Page 99 of The Truths that Deceive

“I killed him,” he’d said.

And I believe him. There was no need for him to lie.

So now I’m intrigued about those accounts.

On paper, his widow changed her last name and runs a few centers for recovery, yoga, all that new age fucking shit. And she comes from her own money.

Mercer decimated the dead man’s accounts. I didn’t ask why. I can surmise, though, and I already know from Orion the guy was a friend of his and Ivy’s family. Not hard to put it all together.

Mercer killed the guy because the man did something to Ivy.

And now Calista’s tailing his widow in hopes she’ll find the prick who raped her mother, the dead prick who’s more than likely her father.

The woman turns onto Greene Street. At this time of night, SoHo’s quiet, the shoppers gone. Not much nightlife here. An older, distinguished man comes out of a building.

Calista physically gasps and I can see her body quake like she got a shock.

We both know who the man is, and if I let her do what I think she’s going to do, she’ll crash and burn whatever’s going on.

I move fast.

Swooping in, I grab her, haul her up into my arms, and I kiss her, spinning her until we’re against the recessed door of a fancy store. I pin her hands behind her back, dropping the other from her waist to slide between her legs where I stroke up and over the seam of her pussy.

The lace is wet, and it doesn’t take much to push aside, even less to shove two fingers into her. Then I press the heel of my hand against her clit.

“What the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Get off me.”

“Not what you were saying earlier when you were licking my cock like it was your favorite lollipop. Remind me to buy you one. Or maybe some flavored lube. Toys?” Shit. Focus! “What the fuck are you doing?”

She moans low and half pushes me away, half pulls me to her, and I’m betting myself she’s fighting herself over her safe word. Calista both wants to use it and wants to ask for more.

I curl my fingers inside of her and start a slow stroke that hits her G-spot as I slide out and push back in, keeping the movements steady, changing pressure with the rhythm of her breathing.

It takes everything I have to concentrate on my surroundings, to use every fucking piece of training.

Only problem is, no training can prepare a man for the power of Calista.

But I do it, and the shadow passes by us without a look.

It’s only then my body relaxes, and I lean into the stroke of her velvet insides, the squeeze of that tight pussy. The heat. Her wetness and then I breathe her in, letting the intoxicating scent of sex weave its spell.

Her hips move into each slide of my fingers.

“I’m waiting, Calista.”

“Stop.” Her hips rock into me, fingers bite my arms.

“Not the right word.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s three and boring to boot. What did you think you’d accomplish with confronting?—”

“She’s Jon Trenton’s wife.”

“Widow. Changed her name to Everton. I think it’s her maiden name.”

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