Liar, Liar, Heart's Desire Read online

  It’s a cheat he can see that and I can’t. But she could see the look on his face, and when he met her gaze, the want in his eyes hit her like a freight train. And when he eased himself into her, still looking at her, into her, all the way to the depths of her soul, she melted into a hot, gooey puddle of need.

  When he was buried deep inside her, his head tipped back and his eyes fluttered shut, as though he could take in the feel of her inside him, the way she’d physically taken him inside her body.

  In dozens of romance novels, she’d read about heroes worshiping the heroines’ bodies, but it had always seemed like a piece of romantic fantasy, no more real than vampire heroes or . . . or hobbits. At that moment, however, she felt adored. It was a stupid fantasy to embrace, especially with a man like him, but she had no will to reject it.

  He lowered himself onto her. When they were face-to-face, he began slowly stroking in and out.

  She’d once wondered what it would be like to have his bedroom eyes gaze into hers during sex.

  Her imagination had been woefully inadequate.

  It was as though they’d created a magnetic connection too strong for either of them to break. Not that she tried because the connection was as addicting as heroin.

  Their bodies maintained a slow rhythm but, even though it seemed to lack urgency, something inside her ratcheted tighter with each exquisite, torturous stroke.

  “Cleo,” he said on a soft breath. Not a question. Not a statement. Not even an acknowledgement. Maybe . . . a prayer? And then his jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. His eyes closed and he let out a roar.

  Whatever had held her earthbound shattered. She arched into him and went into orbit.

  Before she’d even returned to earth, she thought, That wasn’t sex.

  She’d had sex before, and that wasn’t what this had been. This had been something completely different.

  We made love.

  She’d thought she’d done that before, too, but she’d been wrong.

  He was still laying on her, a heavy, boneless mass of satiation.

  With a sense of wonder, she traced the line of his back with her fingertips, feeling the muscle and bone of this amazing man.

  He nuzzled his way through her hair to nip an earlobe. “You are a wanton woman,” he said on a deep exhale.

  A wanton woman. She liked the way that made her sound all Mata Hari.

  He braced himself on his elbows and looked down at her. “Was it good for you?”

  “You have to ask?”

  His face blanked. She wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong, but somehow she’d screwed up. He rolled off her onto his side and propped his head on his fist. “Well, you know. I don’t relish the idea of you telling someone someday that you didn’t have as many orgasms with me as I think you did.”

  Oh hell. She should never have told him that.

  “I mean I think you had a good time just now. If you didn’t, you should get an academy award for that performance, but I don’t want to break my arm patting myself on the back.”

  Having to reassure him—something she’d never expected she’d need to do—was popping her bubble of euphoria, but she took a deep breath and sucked it up. It was, after all, her fault for not having lied to him about her experiences with Martin. “Alec, it was fantastic. My bones are mush. Every cell in my body is singing in three-part harmony.”

  His expression softened, his lips twitching. “Let’s stop before you start telling me I’m the best you ever had.”

  He was the best she’d ever had. Of course now that would sound like the phoniest line ever. “I’ve screwed this up, haven’t I? You’re never going to believe I’m enjoying myself, are you?”

  “I just want you to be honest with me.”

  She wasn’t even being honest with him outside the bedroom. Not when she was considering Martin’s proposal to steal this story and take it to The Sun. It nearly choked her to say, “I am being honest. I’ve never enjoyed sex this much.”

  His eyes warmed. “I like hearing that.” His chest inflated with the breath he drew. “And so far, I believe you.” The light in his eyes dimmed a little. “I want to keep on believing that, so I want a promise from you.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re not in the mood or you lose interest somewhere along the line, you tell me.”

  “I . . . I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because . . . You men have such fragile egos―”

  His eyebrows shot up to get lost under his messy hair. “Fragile? You think my ego’s fragile?”

  “Let me finish. In the bedroom. Your egos are fragile in the bedroom.”

  “Well, maybe. Sometimes. But that’s partly your fault. Not you personally.” He paused. “Well, yes, you personally.”

  She opened her mouth to protest.

  “Because you play-act. You—and the other women out there—encourage us to think we’ve done a good job when we haven’t. I’m not saying we don’t pressure you to do it.” He paused again. “I guess both sexes contribute. I just don’t like not knowing if it’s real.”

  Honesty was supposed to be a good thing, but that one little comment was going to haunt her forever. Next time a man asked, she was going to lie her head off. “So I guess we’re at an impasse.”

  “No. I don’t want to accept that.” He rolled his lips into a thin line. “We don’t have to keep up the pretense if we don’t want to, so how about this? If you’re really not in the mood, say so. Trust me. I’ll live. But let’s see . . . How did you phrase that? If you want to ‘move it along,’ you can tell me that, too.”

  “What do I say? ‘Hey, buddy, you’re cutting into my beauty sleep?’ Or maybe ‘cut to the chase?’” Yeah, sure. She could imagine whispering that into his ear. Not. “Or do you have a Reader’s Digest condensed version of this story?”

  He laughed. “Well, that would work, but maybe we could find something a little more diplomatic to signal you want to turn it into a quickie.”

