Beautiful Illusions, Page 2

  “De—” Crap. I almost broke Reeva’s number one rule, no real names. But something in me doesn’t want to lie to him. Instead, I want to fall to my knees and sob out my entire life story and hope he’ll somehow make things better—bring my father back from the dead and reverse the nightmare that caused my world to unravel. I smirk at the idea of myself as a damsel in distress. The thought disgusts me. I hate how weak he’s rendered me without even trying. I gave up on people and relationships right after I left Winter Haven for good. The world is full of people like Nora and Josh, and I, for sure, want nothing to do with them. Except for Eva—for whatever reason I gave her a pass. “It’s Emmy,” I say with a renewed confidence. “My name is Emmy.”

  “Gavin.” He leans forward and offers his hand. His fingers are thick and rough as if they’ve seen more of Mother Earth than they have the monetary exchange. His hand clasps mine, strong and tight—powerful, the way I imagine it feels closing your fingers over an exposed electrical wire. I couldn’t let go if I wanted.

  “Did you say, Gavin?” Something in me rattles. “You mean Warren?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Gavin.”

  Shit. I pull the feather duster to my chest in an effort to hide my overexposed cleavage.

  “Sorry, I must have gotten lost.” God, it all makes sense now. “I was supposed to meet someone else.” I jump to my feet and riffle for my keys.

  “Warren McCarthy?”

  “Yes.” My body jolts as if I were mildly electrocuted. Crap. Rule number two: Never tell anyone your client’s name. But then I was never big on rules. “Is this his boathouse?”

  His features harden. The warm smile he held a minute ago dims. “It’s the next one over.” He runs those clear summer sky eyes over my body, up and down, judging me as if the pieces had come together, and now he understands that I wasn’t impersonating some wayward hussy. I was the real deal.

  “I guess I’d better get going.” I cinch my bag in one hand, my feathered friend in the other. “And to think, I almost dusted the wrong chandelier.” He doesn’t laugh at my lame attempt to add levity to the situation. I stride past him as if I were in a hurry, but it takes every ounce of willpower for me to open that door. The hard bite of winter blasts its way in and licks me in places that winter and its icy tongue should never venture.

  Gavin springs up between me and the barbaric weather conditions, effectively blocking the wind from having its way with me.

  He glances down at the feather duster in my hand. “You won’t find a chandelier next door, Emmy,” he says it far more somber than it ever is sarcastic. His eyes plead with mine in a strange way that I’ve never seen before, as if I’ve intentionally hurt him, as if he’s hurting for me as much as it is I’m hurting on the inside. “But something tells me you’re not going to get a lot of cleaning done.”

  And there it is—his judgment falling over me like an anvil.

  The last thing my stepmother said to me the morning I left was you’re the worst of all sinners, a whore who seduces innocent young men and leads them astray. That red painted mouth of yours is nothing but an open grave. You look cheap, Demi. Those didn’t even make the shortlist of hurtful things my stepmother has told me over the years but that last one stuck out. What I really heard was you’re cheap, Demi. And I used it as a battle cry the last three years to justify all of my piss-poor decisions. Desperation only gets you so far. You need a catalyst to ride before you demote yourself to becoming something less than human, and, for me, that came on the coattails of years of listening to Josh and my stepmother, Nora. After all, I was the reason my father was no longer living. I think I died right along with him in that car—at least I wish I did.

  Gavin pumps a dry smile and steps over to the tiny kitchenette before returning with a sponge and dishtowel.

  “You might need this.” He bears into me with those intense mournful eyes because, for whatever reason, he’s decided to play along. “I have a broom you could borrow. It could double as a weapon.” His brow arches, slightly amused, but there’s a layer of sadness just beneath. “Knowing Warren, you’ll need it.”

  A car barrels down the street, and I step onto the frozen porch to see a gleaming, black Mercedes take the turn before it disappears just past the evergreens and out of sight for good.

