Just a Little Lie (Shades of Deception, Book 1) Read online

  Without warning, he felt a flicker of desire. He was as grateful for that as for her silent understanding. She didn't threaten his masculinity; indeed, she reassured him of it, even as she took a timid step forward.

  She was a little slip of a woman, he realized with shock. Either the picture had lied or she'd lost a good twenty pounds since she'd sent it. Of course, he'd put her through hell, nearly dying on her like that, and emotional turmoil had a way of taking a physical toll, as he knew.

  "Excuse me, Ma and Dad. If you don't mind, I'd like to meet my wife."

  With a final hug and a slap on the back, his parents broke away, giving him room to maneuver his crutches. Damn, how he hated these things. He hobbled ten feet that seemed like a mile, until he stood head and shoulders over his bride.

  The earlier flicker intensified, stirring him close to arousal as she stared up at him with wide brown eyes. He thought they would be light, maybe gray, judging from her picture. But he was glad they weren't, feeling himself drawn deeply into their depths. Sweet as chocolate, as elusive as a skittish doe's blinded by light.

  "Mariah?"

  "Sol? Is it really you?"

  "I was thinking the same about you."

  She toyed with a runaway curl from her upswept hair. It had the vibrant richness he recognized, only more of a reddish mahogany. Maybe she'd colored it.

  Whatever the discrepancies, he didn't much care at the moment. She was causing some definite physical reactions in him, reactions he clung to and that gave him the reassurance he desperately needed: He was still a man.

  "Welcome home." Struggling to appear calm, she offered her hand. Did a handshake strike him as absurd, too? she wondered. The awkward moment passed at first touch. A sense of connection washed over her, followed by a definite tingle that began in her fingertips and spread up her arms when he pressed a soft kiss on her palm.

  "You make me feel welcome." His voice was deep, rich, and had no small effect on her unsteady nerves. "And a little more ready to accept coming home."

  His brief remarks eased her somewhat. She could feel herself smiling, even as her heart took a dive. Despite his smart full-dress uniform, he was a ghost of his photograph, though he still gave her the sensation of gazing at a chart-topping heartthrob.

  The planes of his face were finely crafted, but too sharp for him to be remotely pretty. It was a face that bespoke hard-earned maturity. A strong chin, with a shadow of a beard; ice-blue eye; short, gold-tipped hair; full lips that had been terribly stern when he'd frowned but were achingly sensual as they softened and returned her hopeful smile—all blended together to strangely affect her vital signs.

  Pulse: too rapid. Breathing: irregular. Internal temperature: simultaneously dropping and feverishly high. Diagnosis: The man she was in love with turned her on. A man who was still fairly whole, if she didn't count the eye patch, the drag of a bad leg, or Turns's warning about some deeper wounding that wasn't physical.

  As he stood looming over her, his shadow dwarfing her slight frame, she remembered her father saying how patients should never be treated as invalids if they were to heal.

  "You sure picked a pretty one, son," Dad said with hearty approval.

  "And such a lady, too," Ma chimed in.

  "Yes," Sol murmured, as he fingered his eye patch and studied her too incisively. The piercing brightness of his one good eye pinned her where she stood and quickened her pulse to a hot-ice rush.

  She felt as if he were looking all the way through her and seeing each damning lie. Mariah could almost feel herself shrinking, while Sol seemed to grow in stature. He was so big, the aura he projected so formidable. He wore his years with ease, making her lack of them excruciatingly real.

  While the trio continued to discuss her with open interest, she suddenly felt like crying out that she was a fraud. With great effort, she pasted on a schooled smile and made the polite responses.

  "Think maybe you could pick up my bags and bring the car around?" Sol suggested to his folks, then took a step closer to Mariah. Her heart was pounding so hard with anticipation and dread, she wondered if he could hear it rattle against her ribs.

  LaVerne looked from one to the other and Mariah caught her knowing smile before she nudged Herbert away.

  "You'll have to excuse us old folks, Mariah. We've been married so long we forgot you kids are on your honeymoon. Why, Sol hasn't even gotten to kiss his bride."

