Sweet Little Lies Read online

  panic because he gave a slight head shake. “You’ve lost it.”

  “Yes, now you fully understand! I’ve completely lost it, but to be honest, I lost it a long time ago!”

  “I meant me, babe,” he said. “I’ve lost it to even be melted by those eyes of yours, enough that I’ll do just about anything for you.”

  “Good,” she said quickly. “Go with that. Please, I can’t explain right now, but I need you to hide, for just a minute, I promise.”

  He shook his head again, muttered some more, something that sounded like “you’re a complete dumbass, O’Riley,” but then God bless him, he folded up his rangy form in the dumbwaiter.

  “Just for a minute,” she repeated and slammed the door shut on his gorgeous but annoyed face and turned back to the kitchen—where Finn’s shirt and shoes were lying scattered on the floor. Shit! She snagged everything up, ran back to the dumbwaiter, opened the door and shoved them at Finn and then slammed the door.

  Just as Jake rolled into her kitchen.

  Finn sat there in the dumbwaiter, somewhere between pissed off and bemused. And maybe a little turned on, which showed just how messed up in the head he really was.

  No one handled him. Ever. And yet Pru just had, like a pro.

  Which meant he sat here squished into the dumbwaiter in only his unbuttoned jeans, his shirt in one hand, his shoes in his other, wondering—What. The. Fuck.

  He tried to come up with a single reason why, if Pru and Jake were not a thing, that he had to be a dirty little secret. But he couldn’t.

  And his amusement faded.

  Because that’s exactly what he was at the moment. Pru’s dirty little secret, and while the thought of that might have appealed in fantasy, it absolutely did not hold up in reality.

  Not even close.

  Leaning in, he tried to catch whatever was going on in Pru’s kitchen.

  “Why are you breathing like a lunatic?” Jake asked. “And you’re all flushed. You sick?”

  Try as he might, Finn couldn’t catch Pru’s response.

  But he had no problem catching Jake’s next line. “Why is there a pair of men’s socks on your floor?”

  And that’s when the dumbwaiter jerked and went on the move, taking Finn southward.

  Chapter 22

  #SillyRabbit

  “Shit!” Finn had no choice but to hold on as the dumbwaiter began to move, taking him past the second floor, and then the first . . . all the way to the basement. It was a bad flashback to the last time this had happened.

  Before he could catch his breath, the dumbwaiter door opened, and yep, he was in the basement. He had an audience too. Luis the janitor, Trudy the head of building cleaning services, Old Guy Eddie, Elle, Spence, and Spence’s two buddies Joe and Caleb all sat around a poker table smoking cigars and playing what looked like five-card stud.

  They stared at Finn—still in only his jeans, still holding his shirt and shoes—with various degrees of surprise and shock.

  Luis didn’t even blink, but then again the guy had lost a leg in Vietnam so not much rattled him. He just shook his head. “Some people never learn.”

  Trudy had been married to Luis—three times. They’d recently celebrated their third divorce, which meant they were already sleeping together again and probably thinking about their fourth wedding. Trudy took in Finn’s state of dress—or in this case undress—and her cigar fell out of her mouth.

  “Hot damn,” she said in a been-smoking-for-three-decades voice. “I didn’t even know they made real men that look like that!”

  Joe, the youngest one here at twenty-four, who’d MMA-ed his way through college for cash, lifted up his shirt to look down at his eight-pack. “Hey, I’m made like that too.”

  Spence snorted.

  “You’re drooling,” Elle told Trudy and tossed some money into the pot without giving Finn a second glance.

  Finn didn’t take this personally. Everyone knew Elle had a thing for Archer. Well, except for Elle herself. And also Archer . . .

  Eddie looked at Finn and then pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “You got your wallet on ya somewhere, kid?”

  “Yeah,” Finn said. Minus his emergency condom . . .

  “Well then get over here,” Eddie said. “We’ll deal ya in on the next round.”

  Finn looked down at himself. He thought about the night he’d had, how it had started out about as amazing as a night could get, how it’d ended up going south.

  Literally.

  “I’m raising thirty,” Elle said, mind on the game. Not much distracted Elle from her poker game.

  “You sure?” Spence asked her.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

  Spence just looked at her. He didn’t like to waste words but as one of the smartest guys Finn had ever met, he didn’t often need them.

  Caleb didn’t mind using his words. “Do you remember the last time we played?”

  Elle sighed. “Yeah, yeah, the last time I raised, I ended up signing over my firstborn to Spence. Good thing I’m not planning on having kids.” She blew out a breath and folded. “You’re right.”

  “What?” Spence asked, a hand curved around his ear.

  “I said you’re right!” Elle snapped.

  Spence gave a slow smile. “I heard you. I just wanted to hear it again. Can I get it in writing for posterity?”

  Elle flipped him off.

  This only made Spence grin. “Sticks and stones . . .”

  “How about a big, fat loss,” Elle griped. “Will that hurt you?” She looked around. “What the hell does a girl have to do to get a drink refill and to keep the game moving?”

  Joe scrambled to pour her a drink, infatuation in his gaze. Elle absently patted him on the head and went back to her cards. “You coming or not?” she demanded of Finn.

  That was Elle, always on a schedule. With a shrug, he tossed aside his shirt and shoes. What the hell. “Deal me in.”

  It was three in the morning before Finn staggered home and into bed, where he lay staring at the ceiling.

  He’d lost his ass in poker—damn Elle, she had balls of steel—and afterward he’d dragged himself to the pub to check in and help close. It’d been a busy night, too busy to keep one eye on the door for a certain brown-eyed beauty.

  Not that she’d shown up.

  Neither had Jake.

  Which meant that Finn had ground his back teeth into powder wondering if he’d been played. Or if he was overreacting. Or if he was a complete idiot . . .

  It’s just that he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d felt buried deep inside Pru, so deep that he couldn’t feel regret or pain. Could feel nothing but her soft body wrapped around him, her wet heat milking him dry, her mouth clinging to his like she’d never had anyone like him, ever.

  “Shit,” he muttered and flopped over, forcing his eyes closed. So she’d wanted to hide what they’d done. So what. He’d had a hell of an incredible time with her and that had been all he’d needed.

  Now it was back to the real world.

  He’d halfway convinced himself that he believed it when someone knocked on his door.

  In Finn’s experience, a middle-of-the-night knock on the door never equaled anything good. In the past, it’d meant his dad was dead. Or Sean needed bail money. Or there was a kitchen fire at the pub.

  Kicking off his covers, he shoved himself into the jeans he’d left on the floor. As he padded to the door, he shrugged into a shirt, looking out the peephole to brace himself.

  It wasn’t what he expected.

  Instead of a cop, it was a woman. The one woman who had the ability to turn him upside down and inside out. She was in jeans and a tee now, looking unsettled and anxious. Dammit. He pulled back and stared at the door.

  “Don’t make me beg,” Pru said through the wood.

  Resisting the urge to thunk his head against the door, he unlocked and opened up.

  Pru stared up at him, squinting through t