Her Little White Lie (13 page)

She pulled the carton out and held it high like a frozen trophy before setting in on the granite countertop. “Get spoons,” she said. “And bowls.”

“And the previous discussion is closed?”

“Yep.”

He complied with her order and produced bowls and spoons. He set them out and scooped them both some ice cream. He pulled up on the edge of the counter and sat, and Paige did the same on the counter across from him.

“Maybe I won’t be such a terrible mother,” she said, eating a spoonful of ice cream.

“You won’t be. But what has led you to the conclusion?”

“I used my stern voice and got you to change the subject and dish my ice cream,” she said, her grin impish. But the impishness didn’t reach her eyes. She still looked sad. Scared.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. He lied. He didn’t want to tell her what he was about to say, but it seemed important. It was all he had to offer.

She nodded and took another bite of ice cream, her eyes trained on his.

“Do you know what I remember about my mother?” he asked.

She blinked hard, her eyes glistening. She set her bowl and spoon down on the counter beside her. “No.”

“I was six when she died. But I do remember her. How good it felt when she put her hand on my forehead before I fell asleep. The way her voice sounded, soothing, kind. The way she sang to me.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not about getting everything right. It’s about those things, those small things. That’s all that matters. You do that for Ana. You may make mistakes, but you’ll be the constant, comforting presence in her life. That’s what matters,” he repeated.

He remembered more about his mother. Her fear. When his father would come home from work in a dark mood. Her tucking him in, locking his door with a key. So he couldn’t get out and see. So his father couldn’t get in and cause him any harm.

And he remembered her lying on the floor, too still. Too pale. The sparkle gone from her eyes forever.

He remembered lying with her on the floor and singing her
a lullaby until the police came. His hand on her head, stroking her hair, like she had always done for him.

Stella, Stellina
. Star, little star.

He left that part out. If only he could leave it out of his mind. If only he could scrub the memory away. Hold on to the good, leave out the bad. But it wasn’t possible.

The good always came with bad. Always.

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek. “She must have been wonderful.”

“She was,” he said.

“I have failed at so many things,” she said. “And I don’t know why. I don’t know why things are harder for me. I tried to do well in school … I just couldn’t. And my parents … I think they tried to be supportive of me, but I don’t think they really believed that I was trying. My brother and sister, they were extraordinary, and they worked for it. But I had to work for ordinary. I had to bust my butt just to be average. And that meant no college for me. In their minds … I suppose I was a failure. I mean, I had my art but art doesn’t translate to much, not to them.”

“And that’s why you moved.”

She nodded. “To find out what it would be like if I wasn’t surrounded by people who expected nothing from me. People who had given up on me. Shyla always believed in me. She said I was smart. No one ever said that. No one else. She encouraged me to go out for the position at Colson’s and I thought … I thought there was no way. I had no degree, no experience. But your hiring manager … she saw something in me, too. In my work. She took a chance on me, and the only reason I was brave enough to take a chance on myself was because of my friend. I can’t let her down,” she said, her voice shaky. “There is so much at stake here and I can’t fail. But failure is something I’m so good at, I’m afraid history will just repeat itself.”

“Tell me, are your bother and sister artists?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Your parents, are they artists?”

“No.”

“Could any of them imagine the window settings that you do? Not only that, could they find the materials, imagine the lighting, the colors, everything that you do, to make them a reality?”

“Probably not.”

“Then maybe you haven’t failed. You’ve simply succeeded in different areas. Areas that those other people couldn’t, and so don’t understand.”

“I …” She blinked rapidly. “You’re the first person who’s ever … said it like that.”

“It’s true, though. We can’t all be great at everything. I couldn’t design the windows for the store, so I hired you to do it.”

“Your hiring manager did.”

“Fine, but you get the idea. I don’t do everything. I don’t have the ability to do everything. Why should you?”

“It’s just that what I do has never been important to my family.”

“That’s their problem. You’re good at what counts. You stand firm when you’re needed. You’re coming through for Ana. Your instinct, when you were being interviewed by the social worker, was to protect her, to keep her with you no matter what. If that doesn’t prove that you’re strong enough to do this, nothing will.”

She slid down from the counter, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She took a sharp breath and crossed to him, standing in front of him, eye level to his chest. She reached up and put her hands on his cheeks, then tugged his face down as she drew up onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his.

He held on to the edge of the counter, letting her lead the kiss, letting her part his lips with her tongue. Letting her set the pace, the intensity.

He could taste the salt from her tears on her mouth, could feel the barely contained sadness in each shaking breath.

He ached to take control. To tug her up against him and to kiss her with every bit of pent-up passion, sorrow and pain that was buried inside of him. That was threatening to claw its way out through his chest if he didn’t find a way to release it.

But he couldn’t allow it.

This was for her, to have what she would. He would give it to her, and feel no sense of sacrifice. Whatever she wanted, she could have. As long as the true control belonged to him.

Paige pulled back from Dante, her heart thundering, her hands shaking. She didn’t know what she was thinking, if she was thinking. All she knew was that she wanted to feel something big. Something real and affirming. She wanted Dante’s actions to confirm his words.

She wanted to prove that she could want someone, and have them want her. That she wasn’t broken. That she wasn’t a joke. She wanted the unobtainable, beautiful man all for herself.

She didn’t want happily ever after from him. She didn’t want love. And she didn’t want to thank him. It was something else, a need so deep and raw that she could hardly understand it.

All she knew was that his touch would make things better. His kiss would heal so many wounds, be the confirmation for what he’d spoken.

To prove that she wasn’t a failure with men. That she wasn’t undesirable. That someone could want her.

She smoothed her hands over his chest, his muscles hot and hard beneath her palms, his chest hair crisp. So sexy and masculine. So different from her own body.

