Truth About Tequila (Surviving Absolution #3) Read online

  Truth About Tequila

  by

  Nikki Belaire

  Copyright © 2016 by Nikki Belaire

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Taylor Sullivan

  Editor & Formatter: Avril Stepowski

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Other Books from Nikki Belaire

  Chapter 1

  Max

  Buried balls deep inside his fuck buddy is not the time to start getting fucking sentimental. Because this isn't a relationship, and she's not his girlfriend.

  No matter how much he begs her to be.

  But, God damn. It's hard to fucking not want more with her. Not with her contented sigh warming his throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses down her jawline before tasting both of their arousal on her swollen lips.

  Bearing most of his weight on his forearms, he hovers over her to keep from crushing her petite body. Still soft and supple twenty minutes after making her scream his name. Of him groaning hers as he shuddered against her. All the bullshit from the last few days evaporating at his almost violent release inside her. Seems like only she can ease his stress anymore. The antidote to all his problems the moment her cashmere skin touches his.

  Entwined fingers curl around her scalp, the pixie cut almost too short to grasp. A slight tug of the silky, black strands lifts her questioning gaze to his. "Promise me something."

  Her lazy smile twists into a smirk as her head tilts, already expecting some kind of bullshit line. "What?"

  The request he really wants to make chokes in his throat. She'll push him away if he delves too deep. Especially after what happened this morning. He may be in her bed, but definitely not in her good graces.

  "This is exclusive." Rare jealousy rolls through his gut at the thought of another man where he should be. No other woman has ever been able to generate the sentiment in him. Except for her. "No one touches you but me."

  He sounds like some kind of possessive dick but he doesn't give a damn. Not with the pink flushing her cheeks as she rolls her eyes. "I don't take orders from anyone. Including you."

  The fierceness of her tone makes him smile this time. She's fucking amazing. Too tough to break her hard-ass facade even with his dick inside her. Yet, her feigning irritation can't diminish her growing grin, the happiness filling her unwavering gaze that still challenges his. Giving him the courage to press a bit farther. Probably a huge mistake. But, he can't fucking let her go again. He has to find a way to repair the damage he's caused. "I'm serious. And, don't come up with some lame fucking excuse to kick me out. Let me stay with you tonight."

  In less than a second her expression hardens and anger darkens her features, smothering the playfulness lighting her chocolate eyes. "I tried to give you the entire night, but you made it very clear you didn't want me."

  His heart clenches at the hurt dripping from her voice. Drunk and exhausted, she dozed while he carried her to the guest room in the early morning hours after his boss' impromptu wedding. Never giving him the chance to explain before she slipped out of the mansion while everyone else enjoyed breakfast. Not that he thought he fucking needed to. She didn't want to get caught any more than he did.

  "You know that's not true. You keep saying you don't want anyone to know we're together." She turns away but he cups her chin forcing her to face him again. Calm her misguided indignation with the truth. "What would your father think about you being in my bed?"

  “Just forget it." She shakes her head, breaking his grasp on her. "Don’t make this more complicated than it has to be. We had fun and now you need to go back to work and I need to get some sleep.”

  She shoves against his chest, the same impact as if she pushed against a brick wall. Fuck that. He's not giving up that easy. “I want to be with you. Not fucking sneak around anymore like we’re kids.”

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  Her lips purse together, holding back the fury brewing inside her taut body. But, she doesn't have to answer - he already knows. He fucked up and made her think she's second choice. Even though it isn't true, he may never be able to overcome her doubts.

  “You need to go.”

  A hint of uncertainty wavers in the force of her hands pressing against him. Which is the only encouragement he needs to try and keep her from throwing him out. Maybe he can still salvage this in a different way.

  “You know how much it fucking turns me on when you get shitty with me.” The proof hardens between his legs as his thighs glide against hers. “I want to watch you ride me.”

  Before she can protest, he rolls them over, her legs straddling his. Insistent fingers grip her hips, guiding them over his throbbing tip and into the motion that makes both of them moan. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  "I'm not going..."

  All her arguments evaporate at his thrust plunging between her silky folds. Her fingers splay across his stomach, fingernails scraping his blazing skin before she arches back to push him deeper. God fucking damn this woman owns him.

  His hands slide over hers, pausing at the rope burns circling her tiny wrists. Fucking Spencer. Rage from that bastard hurting her ignites in his stomach. She flinches from his thumb rubbing the tender skin, and her eyes fly open, a furious storm brewing in the cocoa depths before meeting his gaze.

  "Don't."

  Not sure if she hates his guilt or his concern more, but he knows all too well she refuses to accept either one. Born into this life, she's angriest at herself for letting some punk asshole get the best of her. Yet even her strong will is no match for a delusional psychopath bent on kidnapping his boss' wife.

  Giving up the fight before she pushes him away again, he caresses across her narrow shoulders and down to her breasts, their heaviness almost filling his huge palms. Panting breaths fill the room from the gentle pressure of his thumb rubbing over and over the taut skin, taking her to the brink before he pinches the hard nipples. Her mew of pleasure like a bomb to his groin. Fuck. He can't get enough of her.

