Chapter Nine
That’s why he hated lies. Made sense. Made perfect sense. And, hell, she shouldn’t worry because she didn’t have a drug problem, like his ex. Not even close. She had a money problem, and it wasn’t her fault. But she also had a truth problem because she couldn’t tell a soul about all those dollars she owed Charlie. She certainly couldn’t tell Clay. He did well for himself, and she didn’t want Charlie to sink his teeth into her new man.
New man?
What the hell? It was one weekend. One moment. Nothing more, and she certainly couldn’t think of him as her man, no matter how much she enjoyed every single second of these days with him, from the way he touched her to the way he made her feel in her heart.
Like it could open again.
Like she could let him in and not be burned because there was something about him that simply meshed with her. Maybe it was the way he held her, or it could be the way she felt when she was with him. Free.
It was a feeling she’d longed for, and it thrilled and scared her.
She buried her nerves in a kiss. Julia pressed her lips to his jawline, then tangled her fingers in his wet hair, the contact temporarily distracting her from what she knew was coming. The moment when she’d have to tell him something about her past.
“What about you?” he asked, and there it was. Her turn to share.
“You want to know my skeletons?” she said, slipping her hand down his chest, drawing a line across his fabulously firm body in an effort to rattle his focus. His breathing quickened, and his dick rose up in the water. But he reached for her hand before she could touch him.
“Don’t distract me. We’re talking,” he said, in a tone that was playful but firm.
She pretended to pout. “But other things are more fun than talking.”
“We’ll get to other things, gorgeous. I promise you I have many things planned for you.”
“But I have to fess up about the nudist colony I used to belong to first?”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin, as he shifted her around so she lay against his body, her back to his front, his hard cock against her backside.
“And my days working in a high-class call ring with your lawyer friend?”
“Ha, that too.”
“Fine,” she said, ripping off the Band-Aid. “I have an ex named Donovan. We dated on and off for a few years. He was handsome and hung –
“–Hey now.”
“Well, not like you,” she said, wriggling her rear against that evidence of how very well hung Clay Nichols was. So well. So unbelievably endowed in the length and width department. She thanked her lucky stars for that.
“Not like I’m even worried about that at all. I just don’t want to hear about another man’s prowess.”
“Did I say he had prowess?”
“Julia,” he said with a sigh. “Has anyone ever told you you’re evasive?”
“Fine. How’s this for non-evasive? Donovan and his schlong are history. But there was this other guy Dillon. He was a photographer, and did some work shooting homes for realtors and contracted with some companies in the city, taking product shots,” she said, but didn’t add the type of products he captured – like Charlie’s Limos. Nor did she add that while Charlie really did own and lease a fleet of limos, his limo company was pretty much his only legit operation. His other businesses were more of the racketeering variety, she suspected, and she had a hunch Charlie’s Limos did some laundering too. Or so Dillon had told her. She operated on a “don’t ask” policy these days when it came to Charlie. She didn’t want to know about his business dealings; she already knew too much from the things Dillon had told her. It had all seemed playful at the time when he’d come home from a photo shoot of a new stretch limo and flash a wad of greenbacks. “He paid me in cash again. I think Charlie’s allergic to checks,” he’d say.
“What a terrible affliction.”
“They make him break out in hives.”
“Receipts probably do too,” she joked. Little did she know then that Dillon was onto something all right. He’d been dabbling with a most dangerous type of client.
“Anyway, we were together for a while,” she said to Clay, pushing thoughts of exes far out of her mind. “But it was kind of fading out for the last several months. And well truth be told, I honestly don’t even know where he is.”
“Really?”
“Yeah really. It ended, and he’s not even in San Francisco anymore,” she said, and that was all true. Dillon had left. She had no clue where he’d gone. She had her suspicions. The Cayman Islands. Maybe Mexico. Someplace untraceable. Unfindable. Drinking pina coladas on the beach and having the last laugh. Yep. The laugh was on her. That was the other reason she kept her own secrets. She was ashamed, so terribly ashamed of how Dillon had tricked her. She’d been conned, and she didn’t want anyone know she’d been played a fool.
“Why’d it end?”
“I told you. We drifted apart. Isn’t that how it usually ends?”
“Usually.”
“But Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to talk about exes anymore. We’ve done that, and here I am in the bathtub with you and candles are lit and music is playing, and you’re hard because you’re always hard, and it seems like now would be a good time for us to stop talking and start doing other things.”
She stood up, reached for a towel, and dried off. Within a minute she was in his closet, selecting a white shirt and a cobalt blue tie to wear.