught him toying with them.

“What’s with the weed, Seth Rogen?”

He discarded it in the plastic baggie and set another blanket on me. “Fucking hell. Twenty Questions again?”

I rested my chin on my knuckles. “Do you consider yourself sentimental, Nash?”

“Why?”

A hum vibrated the back of my throat. “It’s just that you’re walking around with weed from the night I baltered for you, and you sent my Easy, Tiger shirt to the dry cleaner’s instead of donating it like I asked you to.”

Even though I wanted to keep the shirt, I always donated them. I needed all the good karma I could get. That included spreading magic words and helping people who need it. If I caved and kept the tee, I’d do it again and again.

Nash made the choice for me.

“Emery?” He ran his fingers through his hair. Once, which I noticed he only did for me.

“Yes?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Fine.” I lowered my head into the cloud of blankets. “Another comforter, my servant.”

His deliberately blank face drew a smile from me. He dropped another comforter on me.

I groaned into the clean laundry scent. “Remind me to never give up amazing blankets again.” Bye, bye, shitty quilt and your sleepless nights and endless holes. “Where did you get these?”

“Delilah had our supplier ship them over early.”

“Remind me to kiss her.”

He lowered himself beside me. “Or you can learn the way capitalism fucking works and reward the person who paid for them.”

I rolled onto him. The tips of our noses kissed, the faintest of touches.

Grinding myself against him, I whispered against his lips, “I hate capitalism. People exploit people, and there’s a reward for it.”

“Really?” Two hands dipped below my shirt and curved around my waist. “Seems like you’re good at it.” His fingertips brushed the undersides of my breasts. “Seems like you fucking love it.”

“Why did I avoid roommates my entire undergrad?” I traced my favorite scar, admiring the grooves. “This is amazing.”

“Roommates?” The pad of his thumb circled a nipple. “You’re not my fucking roommate, Tiger.”

“Yeah? What am I? Wait.” My nails dug into him as if it’d make him less likely to avoid the question. “Better question—do you think this is just lust?”

His jaw clenched, and I recognized the moment he withdrew from the conversation. From us. “You’re supposed to wait until you’re not sick to ask.”

“We made out yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.”

“Which probably means I’m sick, and now we have to wait until I’m not sick.”

I groaned and plopped onto my back. “What happened with my dad?” My eyes pleaded for another smile or, at the very least, a breadcrumb of what had transpired in Blithe Beach.

He avoided the question, a pro at this point. “They’re filling the pool tonight.”

I accepted the subject change with the reluctance of a starved toddler being fed something she hated. “No, thanks.”

“You have something against pools suddenly?”

“I’d rather christen it while it rains.”

“Of course, you would.”

I propped my head with my fist. “The end of the rain season is nearing.”

“I draw the pillow-talk line at discussing the fucking weather.”

“We haven’t fucked,” I drawled out the word, letting him know what I thought of our abstinence. “So technically, this isn’t pillow talk.”

He’d flipped the switch from scorching hot to lukewarm. It made no sense to me, and given the timing, intuition forced me to consider something had gone down between Dad and Nash. Whatever it was, I had to trust Nash wouldn’t keep something big from me.

We were beyond that.

“Let’s swim when it rains,” I suggested. “I want to be the first in the pool.”

Hopefully, on my birthday in two days.

Nash nodded his agreement and stood. He approached his desk, grabbed a box from the drawer, and handed it to me. “It’s the stuff for the phone screen.”

“Oh.”

I unraveled the package, doing my damnedest not to shake at his attention. So much pressure. The familiar steps came to me in an instant. I twisted the pentalobe screws, taped the display, and used the suction to remove the current screen.

Nash never moved his eyes from me during the process. When I finished, I handed him the phone, muttering magic words for good luck. He plugged it into the lightning cable. It took a few minutes, but thank Starless Skies, it turned on.

His fingers toyed with a few buttons. He opened the Photos app first. Pulling up a family album, his thumb raced down the screen until it came to a section of a picnic. He handed the phone to me.

I scrolled through. A lump bubbled in my throat with each passing picture. “Reed told me about the picnic. Your mom’s packed food rotted during the hot car ride.”

“We ended up splurging on fast food we couldn’t afford.” Nash laid back on the comforters and watched me savor his memories. “Reed and I agreed to pretend we were okay. Ma and Dad pretended they were okay. A lot of fucking pretending going on.”

“I can’t tell. Everyone looks happy.”

“We were. Eventually. Fuck, I’m glad we had that day,” Nash said, but his eyes carried ghosts. The kind that looked real enough to touch. The kind that couldn’t be silenced by anything.

I returned his phone, telling him about the time Hank caught me talking to one of our neighbor’s cows. It struck me that this might have been the only time he’d truly talked about his dad since his death.

We stayed up all night, recalling our favorite memories of Hank.

By the time we fell asleep, I’d planted flowers in Nash’s graveyard of haunted memories.

Wilted ones, because those were me.

And he watered them with stormwater, because that was him.

Nash

“IT’S MY BIRTHDAY. Ask me what I want.” Emery wiggled into her jeans, buttoning them.

Don’t ask me what Gideon said again.