  “Warren Senior?” Gavin steps in behind me, and the heat radiates from his body, warming me. The scent of fresh soap and spice emanates from him, and it takes all of my willpower not to lean in.

  “If he’s older than fifty, he meets the profile.” I touch my hand to my forehead and cringe at the things Reeva is going to do when she finds out I screwed this one up. She made it a point to let me know she pawned me off as a virgin—that he paid twice as much as he did the last time he used the service. And now I’ve put a dent in her reputation. The last girl that dinged her questionable social standing was Lenora Woods. She went out on a call one night, and we never saw her again. I asked Reeva about her, but she simply shrugged and said girls take off all the time. It was the furthest thing from the truth, and we both knew it, but I played along, and now here I am on the verge of some black hole that Reeva arranges for girls to get sucked into. These were dangerous people, and this was a dangerous game.

  A spurt of desperation bursts from me. “I have to get in touch with him.” I turn and land my arms over his chest, stealing the warmth from his body. “Can you tell me where he went?” My voice quivers, my body shakes, and it has nothing to do with the fact I’m subjecting myself to subzero temperatures in this ridiculous state of undress.

  “Whoa.” He gently pulls the curtain of hair from my eyes and hitches it behind my ear. Something about that tender act endears me to him even more than before. “There’s a big Christmas party tonight, sort of a community-wide event. He’ll be there.” His cheek rises, but Gavin is slow with his sad smile. “I’ll take you under one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You’ll be my date.”

  Gavin

  The snow comes down in drifts like sheets pulled violently from some oversized bed in the sky. I help Emmy up the Westfield walkway to the festively decorated doors with their golden wreathes and miles of fresh garland, but Emmy outshines any opulence the Westfield house might have to offer tonight or any other night. She’s dressed to the nines and looks gorgeous as hell. I let her borrow one of Zoey’s dresses. My sister still has half her closet at the cabin, and, every now and again, she threatens to pick it up. She’s due back in Loveless at some point during her winter break. Zoey is a freshman at a private university where she managed to score a full ride, and I’m damn proud of her. I cover most of her food and housing. It’s not easy, but I’d die trying to give her the best education possible. I know my parents wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  “You sure no one will mind?” Emmy is shaking twice as bad as she was back at the boathouse.

  I thought I was dreaming when I stepped out of the shower to find the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on waiting for me, dressed to impress with her feather duster poised to touch me in all the right places—only it wasn’t me she was looking to touch. Her hair is spun gold, and her eyes shine crimson and fire, mostly because she seems angry with the world, but I’d be lying my way into hell if I didn’t say it made me want her that much more. I’m used to girls playing nice around me. They make it real easy for me to land them horizontal with their overtly flirtatious giggles, their sweet-as-frosting adulation. There’s usually not a thing I can do wrong, but, with Emmy, it feels as if there’s not a thing I can do right. Maybe it’s the challenge she brings to the table that caught my attention. Who am I kidding? Everything about her has brought me to the table. I predict by the end of the night, I’ll be on my knees begging for crumbs.

  “I promise, no one will mind.” I press my hand into the small of her back and take in her sweet scent. Emmy might have an icy air about her, but she holds the scent of warm vanilla. It’s taking everything in me not
to bury my face in her hair. “Besides, this is a community event. And if Loveless is anything, it’s about fostering togetherness.” The deep pockets around here like any excuse for a chance to network. There’s a smattering of tourists from the local chalet. The Loveless Christmas party is as much a marketing ploy as it is an attempt to make the residents feel good about being trapped on this overgrown rock.

  Her dark eyes widen, brown and red, the color of glossy mahogany. I make a mental note to mix that exact shade for my next stain. There’s a bear I’ve been working on, carving my heart out trying to bring it to life, for the last three months. It’s just about finished and ready for a good coat. I can’t wait to bless it with the color of Emmy’s eyes.

