Page 52 of Under the Lies

I turn to face Noah, only to find him watching me. “Why are we here?”

Without waiting for an answer, I look away from Noah to see more of the here.

So many paintings line the walls. A few are lined with an assortment of more modern paintings, but they’re few and far in-between.

The real pièce de résistance are the paintings that wear their age with pride.

My fingers reach out to touch the golden ornate frame, stopping myself when I’m only a hairsbreadth away.

An unsettling feeling overcomes me.

This belongs in a museum.

Noah steps close behind me.

“Where did you get these?” I breathe.

“These were donated for a local show by members of this fine city. Reeve’s hosting an event.” A pause. “You’re invited, by the way.”

Answering becomes hard when I feel Noah’s fingers curl around my shoulders.

“Why are you so quiet, Sayer?” His hands skim down my arms to link our fingers, pulling our joined hands behind my back. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes.” My voice is soft, honest.

He smiles against my ear. “Do I scare you?”

“No,” I answer without thinking. Still the truth.

Noah doesn’t scare me. He intimidates me, but he doesn’t scare me. Not like he should.

If anything, I’m scared by how much he intrigues me. I’m scared how he’s the one person I should keep my barriers up for and yet they always shudder, threatening to fall when he’s around.

Noah spins us around to face a portrait of two lovers draped in a red cloth with a blackish backdrop. “I think you’re a liar.” I feel his teeth graze my ear. “I think I do scare you,” he rasps. I shiver as my core tightens. “Just not in the way you want to admit. I think you’re scared of how I make you feel, craving it all the same.”

My heart is erratic, hammering against my chest.

He’s so close, his words are soft against my skin, edged with truths he knows I won’t admit.

“You feel like you shouldn’t want me.” He lets my hands go only to grab my hips, pulling me closer to his body. “Like you should bury those desires deep down because they’re not what you’ve been told to feel when it comes to me.

“Why?” His hands caress my hips in almost lazy movements stringing my body tight. “Is it because of your sister? Because you feel like honoring some unspoken code about sister’s ex?”

I don’t answer, not sure I can.

“We were never together. Not really. So your sweet, innocent heart doesn’t have to have that stain on it.” The bombshell he drops falls to the wayside as he presses against me and I feel his strained bulge against my backside and his hands continue their movements, creeping lower and lower with each pass.

“This painting,” he whispers. “Was donated by your parents. It’s called, Secrets after Midnight.”

My heart’s beating like a lead hammer as Noah’s hands still. I bite my lip to keep my protest quiet.

“Look at the way he holds her.” His lips graze my neck.

Jumping, I do. Drinking the image in.

The man holds the back of her neck in a grip with so much passion as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear at any moment, while the woman’s head is thrown back in ecstasy, leaning into his possessive touch. Though he’s the one that holds her, it’s clear in the frame that she’s the one in control.

His passion would be nothing without her.

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