  “That!” She pointed, suddenly excited. “I could say that.”

  “What?”

  “Give me a quickie.” It would be almost like saying supersize me at McDonald’s. “Are you sure your ego won’t be crushed?”

  “Good grief, woman, you really do think our egos are that fragile? No, my ego won’t be crushed. As long as you don’t say it every time.”

  “No chance of that.” She really did like sex with him. She liked making love even more.

  For a moment, she almost forgot this wasn’t going to last beyond their last day in Las Vegas.

  ~***~

  Afterwards, he drew her close, and she laid her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders. His fingers traced little circles on her upper arm, and she returned to basking in the afterglow for all of thirty seconds before her mind turned to the problem of how to get into Sebastian’s inner sanctum. Her thoughts made her want to fidget, but she was pretty sure afterglow was supposed to last longer, so she fought it down. He would probably be insulted if he knew her brain had turned to practical matters so quickly.

  “How did you figure out Jada was there that night?” he asked in a musing, relaxed voice.

  For a moment, she thought she could fall in love with him. Not having to pretend she wasn’t already thinking about something other than how he rocked her world made her feel safe. As though he accepted her for who she was.

  Then she realized she hadn’t told him about her chat with Loretta. Would he be mad she’d gone without him?

  Damn. Partnerships were hard.

  She told him about her afternoon. As she finished, she said, “Loretta doesn’t think Annaliese did it.”

  “Unfortunately, what the cops care about is evidence.”

  “Their evidence is circumstantial. They don’t even have a motive.”

  “They’re probably assuming the motive has to do with his womanizing,” he said. “Sooner or later—probably sooner—the
y’re going to look at her finances. They’re going to want to know about that deposit you made into her account. What are you going to tell them?”

  Cleo tensed. That damned deposit. “I don’t know. That I want my lawyer there?” Even though that’s what Danny had advised, she was still half-kidding, but Alec hiked an eyebrow and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was: lawyering up would make her look guilty of . . . something.

  She ran her hand over his chest. Odd how soothing touching him was. “The only proof that she owed him money is the marker she signed. If I could find it before it surfaces . . .” She wetted her lips with her tongue. She’d thought about searching for the marker several times. She couldn’t quite figure out how to attack it, but the idea kept nagging at her. She was sure he’d have a long list of reasons why a search would be futile, but Danny had thought it might still be out there. “The marker has to be either in his office or his suite. I need to get in there to search for it.”

  “The police have undoubtedly already gone through everything.” He took a minute to study her face. “But that’s not going to sway you, is it?”

  “Unless you’ve got a better idea, no, probably not.”

  He sighed. “Well, who knows? Maybe they missed it. How do you plan to get access?”

  Her heart sang a little. His willingness to let her do this crazy thing was more than she’d expected. Then the song died off. Taking the story to Martin seemed like stabbing Alec in the back. Did she really want her old life back that badly? It was hard to give up a dream she’d worked so long for. Maybe she could convince Alec to go to The Sun with her. But of course, that was a pipe dream. He worked for a tabloid. No self-respecting paper would touch him even if he wanted to work for them. And she already knew he didn’t.

  “Cleo?” Alec said. “How are we going to pull off this treasure hunt of yours?”

  She sighed. People didn’t get to have their cake and eat it too; she knew that, so she let go of her fantasy of working with Alec at someplace reputable to deal with the current problem. And then what he’d said clicked. “We? You’re going to help me?”

  “Sure. Why not? I haven’t written an inside-our-prisons story yet.”

  The risk of that was too real for her to find his joke funny. Was this man really willing to risk prison for her? Could he be falling for her a little?

  Get real. Any risks he took were for the story. But that was okay, she told herself. He was still there for her, and that’s what counted. “I think the marker has to be in Sebastian’s suite.”

  “That’s the crime scene. I’m sure the cops have been through everything there. I don’t see how they could have missed it. What about his office? They may have looked there, but Bales strikes me as pretty territorial. I’ll bet she kept them from digging too deep.”

  “It’s possible. I still think it’s in the suite. It’s something I feel in my gut.”

  He curled a strand of her hair around his finger. “And your gut’s infallible?”

  “No. Not infallible. It’s pretty reliable, though. And I have a Pulitzer nomination to prove it.”

  He grinned. “I love confident women. Okay. How do we get into the suite?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Well, while you’re working on that, I think we should take a stab at his office.”

  “How? Even if Bales isn’t guarding it, we’d have to get past the receptionist.”

  “Not if we go in after everyone has left.”

  “So we go in the middle of the night? Because this is an eighty-hour-workweek crowd in a city that doesn’t sleep.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. We go in during the memorial service.”

  She pushed herself up so she could lean on one arm and look down at him. “There’s going to be a memorial?”

  “On Tuesday.”

  She would have liked to go. Sebastian hadn’t always been a wonderful person, but he’d been good to her. But he’d understand; her mother’s freedom was a higher priority.

  “That’s actually a good idea.” None of the executives would miss the memorial. It would look bad. “Okay, Houdini. How do we deal with the locked doors?”

  There would be three. The outer glass doors of the executive suite, the door that led to Bales’ office, and the door into Sebastian’s office. Bales might not lock the inner door, but they couldn’t count on that.