  Mariah's cheeks grew warm; Sol quirked a brow. Unexpectedly, he smiled broadly. His teeth were even and pearly white, gleaming as if they belonged to a wolf and he was contemplating taking more than a bite.

  The ground seemed to shift, leaving her wobbly on her feet. She wished for a loan of his crutches.

  "They're gone, Mariah. Now it's just you and me." His grin faded. Mariah swallowed hard and hugged her waist. "We have to talk, because there are some things that need to be said before we head for the hotel. The answers I get will make a difference as to whether or not we go."

  "You're disappointed," she blurted before she could stop herself. "I know you expected me to be prettier and... and—"

  She glanced down at the front of her sundress, blinking against the quick sting behind her eyes. Mariah expected him to say he'd found her out; she expected him to confront and kindly chide her, and then to demand an immediate annulment.

  What she didn't expect was the feel of his fingertip tipping up her chin, or his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

  "Disappointed?" he said in a low voice. "Hardly. Just a little surprised. I feel like an old man next to you, like I've been put out to pasture while you should be running free for greener grass. It's only right for me to turn you loose. Bolt if you want to."

  "I'm your wife, Sol. I meant my vows when I took them. Don't think for a minute that I want to take them back."

  His thumb moved with each word she spoke, creating a friction that stole her breath. Or maybe it was fear that he was only being kind, offering her a way to save face.

  Sol drew back his thumb and fingered his black eye patch self-consciously. "When you said 'I do,' this wasn't part of the bargain."

  Mariah wasn't aware of her action until she'd actually gripped his wrist. It put her hand close to his eye patch. The strip that held it in place slashed his dark, frowning brow and looped behind his white dress cap.

  Sol was too still; she wanted to move from his pinpoint glare, but fought the urge. The moment was too crucial for her to back down.

  "I think that patch bothers you, Sol, a lot more than it does me."

  "I don't doubt it, because it bothers me a helluva lot." He gazed hatefully at his crutches. "They say I'll never walk without these."

  "Do you believe it?"

  "I don't want to."

  "But do you believe it?"

  "No."

  "Then neither do I." Somehow, she found the courage to find out exactly where she stood with him. "If you want out because you married me with the idea we'd never meet, or if I'm less than what you'd hoped for—"

  "I didn't say that!"

  "No, but that doesn't mean you didn't think it. If that's the reason you're trying to run me off, why you'd rather spend your time glaring at me instead of... of kissing me, then fine. We both know you bought into this marriage without either of us certain what we were going to end up with, and, and—" Her voice caught on a sharp emotional chord, her doubts rolling out before she could stop them.

  "Mariah, please, don't do this."

  "No, you please be quiet and just listen to me." She couldn't believe her own words, but she was glad to have them said and done with. "If you want out, consider yourself out. But if you expect me to jump ship because your body's taken some abuse, then you've got a lot to learn about the woman you took as wife, Mr. Standish."

  Chapter 2

  He stared at her hard, but she refused to flinch. Slowly, his lips softened and quirked up at one end, lips that were generous and demanded her undivided attention.

  "It appears, Mrs.
Standish, that I underestimated you." Her grip still on his wrist, he shifted his hand to touch his thumb to her lip once more. Her eyes nearly closed. He was so near she could feel his breath on her. "Where would you suggest that I begin my education?"

  "A wedding kiss?" she whispered.

  "Why don't we start with one for hello and work our way from there." His lips met hers for the first time, a feather-soft brush that teased and tempted, a tantalizing sample that made her press closer and resent his stinginess.

  "Hello, Mariah."

  "How do you do, Sol?"

  "Thanks to you, better than I can remember for quite some time. But not nearly as good as I'd feel if that lipstick was as much on my mouth as it is on yours."

  It was just about the sexiest thing a man had ever said to her. And Sol was most definitely a man, she realized with an alarming thrill as he pressed against her belly. She hesitantly slipped her arms around his waist to urge him nearer.