  A smirk crosses her face at him rising up to meet her. Yeah, he'll admit he's a fucking liar, saying he loves to watch but never lasting more than a few minutes. Not when he needs to feel every inch of her curled against him.

  Driving harder from her throaty moan, he grinds inside her, taking over in the forceful rhythm that makes her arms coil around his neck. Giving him control of her body, if not her heart.

  “Fuck, Max. You feel so good.”

  His body begs even more for release from her delicate fingers clinging to his back, her hooded gaze staring into his eyes. “That’s right. Tell me what you like. What you want me to give you.”

  "Everything."

  The only hint of vulnerability she's shown all night. Giving him a peek at her true heart, that needs so much more than sex. And, he'll spend the rest of his l
ife making sure she receives everything she deserves. "It's yours."

  Soft lips crash into his and his tongue sweeps across her mouth before delving inside. Capturing her cry while her body pulses with the orgasm rolling through her. Drawing out his as she unravels around him, his fingers cupping the curve of her pert ass as he stills along with her. Fucking heaven.

  Three sharp peals echo from the night stand. Oscar’s ring tone. God fucking damn. This better be fucking important.

  “I'm sorry.” Neither the words nor his tender stroke of her cheek will ever be enough of an apology. But, she nods and lifts up, attempting to free him so he can focus on his work. Fuck that. He grasps her tighter, not allowing her to climb off his lap. Pulling her closer while he reaches for the phone.

  Her head dips to his shoulder, a welcome reminder she wants to be with him even when he disappoints her. Grateful for her understanding, he presses the cell against his ear. “What?”

  “Just heard that we’ve got a present coming our way, which is a surprise considering Coop's been such a bad boy this year. Grandpa's signing the card as we speak.”

  A fucking warrant. Once the judge signs it, they've got about 30 minutes to empty the entire warehouse Cooper's supposed to be fucking shielding from the DA's surveillance.

  “God damn it.” Warmth spreads across his neck at her sigh. Yeah, she knows he’s leaving. “Okay, I’ll meet him there in twenty. Put the house on lockdown until you hear from one of us.”

  “Done. And, don’t worry. I won’t let Shae be a problem this time.”

  What the fuck? His body stiffens at the bodyguard's impertinence. “You better fucking check yourself. All you need to focus on is keeping Mrs. DeMarco safe."

  His greatest worry. As well as his biggest guilt. This time he lets Gina slide off. He can't make love to her while talking about the other woman who fills his life. And, ignites Gina's needless jealousy.

  "Got it, boss." Embarrassment softens Oscar's bravado. Good. This motherfucker better fucking realize he's running out of chances.

  "Her friend's here, so Mrs. DeMarco may not even realize what's going on."

  Irritation flames his body again. “Carrie’s there? Why the fuck is this the first I’m hearing about this? You know no one fucking comes or goes without me knowing it."

  "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. You said--"

  "Forget it." Tired of the bodyguard's excuses, he's got to shut this shit down so he can try and fix the heart breaking next to him. "I'm on my way."

  He tosses the phone back on the side table and turns to her. But, she's already gone, done with him before he can even speak. The blanket pulls tighter around her arms while her gaze remains on the lilac sheets covering her legs. Faint yellow bruises from Spencer’s slap mar her smooth cheek. Another reminder of the savagery of their world. And his own guilt. He’d never lay a finger on her yet that doesn’t mean she isn’t wounded from his actions.

  "I know. It's fine."

  She doesn't sound mad. Or angry. No, it's much, much worse. Why the fuck does everything have to be so complicated? "I'll come back."

  A defeated breath blows out of her mouth as she shrugs her shoulders. "After you check on Shae?"

  Damn. She knows him too well. But, he has to make sure everything's under control. He has to. He can't allow himself the luxury of anything else. Not when it comes to keeping safe the woman he vowed to protect. A long-ago promise made to his best friend that he can't break. No matter how much it hurts the woman he loves.

  "Good-bye, Max"

  The mattress dips slightly from her pushing off. All he can do is watch her walk to the bathroom and gently close the door behind her. Nothing he can say or do to bring her back.

  Chapter 2

  Gina

  What the fuck am I doing here?

  Wearing a dress and heels. Listening to bitchy women whisper snarky remarks about people she doesn’t know. Trying not to laugh as the bride-to-be pretends to blush after opening a box filled with slinky lingerie. Even dirty girls have to feign innocence when grandma’s in the room.

  Instead of at home, in her favorite yoga pants, working in her studio, she counts the minutes until the torture is over. In a lavish garden, edged by palm trees intermixed with topiaries, she sits among mostly strangers celebrating the upcoming wedding of two people she met exactly one week ago. All because of the smiling woman glowing in peach silk. Shae Armstrong DeMarco - pop star princess turned mafia wife.