  Alec smirked at her. “That’s easier than you think. I go to see Bales and slap a lockdown magnet on the doors.”

  “A lockdown magnet? What’s that?”

  “Some schools are using them. They’re flat, kind of like those advertising magnets you get from businesses for your fridge, but they’re heavy-duty and they go over the door’s strike plate.” He used his fingers to frame a space about one inch wide. “When it’s in place, the door won’t lock, but if there’s a threat inside the school, the teacher removes the magnet, the door locks, and they’re secure. No key or pass card required.”

  “Let me guess. You did a story about school shootings.”

  “Nope. I did a story about preventing the tragedies. These magnets are just one of the things I learned. They’re low tech, but they work.”

  “Sounds slick.” It also sounded like a plan. It was the best gift he could have given her.

  Chapter 12

  “I want to go to rehearsal,” Jada said over breakfast the next morning.

  “Are you sure?” Cleo asked. Alec had informed her while they’d dressed that she’d agreed to this in the haze of arousal the night before.

  “I have to rehearse. I have to audition again soon. Please, Cleo.” Jada’s voice carried the intensity of a small child begging for cake. “I don’t want to lose my job.”

  Cleo spread butter on a piece of toast to buy herself a moment. With Annaliese in jail for Sebastian’s murder, it might not matter one way or another how well prepared Jada was. She couldn’t stay in Vegas by herself. Cleo didn’t know yet where she’d land, but it wasn’t Vegas. Mentioning that, however, might send Jada into another tailspin. “What about Liz?”

  Jada’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Liz can only bug me if I let her.”

  Cleo heard Annaliese in Jada’s words. Whether Jada could actually hold that line was another unknown. “Okay. How about if I talk to Liz and see if I can make her stop picking on you?” She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

  “Annaliese tried that. It didn’t work. She says Liz is a bully.”

  Something rose up inside Cleo. Something dangerous. The world might be going up in flames around her, but she was damned if she was going to let Liz piss on the ashes. “Well, it’ll work when I talk to her.”

  Jada and Alec stared at her like they’d never seen her before.

  “What?” Cleo said, her voice harsh.

  “Nothing,” he said, lifting his hands as though she’d pointed a gun at him. “I just hope you never look at me like that.”

  Cleo took a deep breath and leashed the anger. If she could call that up when she faced Liz, maybe she could make the woman back down.

  Jada was still staring at her.

  “Do you want to go to rehearsal today or not?” Cleo asked, impatient that Jada wasn’t gathering her things.

  “Yes,” Jada said in a tiny voice.

  “All right then. Get your stuff.” She needed to be more careful. Jada could spook with no notice, and Cleo didn’t need to do Liz’s job for her. “And if Liz is there, I’ll talk to her.”

  “I think I’d pay money to be there for that,” Alec said, “but it’s probably not a good idea for her to see us together.”

  “You’re right. As much as I’d love the moral support, she knows who you work for.”

  “I could wait in the casino if you want. At least, for a while. I have an appointment with Bales at ten-thirty.”

  His offer surprised her, but not as much as discovering she wanted him there even if moral support was all he could offer. “Yeah, you could d
o that.”

  “Cool.”

  Cleo’s hands were clammy from nerves as the three of them walked into the casino just before ten o’clock. She could handle confrontation just fine when she was caught up in the throes of righteous indignation, but having too much time to think about it, imagining all the ways it could go wrong, put knots in her stomach.

  When they reached the gaming tables, Alec said, “I think I’ll play a little blackjack while I wait for you.”

  She nodded. “I should be back before you have to meet Bales.”

  She and Jada headed toward the back of the room for a door marked Employees Only. Ahead of them, an Elvis clone—the younger version Alec had dubbed Elvis one-point-oh—was surrounded by a group of middle-aged women. As they walked past, his voice, thick with that modest aw-shucks quality Elvis was known for, said, “Well, ma’am, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m just a country boy from Memphis, but when the show opens . . .”

  When they were past the cluster, Cleo saw Liz talking to another woman. Both of them carried black bags that undoubtedly contained their rehearsal clothes.

  Cleo dragged Jada to a halt. She’d worried that confronting Liz in the rehearsal room in front of all the showgirls would make Liz feel the need to show everyone she could do what she damned well pleased. Catching her here, where there wouldn’t be any witness—well, at least none Liz had authority over—might be the break Cleo needed. Maybe they could come to an amicable understanding about Jada.

  So why was her stomach clenching? It wasn’t as though this was life or death the way it had sometimes been when she’d researched her border story. Then again, the bodyguard Alec had mentioned had propped his butt on a stool about six feet beyond Liz while he waited. He looked like he could snap Cleo in half with no more effort than a sneeze.

  She put a hand on Jada’s arm. “Why don’t you go ahead. I’m going to talk to Liz.”

  Jada nodded, but her eyes held reservations about how effective Cleo would be.

  Not that Cleo blamed her. Annaliese had tried and failed; Jada had no reason to think Cleo would do better.

  She hung back until the woman talking to Liz walked away. As Liz turned toward the Employees Only door, Cleo called her name.