  "You affect me," he said with a rush of relief she didn't know how to take. "Thank God, you do. But the way I look now, I wonder if I can do the same for you."

  Mariah nervously wet her lips. What should she say? That her knees were knocking, her stomach was bottoming out, and this worldly man, who seemed to need some kind of reassurance from her, was causing an exquisite aching between her unsteady legs?

  "You feel good to me," she said uncertainly, then hazarded a quick kiss to buy the moment's time she was in desperate need of.

  "Good's... not bad." He sounded disappointed.

  "More than good," she said quickly, then plunged heedlessly forward. "You excite me."

  "Do I?" His tone was cautious. "Does that mean you feel a little twinge? Or can I hope for more, that maybe you're actually looking forward to tonight?"

  "Are you?"

  "I'm eager. And a little apprehensive."

  "Me too." She traced the line of his mouth with her fingers, wondering if he could feel them shaking. "That's always the way it was with our letters, Sol. Feeling the same way about the same things." Except that she'd declared her love and he hadn't. But he had married her, and that surely counted for something.

  "It's different in person. But I'm glad to say it's not awkward. You're comfortable to be with, Mariah, and a little comfort's something I could use." He moved slightly against her, and something liquid and hot slid through her insides. "It's been a long time since I was intimate with a woman."

  How curious this seemed, she thought, to have just met and be so open. But more curious was that she didn't feel embarrassed by his frankness. It prompted her to try saying what she would have on paper.

  "And I've never been... well, I've never been unfaithful to you, Sol."

  "That pleases me. Greatly. I just hope that I can please you later, that I haven't lost my touch." His brow furrowed as he appeared to debate with himself. Then, with a determined expression, he discreetly pressed a palm to her breast.

  Instant heat generated a spine-tingling chill. Air caught in her lungs, then rushed out on a startled gasp.

  "I know it's not the time or place, and I can't explain it to you, but there's something I can't wait to assure myself about." His hand was hidden between their chests like an illicit secret, and he fondled her with the proprietary claim of a husband. "Do you mind?"

  "Dear God," she moaned. She'd never heard herself make such a deep, catching sound before.

  "Answer enough. Now kiss your husband, Mrs. Standish. Make it hard and deep. Show me you really mean it."

  Mariah's head fell back, her neck arched, and her lips parted. Sol's low chuckle made her eyes open wide, and she felt a quick stab of fear that in her newfound passion she was amusing.

  "Uh-uh, babe. I want you to kiss me."

  He wanted a kiss? One that was hard and deep? Well, by golly, she was going to give him one, one that would make up for every lie she'd concocted to be with him now.

  For all her bravado, Mariah's hand trembled as she threaded her fingers into his sand-colored hair and urged his head down. His hat fell to the ground as she slanted her mouth against his. Smooth... flexible... generous to a fault.

  She nibbled at the pliable lobes, delighting in the low sound he made, exulting in the sense that this was so right, it felt almost sinful.

  Sin had never tasted so fine. It tasted fine enough to mute the shame of her dishonesty. She squelched what remained of it with the dart of her tongue. His teeth were slick and as hard as the thickening arousal she felt through their clothes.

  How many times had she dreamed of this?

  His shoulders against her palms suddenly tensed and she felt them shift with his unexpected retreat.

  Automatically, she went on tiptoe to follow his mouth.

  "Damn," he groaned. "Damn, but I needed that from you. Now it's my turn to return the favor." He dropped one crutch to the ground, balanced himself with a strength that struck her as oddly graceful for such a powerfully built man, and flattened his palm against her spine, fingers fanning out, then flexing into her upper buttocks. "Open your mouth," he whispered roughly.

  She did, with a soft squeak, shockingly excited by the overt sexuality of his handling, not to mention his blunt demand. He was speaking to her as a woman, putting his hand on her as he if she were truly his wife and he had every right to touch her however he liked.

  His lips covered hers and his tongue quickly entered her mouth. She embraced him with equal passion, like a woman full grown. The sensuality between them was heavy, binding them, entwining their future paths.