Every time I skirted the subject or shrugged her off, I felt like a dickhead—or the liar her parents turned out to be.

I downed half my Gatorade and returned the bottle to the fridge. “You want me to ask you what you want for the day you, yourself, claim is meaningless?”

“I called birthdays a lie, said people aren’t special, and told you days of birth shouldn’t be celebrated, but I never said they’re meaningless.”

She tossed the lunch bag into the recycling bin and hid the note I’d written her in the Jana Sport when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I always look, Tiger.

“Semantics.”

“Sure.” She tipped a shoulder up, giving me the stare you’d give a D-student when he claimed he earned an A. Sure, you did, Little Timothy. I believe you. “Maybe you should get your Insta Cart shopper to pick up some B12 vitamins with your next order. Your brain could use the boost.”

“A convenient memory, considering you’re staring at me like you want something.”

“I often stare at you like I want something.” She lifted a brow, making it clear what that something was.

Not like I asked for these fucking blue balls.

I wanted her, craved every goddamn inch. But sex with Emery would only make things worse when—not if, but fucking when—she learned the lie I kept from her. Worse, if I saw her vulnerability and had sex with her anyway, I’d be just as bad as her shitty parents.

So, I turned down her advances.

Every. Goddamn. Time.

She waited for my answer. After it didn’t come, she collected a towel from the closet, stuffed it into the Jana Sport, and left.

Dramatic, this one.

Following her, I reached the elevator and stepped in beside her.

Neither of us spoke.

I wore a suit for a teleconference this morning with the landowners in Singapore. Meanwhile, Emery dressed in skinny jeans and an alexithymia shirt, which I’d Google’d as soon as I saw it.

Noun.

The inability to identify and express your feelings.

She was the loudest when she was quiet.

Emery selected the lobby button. “Do you miss your dad during your birthdays?”

I read between the lines, taking in the downcast eyes. Torment created grooves between her brows. I could have spilled the lie and eased her pain, but I didn’t.

She was glass, chipped all over, and I shattered her instead of mending the fractured pieces.

“Are your birthdays hard without your dad there?” she pressed.

I should have answered her, but I didn’t. Of course, I wanted Dad here for my birthdays. I wanted him here every damn day. If only to yell at me for making poor decisions or turning into one of the corporate dickheads we used to make fun of, that’d be okay, too.

My answer didn’t matter. Sure, she wanted to know, but what she’d really asked was whether it was normal for her to miss her dad today.

“You can see Gideon.” I blocked the doors when they slid open. “You know where he is.”

Gideon had deluded himself into believing she’d cave and visit.

She wouldn’t.

It takes strength to want something and deny yourself the craving. And Emery Winthrop possessed a strength so great it broke her and pieced her together. Again and again. A diamond, toughening under pressure.

Something drastic would have to happen to bring her to his doorstep. I held that power—that lie.

Sisyphus, I reminded myself.

A liar and a cheat.

I’d come full-fucking-circle, and I wanted off the damn carousel. It reeked of piss and bad decisions.

“I can’t.” Her palms met my chest and shoved.

I didn’t fight it, listening to her footsteps echo.

The hotel resembled a scene from The Walking Dead. Moments before the zombies come, when everything is still empty. A rarity, given the quick pace of our construction.

The design crew had escaped for the weekend. Rain gushed down in heavy onslaughts, so none of the construction crew remained.

And of course, of fucking course, Emery swung the beach-front exit open with little concern for the tempest and walked straight into the storm. Wind whipped her hair. Her shirt drenched in an instant.

She peered up at the sky, undeterred by the liquid splattering her face. In this moment, I couldn’t see a single difference between her and the storm.

I tried and failed to get a read on her. She muttered a few words, my very own siren. About a minute later, two clouds parted, revealing the starless sky. Almost enough to make me believe in her magic. Not magic words, but her magic.

“I knew you’d show up for my birthday,” she whispered, talking to the sky as if it was her oldest friend. “This storm’s not bad, but you can do better.”

What did it say about me that watching her talk to the sky got my dick hard?

What did it say that, despite the frigid temperature, it stayed as hard as the forecasted hail?

Emery peeled off her jeans and dove into the pool. When she resurfaced, she swam to its brink. Beneath her shirt, two hard nipples greeted me. My jaw ticked.

Off-limits. Off-limits. Off-fucking-limits.

If she expected me to cave, she wasn’t getting it. But I could imagine it, and I did. In my bed, in my shower, in my office. A fucking teenager, jerking off because he couldn’t get the girl. Except I had her, close enough to touch her, and I chose to preserve the lie over her. For her.

Fuck you, Gideon. Putting me in this position is Grade-A revenge. Now, I know where your daughter gets her fixation for silent revenge from.

Emery quirked a brow. “Are you coming in, or what?”

Loosening my tie, I discarded it with my suit jacket on the deck. I yanked my shirt off, popping every button. Her lips separated at the sight of my scars. It occurred to me that she hadn’t seen me fully naked in almost five years, so I removed my boxer briefs, too.

I locked my jaw, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement of her eyes. She took her time sweeping the length of me. My dick saluted her for every second of it.

