Deeper Than Lies

CHAPTER 1 | Ellie –––––––– So that’s Hot Stuff?! I crane my head, trying—and failing—to see across the crowded dance floor. It’s too dark to see much. I mean, I can tell he’s big. The guy is at least a head taller than anyone else in here, but hot? Gag me. He’s my sister’s fiancé, which means I don’t need to know if he’s hot. I need to know if he’s a cheater. “You know your glare can’t actually set him on fire, right?” The club is so noisy Holly has to lean close. Her breath is hot in my ear. I scowl. “Maybe I can. Maybe I’ve been secretly developing laser eyes.” My best friend laughs. “When it comes to Wren, I would believe it.” She hooks her arm through mine, sipping on a neon-colored drink as we watch my beloved older sister touch Hot Stuff’s arm. They laugh. “She looks really happy, Ellie.” “Wren’s always happy,” I say, sipping my own neon-colored drink. It’s too sweet and turns my mouth sticky. “And then they cheat on her and she’s devastated. I love my sister, but we have crappy taste in men. We can’t help it. It’s genetic.” Holly faces me. The disco lights have turned her pale hair green and red. Her blue eyes look electric. “Please don’t do this.” “I have to.” “No, you don’t. If it works, you’re the woman who kissed her sister’s fiancé. If it doesn’t work, you’re the woman who tried to kiss her sister’s fiancé.” “Gross!” The idea of kissing my sister’s fiancé is worse than my overly sweet drink. I nearly gag. “I’m not going to kiss him! That’s horrible!” “Then what—” “I’m just going to get chatty. Flirt a little. Make sure he tells me he has a fiancée and she’s beautiful and brilliant, like a good guy would. If I have to, I’ll invite him to leave with me, and if he gives me his number, we’ll know he’s an ass.” “Or.” Holly holds up one finger. “You could wait and get to know him.” I glare at Holly because she’s right and also because we’ve been over this. Technically, the guy’s name isn’t Hot Stuff. It’s Tate Matthews. But ever since I read this text where Wren called him Hot Stuff, I can’t get it out of my mind. I mean really. Hot. Stuff. Ugh. Anyway, Wren met him while visiting her mom’s family in Paris. She does this every summer and she always tells me everything. Except this time, she dated the guy for two months before even mentioning him. Then they spent all last month living together, and now they’re saying “I love you,” giving out nicknames, and getting married. I’ve never even met him. Hot Stuff flew in this afternoon to visit and Wren picked him up from the airport. They decided to celebrate his arrival with dinner and dancing and I was supposed to come, but I got stuck at the farm—which turned out to be a huge blessing because now he doesn’t know what I look like. I mean, sure, he could’ve f*******: stalked me or whatever, but thanks to my crazy work hours I can’t remember the last time someone took a picture of me that didn’t involve sweaty ponytails and riding breeches. Cleaned up, I look way different. Now, I can ambush him and find out if he’s horn dog cheater. “It’s like the universe planned this,” I mutter. “What?” “Nothing.” It’s a great idea—it is—and yet my stomach is in knots. I take a deep breath. “Sometimes you have to do something terrible to do something right.” “That doesn’t even make sense.” “Yes, it does. Look, Holls, you know how hard Wren took her last break up. She’s getting married to this guy. I’ve never seen her so in love. If he turns out to be a troll, she’ll be devastated. Remember Brian the Super Jerk?” Holly nods grimly. “And Craig from her freshman bio class.” “And James the gigantic tool.” “James was your gigantic tool, not Wren’s.” I blink, flashing back to a six feet plus of dark hair, darker eyes, and a pair of fast hands. Not coincidentally, the last pair of fast hands that have touched me in almost a year. “You’re right,” I say at last. “But I think my point is still made. Wren and I cannot be trusted to pick out boyfriends, let alone husbands, and—” “And I want to know where my uptight friend has gone. Even if you’re not going to touch him, you’re still inviting him to leave with you.” “If he leaves with some girl who offers him a go in the parking lot, he doesn’t deserve my sister.” Holly goes quiet, and I know she agrees. “This isn’t like you,” she says at last. She’s right too. Outside the club, I’m a respected professional rider. I have clients, sale horses, a business. I might only be twenty-three, but I have goals, and I’m usually not prone to dramatics. But I’m also not prone to discovering my sister is about to get married to a guy I’ve never met, and run off to New York, and leave everyone we love behind, and— Get it together, I tell myself. I grab Holly’s hand and squeeze. “You love Wren as much as I do. Help me make sure she’s going to be happy with that idiot.” “That ‘i***t’ could be your brother in law. Do you really want to mess this up?” “No, but I would rather Hot Stuff be mad at me for the rest of our lives than see Wren heartbroken. Please, Holly?” After a ridiculously long moment, she sighs, and I know I have her. I grin. “You’re the best, you know that?” Holly rolls her eyes, and we watch Wren and Hot Stuff share another laugh over something he said. The DJ fires up another remix of some Top 40 Hit, and the crowd cheers. More people rush to the dance floor, someone jostling me as she passes. I barely notice. Wren is patting Hot Stuff’s forearm, telling him something. She moves away, purse in hand. I push up on my tip-toes trying to see better. Is she going to the bathroom? For another drink? It doesn’t matter, I guess. Hot Stuff is alone now and my opportunity is here. I adjust my already low cut dress until my breasts are on the verge of exploding. “Okay.” I turn to Holly. “How do I look?” “Like a crazy woman with weird tan lines.” I scowl again and peer at my shoulders. She’s right. Thanks to spending most of yesterday afternoon working on the pasture fencing, pale lines from my tank top crisscross