  “Loveless sounds like a great place.” Her lips curl down at the sides. “Anyway, I should probably just get in there and speak to him.” She nods toward the door as if it were Warren Senior himself. Damn pervert. Just the thought of him touching her—looking at her—makes me want to bash his skull through a window. His son was just arraigned on assault charges, not that it amounted to much. They put him under house arrest for a few months, and he’s already out on the prowl again. He lost his spot on the rowing team back at Yeats because the university didn’t want any part in the controversy or his sorry ass. But, nevertheless, he and the old man look like they share the same loose moral code. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the perverted tree.

  “How about we grab a bite first?” I lead her in, and the sound of Christmas carols lights up the air. The smell of roast beef sings a love song right to my stomach, and if I pace myself just right, I’ll be hitting up the buffet more than once this evening. But the last thing I want to happen tonight is for Emmy to get dragged into some dark corner to satisfy Warren McCarthy’s middle aged, very much married, “needs.”

  “I don’t know.” She gives a quick glance around. “I don’t think I can eat.” Her lips press together, and a matching set of dimples ignite on either side of her cheeks. She’s cute in an I’ll-cut-your-throat-if-you-look-at-me-like-that-again sort of way. There’s an exaggerated toughness to her, but I don’t buy it. Emmy just gets sweeter by the second, and my stomach turns at the thought of what she might be doing in her so-called professional career. There’s no way she’s been around the block even once with the way she’s shaking like a puppy at the vet. She can’t be much older than Zoey. And if it were my sister running around doing God knows what, I sure hope there would be someone there to talk some sense into her—to protect her. For some unknown reason, that’s exactly what I want to do, protect Emmy.

  “Look who decided to show?” Ace comes up with Reese by his side. He’s sporting his signature shit-eating grin. His black hair covers his head like a cap. Ace and the love of his life, Reese, eloped a few months back, and most of the lake is still pissed they were denied an open bar.

  “What’s up, dude?” I meet his fist with a knuckle bump while Reese lunges at me with a hug. “You look good. He treating you okay?”

  “Better than okay.” She slips back into Ace’s arms and smiles at Emmy. “Hi, I’m Reese.”

  “Emmy.” Her eyes cut to mine as if she’s tangled herself in a spider’s web and has no idea how to get out.

  “Are you new to Loveless?” Reese leans toward her, genuinely interested, and Emmy recoils at the question. Her dimples press in. She has a tiny scar next to her bottom lip that, instinctually, I want to touch.

  “I’m just passing through for a few minutes.” She glances at me like she’s ready to wrap her hands around my throat. “Gavin was nice enough to invite me to dinner.”

  “Passing through, on a night like this?” Reese burrows into Ace as if she needs protection from the storm herself. “There’s no way you’ll get down the mountain—not alive anyway.”

  Emmy’s face bleaches out. “Then I guess I’d better get going.” Her features dim as if she can already see the Grim Reaper. “I need to find someone. It was nice meeting you both.” She pushes into the crowd, and I spot her pulling aside a waitress who is quick to point out Warren Senior in the corner, laughing it up with a couple of his corporate cohorts.

  “What was that about?” Ace smacks me in the arm as if snapping me out of a trance.

  “Don’t know, but I’m about to find out.” I take off into the sea of bodies, all decked out in their holiday finest. A few of the girls I’ve partied with try to lure me over with a smile, but I want nothing to do with them right now. I won’t lie, I’ve made the circuit around this lake with my pants down on more than one occasion. It’s not my fault I happen to like sex, and the local girls are more than willing to oblige.

  Emmy hovers by the brightly lit tree with its expensive glass ornaments—its Waterford topper that I nearly broke one year and was chastised over for a half hour straight. It was the year my parents died, and I got shit-faced off the free booze that I never should have been pouring down my throat to begin with, but then, sometimes when people are hurting, they do stupid things, and I think that’s exactly what’s going on here. Emmy is hurting, and she’s about to do something far more dangerous than knocking down an overpriced chunk of crystal.

  She takes a step toward Warren Senior just as the small crowd he’s with disperses.

  Shit. I speed over without giving it another thought.