Rainwater blurred my vision. I dove into the warmed water and emerged in front of Emery. Her ankle trailed my legs. It traced something indecipherable and stopped at my abs. She used them to push off into a backstroke.

The pool extended into the ocean with a negative edge. If I looked hard enough, I could see where the pool ended and the ocean began. In the rain, all I saw was Emery, arms spread, kicking lazy circles with the backdrop of crashing ocean waves.

So fucking wild, I had no idea how Virginia ever intended on taming her.

She startled when I swam beside her. My fingertips teased the edge of her tee. Her arm wrapped around my neck and clung to me.

“Tiger?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for your birthday?”

“You.”

No hesitation.

Just pure need.

I was definitely going to hell, because looking at her in the rain, determination painted on her face, I couldn’t say no.

She skated her lips along my neck, not kissing me. Just feeling me. Breathing me. Consuming me. I dragged her shirt up her body, devouring her nipples.

My fingers gripped her hair.

I brought my lips to the curve of her ear and licked the skin. “What are you asking from me?”

What’s eating you, Emery Winthrop?

“Break me.” She stared at me like she wasn’t completely whole and didn’t entirely care. “Then put me back together, mismatched, scarred, and chaotic as this storm.”

My mouth slammed on those soft lips, body stapling her to the rim of the pool. Behind her, the waves drowned her moans. I tore her panties off. They fell to the porcelain tiles.

Her body quivered, bare and pressed against mine.

“Beautiful,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t understand the compliment.

“I know.” She threw her head back and stared at the moon. “I love starless skies.”

“I’m not talking about the fucking sky. I’m talking about you.”

If she heard me, she didn’t show it. Simply granted me access to her neck, attention above us. My teeth grazed her skin, tongue lapping at the goosebumps.

“Give me a word, Emery.”

“Redamancy.”

“What does it mean?”

“The act of loving the one who loves you. A love returned in full.” She drew her bottom lip between her front teeth and turned away.

I know what you are, and it’s not the storm or the clouds.

I lifted her, locked her legs around my waist, and positioned myself at her core. “I’m going to fuck the last asshole out of your system. And I’ll ruin every other asshole for you. Nothing will compare.”

Her nails dented my shoulders, and she laughed. Goddamn laughed. “You. You are the last asshole inside me.”

Fuck.

“Good.”

I sunk into her, fucking mind-blown over how different she felt.

Her pussy hugged my cock, quaking around me with each thrust.

I fucked her like it was the last time I’d ever do it.

And it probably was.

The second she discovered the lie, she’d never forgive me. If this was the last time, I’d make it feel like forever. I didn’t want the before or even the after. I wanted the during, the part of us I chased each second.

I thrust again, faster this time.

She begged me for more, her fingers leaving grooves in my skin. The heat of the pool warmed us, but the storm above cascaded in unforgivable tides. It was messy, and savage, and too fucking good.

Thrust.

“Nash.” The rain drowned her cries, but I heard how much she needed me, felt it as her walls shook around me. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

Something built in my throat when she licked my scar and ran her fingertips along the others.

I thrust harder, creating our own waves to battle the ocean’s.

She moaned into my ear, but the storm above us and between us swallowed the symphony. I should have slowed down, savored this, created a memory of it, but my body had different ideas. It hunted an elusive feeling I couldn’t name.

Thrust.

I barely made out her words, “Do I feel as perfect as you feel?”

I realized how monumental it was for the girl who never used the word perfect to use it to describe me.

“Better.” Thrust. “Lagom.” She clenched at the word. Curses flew out of my mouth. I grazed her jaw. “Just fucking right.”

My fingers dug into her ass. I reached between us and rubbed her clit, loving the way I heard her scream above the storm. My hands gripped her waist, and I slammed her down on me.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And a-fucking-gain.

I was ready to explode inside her, but I whispered words against her temple, doubting she heard them above the storm and her ecstasy, “Moira.”

Thrust.

She scraped her fingers down my arms, so hard I bled. “Again.”

“Nepenthe.”

I buried my cock inside her, erratic thrusts that should have been too hard, but she kept fucking begging me for more.

“Again.”

My arms burned from her marks, yet it was art. A scourge of red mixed with rain, something that looked awful, but made me feel like a goddamned king. I wanted her to scratch away my scars and replace them with whatever the hell this was.

Instead, I grunted, “Duende.”

Thrust.

“Again.”

“Lacuna.”

Emery shattered around me, unable to hold herself upright. I barreled into her, creating a tsunami in the pool. The waves lapped at my back and fought my hold of her. Her sigh was so opposite to the situation, it was almost comical.

The serene face she wore deserved my mercy, but I didn’t give it. I reached between us and pinched her clit, compelling another orgasm just to feel how tight she was around me. Just to prolong this.

She believed in words, and magic, and storms. In fighting back, going down hard, never giving up. In blind loyalty, jumping first, dealing with consequences later. She was awful. She infuriated me. She drove me fucking crazy.

And, I realized, I love her.

“Ask me the question, Tiger.”

Her eyes fluttered open, not staring at me but into me. “Is this just lust?”

“It’s everything.”