“I want you,” she said, her lips still pressed against his.

The silence that followed seemed to last forever. He might reject her. He probably would. But this was the first time she’d ever been willing to take the chance. It felt like a chain had been loosened on her, like she could move more freely.

He slid down from the counter, locking his arm around
her waist and drawing her hard up against his body. “You want to kiss me? Or you want more?”

“M-more.”

“I have to hear you say it,” he said, his tone stretched, tortured.

“I want to … to sleep with you tonight.” A sudden, horrifying thought occurred to her, and her stomach sank to her toes. “Unless you don’t want to.” Why would he? He’d pulled away from every kiss they’d shared. He was a bronzed god of a man with a physique that looked too good to be real. A man with tons of sexual experience. A man who could have, and had had, any woman he wished. For a crazy moment she’d been convinced she could have this, could have him. But maybe she’d been fooling herself. Again.

He chuckled, rough and humorless. “How can you think I don’t want you?”

“I’m average, remember?”

He moved his hand up to her hair and pushed his fingers through it, tugging on a pink strand, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “I have never seen anyone quite like you. Which means the description cannot be accurate.”

“You hate my hair.”

He shook his head. “It’s growing on me.”

He pressed his other hand against her lower back and brought her into closer contact with his body. With the evidence of his desire for her.

Her eyes widened. “You do want me.”

“I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to believe. But by the end of tonight, it won’t be.”

She wished she had a witty reply, something to defuse the tension. Something to loosen the knot in her stomach and lessen the ache between her thighs. To lessen the importance of the moment. But there was nothing. Her brain was too busy spinning around all the ways he could show her.

Never before had discovering what she’d been missing with sex been so important. Been so essential. But it was now.

He kissed her again, intensifying it. He moved his hand down to the waistband of her pajama pants and let his fingertips drift beneath the flannel fabric, and down low so that he was palming her butt, his touch hot and rough and perfect. He squeezed her and a shot of liquid, sexual heat poured through her, zipping straight to her core.

She arched into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, looking for a way to dull the ache there, squirming as the one between her thighs intensified, the hand on her bottom so close to where she needed him, the nearness making it all the more frustrating.

“We have to find a bed,” she said, pulling away from him, her breath coming in out-of-control gasps.

“We don’t need a bed,” he growled, leaning in, kissing her neck.

“Oh.
Oh
…” Her mind went blank for a moment as his tongue swirled over the hollow in her throat. “Yes. We do. I don’t feel like … I don’t have the experience to.” She was not going to say virgin. She was going to avoid that word at all costs. “I’m remedial. At this. I need something standard. And soft. In case I fall or something.”

He stopped for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers. “I won’t let you fall.”

You might not be able to stop me
. The words hovered on the edge of her lips, but she didn’t speak them. She didn’t dare. She wasn’t even sure what they meant. Only that they terrified her down to her bones.

“I know but … please?”

He nodded and swung her up into his arms. She squeaked and clung to his neck as he walked out of the kitchen and to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He didn’t put her down until they were in his room, at the foot of his bed.

“Will this bed do?”

She nodded, her throat dry. “Yes. Now come here and kiss me. I promise not to get glitter on you.”

He moved to her, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb across her skin. “Your wish is my command.”

He kissed her, deeply, sensually, his hands roaming over her curves. He cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with light contact, making her ache for more. For his flesh on hers. His mouth on her body.

He tugged her shirt up over her head. The cold air hit her breasts, and she didn’t have any time to feel self-conscious about what he was seeing. He tugged her against him and she gasped as her breasts brushed against his chest, the heat of his skin warming her through her whole body, his chest hair abrading her sensitized nipples.

She moved her hands over his back, his muscles shifting and bunching beneath her fingertips.

He pushed her flannel pajamas and underwear down her hips, letting them pool at her feet. She was thankful he hadn’t paused to look at her panties. A sexual interlude had been the last thing on her mind when she’d selected the purple cotton garment after her shower that evening.

She wanted to take his clothes off him, but her hands felt heavy suddenly, clumsy. She wasn’t sure if it was her move or not. Or if he liked it when a woman undressed him. Or … anything.

He was so perfect, so beautiful, just like the moment. She didn’t want to do anything to mess it up.

Thankfully, he was more than ready and willing to discard his own clothes, and after he disappeared into the bathroom briefly, he returned, fully erect, more gorgeous than any man had a right to be, and carrying a box of condoms.

She couldn’t stop staring at him. At the thick erection that stood out from his body. She’d never seen a naked man in person before, and pictures of classical statues really didn’t do them justice. Or at least, they didn’t represent Dante.

“I want to touch you,” she said, shocked at her boldness. But for some reason, the moment he’d come back into the bedroom, all of her nerves had evaporated. She was standing
there, naked, and he was there, naked. And they were about to share the most intimate connection two people could possibly share.

There was no room for fear. Or shame, or awkwardness. She was sure. It was such an unusual feeling for her. And yet, with him, in the moment, everything felt right.

“Feel free,” he said, his voice rough.

She moved to him, ran her fingers from his chest down to his abs, to the dark line of hair that led from there and to his hard, thick shaft. She wrapped her fingers around him, testing his weight.

“What do you like?” she asked, her heart thundering hard, her stomach quivering.

“This,” he said, his breath hissing through his teeth.

“Just me touching you?”

“Yes,” he said. His breathing increased, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“And this?” She squeezed him gently and was rewarded with a groan that bordered on tortured.

“Yes,” he bit out.

“Harder?”

He put his hand over hers and stilled her movements. “Only if you want me to come right now.”

She pulled her hand back. “No. Not yet. You aren’t allowed yet.”

“I thought not.” He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, bringing her down onto the bed with him.