  Somehow taking care of a mobster’s fiancé when she was kidnapped, earns her a new BFF and an invite to a bridal shower. Now Shae’s pulled her into their lives, made her a part of their family. She didn’t ask for this, doesn’t want this. But, for some inexplicable reason she can’t seem to tell Shae no. Maybe because she actually likes Shae, as much as she doesn’t want to. Unable to hate the sweet, kind, generous woman who her fuck buddy loves.

  Max.

  Her heart still manages to flip flop while her stomach drops. Another emotion she doesn’t want to admit – she loves Max. Yeah, as stupid and dangerous as him loving his boss’s wife, a guaranteed death sentence if Nick ever finds out. She shakes her head. They’re all fucked. And, there’s nothing she can do to change it.

  At least flirting with Max seems to help the clock move faster, hoping to entice him enough to have their own fun after tonight’s bachelorette party. Disgusted with herself for being horny and weak, she sighs and scans the hotel rooftop for the millionth time. Wishing Max would look her way again. Just one more time. Even an eyebrow raise or quick smile would be enough to make her panties wet. She rolls her eyes at her own absurdity. Might as well add pathetic to the list of lame reasons she accepted Shae’s invitation to Carrie's party.

  She smooths down the crimson fabric of her curve hugging, borderline hooker dress. Hopeful it will remind him of the time she massaged him wearing only her red panties and black stilettos. The appointment lasting just a few minutes before they moved from her table to her bed. God, what is wrong with her? She’s never been like this for any man. Ever. Not even her husband. Well, now ex, but still.

  With the final present opened, the guests begin to mingle, small groups sprinkled throughout the lush greenery enjoying cocktails and a variety of hors d’oeuvres. Decorative planters float in the reflecting pool, water arching from the purple and turquoise flowers, with gurgling bubbles dancing over the smooth surface. The normal luxury enhanced even further for their festivities by iridescent tulle entwined with thick ivory fabric reaching to the cloudless sky.

  Rhinestones and pearls mirror the tiny lights twinkling throughout the white flowers cascading down from the cloth ceiling to silver boxes adorning the tables like frosted waterfall centerpieces. A perfect snowy fantasy. Just like the bride-to-be requested. Carrie’s imagination brought to life by Shae, to please her best friend.

  The two women across from her murmur in not so subtle voices, pulling her out of her thoughts. “According to Sheila, she couldn’t convince Carrie to add some color to this monochrome monstrosity.” The woman’s unnaturally large lips smack together, while her taut forehead can’t quite generate the frown of disgust she tries to convey. “Carrie’s lucky to have snagged such a wonderful man to put up with her nonsense.”

  The woman with a relaxed expression and genuine smile, shakes her head. “Well, I think it’s beautiful. I feel like we’re in some kind of fairy land. I mean, Carrie is a stylist after all. She knows what works.”

  “Oh, Evelyn, you don’t know a thing about fashion. Just because…” Madame Botox’s eyes widen as she meets Gina’s gaze before nudging her friend.

  Caught eavesdropping, Gina takes a long drink of her citrus-infused sparkling water and pretends to read the embossed luncheon menu lying on her plate. Yes, white raspberry mousse sounds delightful. But, the stiff one leans closer to her, a tight smile unable to completely break through her chemically induced smoothness. “So, dear, do you know the bride or the groom?”

  “Neithe
r. I’m just here for the free alcohol.”

  The woman’s mouth falls open before she laughs. A loud, obnoxious cackle that’s the final straw to her already weak commitment to Shae to be a part of the celebration. She nods at them and rises, never looking back before striding toward a server loaded down with a tray of sleek flutes.

  The man smiles as she approaches. “Champagne, ma’am?”

  Nope, that won’t get the job done. She shakes her head. “Tequila.”

  Before he can respond, Carrie slides next to her and blows out a huge sigh. “Save me.”

  Gina nods at him. “Make it two.”

  His face slacks, his mouth twisting as if trying to find the right words. “Your hostess selected champagne, wine, and the specialty drink honoring the happy couple. If you’d like one of those…”

  Trained to please, he’s too scared to say he doesn’t have permission to offer additional selections. Poor guy. Today’s not his day. He gets stuck with the bitch who needs real booze. She nudges Carrie’s shoulder. “This is the bride, and she wants a shot.” She jerks her head toward Max, on constant duty as bodyguard, standing about ten feet from Shae. “He’s here to make sure Mrs. DeMarco’s happy, and she won’t be if her best friend doesn’t get her drink. He’ll tell Mr. DeMarco, and I don’t think you want that.”

  A bead of sweat rolls down his temple and redness creeps up his round cheeks. “N-no. I mean yes. Of course, ma’am.”

  In about twenty seconds, two glasses appear in front of them. She hands a tumbler to Carrie before tapping her own against the rim. “The truth.”

  The gold liquid slides down too easy, warm and tingly from her tongue to her stomach. A few more of those and everything she wants to forget won’t be worth remembering.

  Carrie shudders and a slow smile crosses her face. “I needed that. My mother is driving me fucking crazy.” She flexes in her sling backs. “Only thirty more minutes, and I can be free. And then we can get ready for the real party.”

  “About that. I’m not sure if--”