Page 46 of Tell Me No Lies

I stare down at her, unable to hide the struggle happening within me. "This is fucking ridiculous."

One corner of her mouth tips up in a half smile. "I know, but we have to do it anyway." She steps closer, eyes holding mine. "If I can pretend to be docile and subservient, then you can pretend to be an asshole."

I look over her face, finally beginning to find a little of the calm I need so desperately. "I'm flattered you think I'd have to pretend to be an asshole."

Piper rolls her eyes again. "Now you're putting words in my—"

Her retort cuts off when I grab her chin, bringing her attention back to me. "I like your fire, wife." I inch in a little closer, breathing deep, desperate for another hit of her. "But for now, you can only roll those pretty eyes at me like that in this room."

18

SLIDING DOWNHILL

PIPER

THIS NIGHT ISN’T going the way I expected.

Not the part where the men are all seated around the small hotel ballroom, while women scramble to bring them piles of food and drink from the plentiful buffet. That part I’m not shocked by.

What is surprising me, is Tate’s reaction to it. I'm not sure if it’s some sort of a PTSD response or what, but his posture is stiff, and I swear if he clenches his jaw any tighter his teeth are going to turn to dust.

I have to do something to calm him down before we go inside. If Tate walks into this room the way he looks now, people are going to be confused at the very least. Suspicious, at the very worst.

Glancing around to make sure no one is watching too closely, I reach out and catch him by the back of his shirt. I jump back a little when he spins my way, expression filled with concern. "Are you okay? We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

I lift my brows at his overreaction. "I'm fine." I give the hallway we’re standing in another scan before stepping closer, keeping my voice low. "But you're not, and everyone is going to notice it." I give him a smile because he's so clearly struggling and I feel terrible for him. "You’re really tense and jumpy. I'd offer to take you back to our room and do my wifely duty and give you a nice relaxing massage, but we don't have time for that."

Tate’s expression changes in an instant, his stiff, ready to snap posture turning to something entirely different as his gaze fixes on me. “You won’t be the one doing the touching if we go back to that room, Sugar.” There's no missing the heat in his eyes as they drag down my body. "And I fucking hate your outfit."

I snort out a laugh because he sounds disgusted and it amuses me. That's why I lower my voice a little more as I lean into his ear, hoping to make him a little less offended for me. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm wearing the tiniest thong I own as an unseen act of rebellion." I'm just trying to make him feel better about all of this. Definitely not trying to see what his reaction might be to discovering what's underneath the bulky jean skirt Myra picked out for me.

Tate’s nostrils flare and his gaze darkens. "You’re tempting me to skip this whole thing altogether, wife." He leans down, lips ghosting against my ear. "At the very least making me want to get out of there as fast as fucking possible so I can have you to myself."

I'm not stupid. Delusional? Maybe. But not stupid. I knew the chances of Tate and I keeping our hands to ourselves while sharing a hotel room would be slim to none.

Especially since it's only got one bed.

I did, however, expect there to be a slight attempt at self-control from one of us. Him. Not me. Sitting up three nights in a row watching him hang drywall last weekend—willing to forgo sleep to indulge in only the sight of him—proved I have none.

A month ago this realization would have put me into a panic. Sent me spiraling. Convinced me I was no better than my mother. But with Tate staring at me, his gaze full of heat and need and want, I don’t feel anything but calm.

"Sounds good to me." I lift one finger, trying to look stern. "But only if you keep your shit together through this dinner."

"Deal." He doesn't hesitate, and it's almost like Tate morphs into a different person in front of my eyes. He straightens the collar on his shirt and looks down his nose at me. "I’m going to go find a seat. Bring me my dinner, wife." Then he turns and walks away, leaving me gaping after him.

Why did that sharp demand turn me on a little? I don't like being told what to do. At all. In fact, I go out of my way to cause bodily harm to any man who believes he has the right to tell me what to do.

But harm is not what I want to do to Tate’s body. It's weird. Almost as weird as watching a whole room full of women swarming around tables as they bring second helpings to the men even though they haven’t taken the first bite of their own dinners.

I take a deep breath, shaking my head as I step into the room, letting all the air out on a whispered, "Such bullshit."

Keeping my eyes on Tate, I maneuver my way to where all the food is lined against one wall. He manages to find elevator guy, Rick, and shakes hands with everyone at the table. They offer him a seat and he takes it, which means I’ve got to suffer through Rick’s sneakily aggressive temperament again.

‘We’ll see you there?’ The way he said it gave me the ick. It wasn’t really a question. It was said like a sleazy salesman and equated to, ‘You don’t want to burn in hell, do you?’ He knew Tate wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no. I’ve crossed paths with men like him before. Men who think they’re smarter than everyone else. That no one will notice their fake charm and manipulative tactics.

I’ve pepper sprayed a few of them. Kicked a few more in their tiny, shriveled little nuts. Lucky for him, I’m under strict orders not to kick anyone in the nuts. Because I already see this heading that direction.

I reach the buffet line and take a plate then collect silverware and a napkin before working my way down the array of foods. The spread is impressive. They must be really desperate to recruit new members, because what I’m seeing has to have cost a pretty penny. There’s everything from prime rib to garlic shrimp. The side dishes are plentiful, and my mouth starts to water in anticipation for my own dinner.

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