  Sol didn't kiss her with any hint of restraint. Nor did she return it with the awkwardness of a mailorder bride.

  Their kiss was wet. It was hot. His tongue was impolite and so were his teeth. She felt their pull on her bottom lip and the rhythmic squeeze of his hand on her breast. Sensations arced and centered to tug at her womb. The strain of his pants was anchored there, and while he didn't behave indecently, he bumped against her once, then pressed hard. It was wildly exciting to her, like a forbidden pleasure they indulged to the limits, skirting the edge as close as they could without falling off the precipice.

  "Yes," he was mouthing against her. "Yes, it's so good." And then he murmured something else, something that sounded like a thank you, though she couldn't imagine why he should thank her when he was the one imparting this magic heat.

  As Sol grazed a path from her swollen lips to her chin, she decided her husband had elevated the act of kissing to an art. Especially when he briefly drew her chin into the haven of his mouth before leaving it moist and pulsing against the assault of emotion-charged air.

  His breathing was harsh, but surely no harsher than hers, which she could barely catch in choppy spurts. The heat of his gaze mingled with something else. He looked as if he'd just won first prize and she was it.

  "My goodness," she finally said, unsure of what to do after such a torrid encounter. "That was... quite a kiss."

  "You approve?"

  "Well, yes. I do." I do... I do... Their hasty vows echoed between her ears, and the reality of it hit her strongly. Married. To this man. One who was flesh and blood, not paper or a phone call, who touched with emotion and kissed like the devil. What would he be like to live with? If he had a temper to match his kisses, she sure didn't want to provoke it.

  "I approve too," he said quietly. "Of you." Sol fingered his patch. It gleamed at her like a demon in the dark as his lips drew into a tight, thin line. "In fact, I approve so much I'm giving you one last chance, because you deserve it. You can leave with a kiss and I won't blame you. But go with me now and there's no turning back."

  She held his gaze in silence, then gave him her answer by stooping down to pick up his hat and crutch. She held out the latter to him. "You'll need this to get to the car."

  "I could've gotten it myself," he said sharply.

  Mariah was stung, but she did understand.

  "In that case..." Putting his pride before her own, she laid the crutch back down. "Get it you
rself."

  Sol seemed off balance, in more than a physical way. He frowned at her hard, then nodded curtly.

  "Thanks, I will." He started to bend down, but stopped short. "You go on. I'll catch up."

  "I'd rather we go together, and I don't mind the wait."

  His curse was low but graphic, the sort of word she imagined might be scratched out next to a toilet in a seedy bar. She heard a few more that weren't any nicer as he awkwardly stooped and contorted himself to get both crutches in place.

  Sol was sweating by the time he propelled himself forward, his gaze straight ahead. He was a good twenty feet away from her when she turned on Beth's best high-heels and marched after him. As she came closer she grappled with more unknowns than their impending honeymoon. His scars ran deeper than his obvious injuries, she was certain. She also knew healing was slow, but she'd bought time.

  When she came even with him, Sol slowed his fast-paced swing.

  "Thanks," he said tersely.

  "For what? Letting you make your point?"

  "For understanding. Letting me stand on my own two feet, such as they are." He speeded up, then pivoted, blocking her path. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Mariah. It's not your fault I'm mad at God and the world."

  "No," she said. "But it is your fault if you let your anger steal the joy you can still have from life."

  For a while he considered her and, she hoped, what she'd said. When he spoke, his tone was apologetic, but she didn't think it came easy.

  "You gave me some real joy back there. I didn't pay you back very kindly."

  "Then pay me back later by not taking my help as pity. You don't want it and I don't have it to give to a man I respect. Oh, and while you're paying up, do me a favor and don't try offering me my walking papers again."

  Maybe it was the sudden brightness in his eye. Maybe it was the gentling of his lips into a slight smile. Whatever it was, she followed her heart and impulsively bent down to kiss his wedding band, gleaming against the crutch.