my skin. “Ugh, I’d hoped you wouldn’t be able to see them.” “You can’t. Not really.” Holly rubs her forehead like I’ve given her a headache. I probably have. “You’re still crazy though.” Sadly, she’s absolutely right. “Sometimes you have to do crazy stuff to protect the people you love,” I tell her. “Wren will forgive me...eventually.” The thought makes my stomach squeeze again. “Hold my drink?” Holly eyes the half-finished peach martini. “How many of these have you had?” “Three?” “And when did you get your brilliant idea?” “Sometime around the second. I’m not drunk though. I know what I’m doing. I do. I’m going to flirt with him, maybe invite him outside, and if he says ‘yes’ I’ll out him for the ass he is. It’s a good plan. It’ll work.” Holly opens her mouth and then shuts it. “Good luck,” she says at last. I nod and totter across the dance floor, needing four or five strides before I get my balance. I love heels, but I spend most of my time in boots, and it shows. I probably look like a five-year-old wearing her mommy’s shoes. To compensate, I stick my chest out. You can do this. You can do this. Four feet away though I’m suddenly not so sure. Hot Stuff turns and the strobe lights catch his face: full lips, high cheekbones, and a hard edged jaw. He’s wearing dark jeans, and a black dress shirt, the tails untucked and the top buttons undone. Hot Stuff is indeed hot. So hot, in fact, I forget I’m staring—with my mouth open—until he smiles. “Hey, there.” Oh, God and he has a southern accent. Wren really does have amazing taste in jerks. So do you, I remind myself, snapping my mouth shut and matching Hot Stuff’s smile. “Hey, yourself. Are you having a good time?” “Better now.” Jerk Alert bells go off in my head and any doubt I had about my plan vanishes. He’s having a better time now that my sister isn’t here? He’s an ass. I’m so going to take you down, I think, widening my smile and shimmying closer. His gaze briefly dips, taking in my cleavage and the form fitting dress, and now I hate him even more. “Do you live around here?” I ask. He shrugs. “Just moved back.” “Lucky me.” A smile tugs at one corner of Hot Stuff’s mouth and, again, I see what Wren sees in him. He’s pretty. I know you’re not supposed to call guys that, but he is. I ease a little closer. “So where’d you move from?” “Ireland.” “Wow!” For a second, my sexy girl coming onto him thing slips and the real me shows through. I can’t help it. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. Some of the best show jumping riders in the world have trained there. Focus, Ellie! “Wow,” I repeat, sounding a little more like the drunken party girl I’m supposed to be. “That’s really far away.” “Not nearly far enough.” Oh. Well, okay then. Hot Stuff has gone from flirty to broody. He glares out at the dancers like they have personally offended him. I slide another step closer though and his attention snaps back to me. It’s probably a trick of the light, but his expression seems to soften. Not. Good. “So what brings you to Atlanta?” I ask. You better say my sister, I think. Hot Stuff frowns. “Work. I’m applying for a manager position.” Hmm, he didn’t mention Wren, but he isn’t exactly flirting anymore either. For several seconds, we stare at each other. “Are you local?” Hot Stuff asks. “What do you do for fun?” Fun? What’s that? I train horses and when I’m not training horses I’m thinking about training horses. Until tonight, I couldn’t have even told you where this club was, but I could tell you the location of four tack shops, six breeding farms, and about a dozen stables. I like to think it’s because I know my market. Wren says it’s because I’m not well rounded. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say at last, making a show of playing with my hair. It needs a cut and the overlong ends brush past my elbows. “I guess it depends on the person you’re with.” The half-smile turns into a full-fledged grin, and my stomach sinks. My poor sister. He’s a cheater. “Yeah?” Hot Stuff asks. “Yeah.” I take a deep—deep—breath and force my hand to cup his arm. The muscles beneath my palm tighten. “I mean, we could stay here and have fun...or we could go somewhere else...” I trail off, hoping innuendo will be enough. I don’t have a ton of experience with sexy stuff. Okay, I have almost no experience with sexy stuff. Work doesn’t leave me a lot of free time, and it seems like every guy I date turns into a huge jerk. Hot Stuff’s left eyebrow raises. “Somewhere else?” Ugh. Think. I shift from foot to foot and wobble, hip bumping into the glossy-topped table. Hot Stuff puts one hand on my arm, gently squeezing. “Are you okay?” I don’t think so. I blink, blink again. The floor feels like it’s tilting under my feet, and that wobble definitely wasn’t from the heels. Maybe I am drunk? Maybe this is a bad idea. “Do you need me to get you a cab?” he asks. I lift my face to tell him I’m fine, and realize we’re inches apart. I’m close enough to smell the bourbon on his breath, close enough...to kiss. Run! Except I can’t because Hot Stuff’s hand has suddenly found my wrist. I can feel the heat of him. He comes closer...closer... “Ellie?” My stomach lurches. Wren. I spin around and see my big sister standing only a few feet away. She has a drink in each hand and looks like she’s biting down a laugh. I launch myself away from Hot Stuff. “He’s a cheater, Wren! He was going to kiss me!” “Cheater?” Wren puts the drinks on a hip high table and trots to my side. She presses a cool hand to my head like she did when I was little and sick with the flu. “Honey, Caleb’s single. Are you feeling okay?” “No, I’m fine—wait. What? I thought you said his name was Tate.” Wren c***s her head, her smooth brown ponytail slipping down one shoulder. “No. That’s Caleb.” She motions to the guy beside me before turning in the direction of another. One who could also be called hot. Oh, crap. “That’s Tate,” she says, hands going to her hips. “Caleb was about to kiss you.”