  “Here you are.” I land in front of her, panting, but it’s not the trek over that’s left me breathless, its Emmy herself. There’s something alarmingly bewitching about those dark, knowing eyes, and I want them only on me. I’m greedy for all her attention, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. “I was about to hit the food line, and I thought it’d be nice to have you by my side.” Not to mention the fact I won’t get a solid bite down knowing she’s in some closet, helping McCarthy get his shriveled up rocks off.

  “Forget about me.” She tries to move deeper into the crowd, and I pull her back by the wrist. “Look”—she frees herself from my hold—“your friend was right. It’s going to be a deathtrap getting down that mountain. I’d better take care of business and be on my way.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting you take off tonight.” And, for damn sure, I’m not letting her take care of business. Who does that? Why the hell would Emmy be caught up in a nightmare like that?

  She takes in my features as if she’s memorizing them for the police report.

  “I’m not your problem, Gavin.” She says my name like it’s a freshly listed expletive. “And I never will be.” She makes an attempt to dart past me just as Brylee Peters inadvertently baptizes the two of us with a margarita.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Brylee’s hands flail. “I’m so sorry!” She mops up Emmy’s chest with the scarf around her neck, and the booze reeks from her breath like a gale force hurricane. “I was just coming over to say hi.” Brylee throws herself onto my shoulders. Her blonde hair falls over my eyes like a curtain. “How’ve ya been, sweetie?” She squeals in my ear, loud as a horn. I’ve had Brylee squeal in my ear a time or two, not that I’m proud. “I really miss, miss, miss you.” She strums her fingers over my lips. “You should totally come to Yeats. The girls would eat you up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Speaking of satisfying cravings…” She bites the inside of her cheek. “You up for a midnight snack later?”

  “I’m free, but I think you’ll be busy.” Burying her head in the nearest toilet. Brylee’s devotion to vodka keeps her familiar with all the local porcelain thrones.

  Reese comes up and mouths the words I’m sorry before navigating Brylee back toward the party.

  “Looks like you’re pretty popular around here.” Emmy gives a downturned smile. It’s the first genuine one I’ve seen for hours. Most people might mistake it as a frown, but I can tell that any emotion remotely related to happiness is hard-won by Emmy. “It’s nice to see the girls falling all over you, literally. I figured as much. I know your type.”

  “My type?” She’s amusing the hell out of me.

  “Yeah, you know, love them and
leave them after breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She flits her gaze across the room as if she were disgusted.

  I take a step in and bear into her inky dark eyes. Right now they look the color of a moonless night.

  Her cheek flicks as if she were trying out a grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not surprised.”

  “I have a feeling not much surprises you.”

  “You got that right.” Her gaze continues to skirt the periphery, keeping an eye on Warren Senior and his dried out fifth appendage as if she were hunting her prey.

  “Then it shouldn’t surprise you that I’m not about to let you drive down the mountain tonight.” I hedge in ever so close until the hem of her dress touches my jeans. She’s scanning the crowd, craning her neck over my shoulder, looking every which way but here. I lean in until her eyes are forced to look into mine, and, when she finally does, a quick stab of pain knifes me in the gut. There’s nothing like looking someone in the eye to make you feel like you’re really seeing each other, but Emmy and I are taking it a step further. We’re more than seeing, we’re experiencing each other. “And the last thing I’m going to let happen is some indecent hookup with you and just about anybody.”

  A laugh gets caught in her throat. “Let me guess—that doesn’t exclude you.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.” It felt like a lie speeding from my lips because, deep down, I think I do want something from her. But, whatever it is, it more than outweighs some quickie in a boathouse.

  She shakes her head as if it were the last thing she believes.

  “Look, Gavin”—she plants her tiny hand over my chest—“I’m not in the market for a white knight.” She winces when she says it. “I am what I am, and you are spending far too much time away from your potential bedmates.” She pushes me off and glances around again for bloated Warren. “Don’t waste your energy on me. Trust me, I’m not worth it.”