Page 26 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

TWELVE

ALL OF YOU

Still Into You by Ashley Tisdale and Chris French & Talk by Khalid

Nellie

We arrive at Gus’ place, an upscale penthouse loft in a modern and beautiful building by the beach.

I walk straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the water, offering panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Jacksonville Beach is about an hour from Baker Oaks, so not too far, but also far away enough for privacy—the perfect distance to keep the nosy neighbors out of my business.

The last thing I need is for someone to tell my parents I was sneaking around town with Gus.

It’s late, so the light pouring through the window is misty and subtle from the full moon but breathtaking.

I’m sure sunrises here must be stunning, and I can’t wait to see, assuming I’m sleeping here.

I turn around, walking to the living room, where Gus pours me a glass of wine and himself a glass of water.

I step closer, around the beautiful cream-colored furniture I missed when my eyes were locked on the ocean.

Sometimes, I feel like I was made of ocean water and salt, a droplet planted in my mom’s belly to grow with feet on the ground, but my soul belongs to the water.

I never feel more peaceful than when I swim, especially if it’s in the ocean, but sometimes, just looking at it, hearing its waves, is calming.

“Thank you,” I say, grabbing the glass of chilled wine he offers me.

“Hold on here. I’ll be right back.” He disappears behind a giant wooden door, leaving me alone in the quiet of his living room with my wine.

I take the time to pace around, looking at what seems like minimalist art on the wall, but when I get closer, I see they’re paintings.

They’re paint-by-number paintings of beautiful landscapes, all in different shades of black and gray.

A lion, a zebra, a jungle, and, wait—is that a naked woman?

“La Ciguapa. A Dominican urban legend,” Gus says from behind me, his steps getting closer.

I can’t keep my eyes away from the painting.

He stands right behind me and places his chin on my shoulder, sliding his hand over my hip.

“Legend says, she’ll drive men astray to their demise.

This is an ode to her.” His accent is beautiful.

He has a certain way he says words, a flirty cadence that comes subconsciously.

But when he speaks Spanish, his first language, the way he speaks mixes effortlessly with his voice, and goddamn it, if I don’t love that. I could listen to him talk for hours.

“You painted these?” I ask, pointing at all the pictures.

“I did. I like to paint on quiet nights, but I’m not great at it.

Painting by number comes in handy.” Painting by numbers or not, these are stunning.

I turn around to face him, taking another sip of the wine.

It’s almost floral, with a sweet undertone, but it’s absolutely perfect.

Cold and crisp. He takes the glass from my hand, placing it on the table next to him.

“Turn around,” he commands, and I listen.

His hands linger on my hips and slowly slide up my ass to my back.

His breathing is slow next to my neck, and when I think he’s going to kiss me, I hear a quick zipping noise, and the dress immediately loosens around me.

He pulls it off my shoulders and lets it fall into the ground.

I’m not wearing a bra, and he kept my underwear, so I stand naked in front of him.

“Arms up,” he orders, and without asking any questions, I obey.

Quickly, I feel fabric draped over me and around my arms. I lower them and look down at the soft t-shirt he put on me.

He brings his hands to my shoulders, turning me around and bringing his hands up to my neck.

He pulls me closer and kisses me, his hand holding the nape of my neck and sliding into my hair, tugging gently.

He stops, lowering to the floor and helping me step through a pair of his boxer briefs. They’re too loose on me, but they stay.

“As much as I wanted to keep seeing you in that stunning dress, I figured you wanted to be comfortable. Come on, let’s sit.” He hands me my wine and holds my opposite hand as he guides us outside through the glass doors to the terrace.

The warm, salty breeze caresses my cheeks as I sit in the chair across from Gus. He looks out into the water for a moment, just a split second, long enough for me to see his stunning features before he looks back at me.

“We need to talk, Nellie.” Okay, straight to the point.

“I guess we do. You go first,” I add, sinking into the chair and taking another sip of wine.

He lowers down, grabbing my left leg and lifting it onto his lap.

His hands brush against my skin as he unbuckles my shoe, sliding it off my foot and placing it on the ground with a soft thud.

His full lips are closed tight, and his beautiful thick dark eyebrows furrow as he focuses and does it again with the other.

My feet rest on his lap as he relaxes, loosening his tie and sliding it off his neck.

I didn’t notice how, even though I’m completely stripped from the gala clothes and in utter comfort, Gus is still fully dressed.

“You can take your shoes off too, you know? I could’ve taken mine off myself,” I quip.

“Ladies first,” he replies, winking at me and placing his jacket on top of the side table.

The gentle warm breeze caresses my skin, and I break out into goosebumps immediately.

Gus, of course, notices and hands me the jacket.

Without dropping my feet from his lap, I take it and drape it around my shoulders.

“You want to talk, Gus. Talk.” I’m done with the slow and careful movements.

“What happened?” he asks directly, as if he’s being as clear as day.

“When? Today? We established that. You had a blonde draped around your arm, and I got stupid jealous, used all your money, and then you ended up going down on me in a closet.” I take another sip of the wine and cross my arms over my chest.

“Not all my money,” he replies, but all I do is smile. “You were jealous?” he asks with a smirk, and I roll my eyes. Jealous? Irrationally so. I was seeing red. It took me ten seconds to realize it, and I did something about it.

“Yes, yes, I was. I know it’s dumb, because it’s not like you and I are exactly anything, but again, here we are.”

“Don’t do that,” he replies. Is he going to be using more words today, or is he just going to give me the bare minimum?

“Don’t do what, Augusto?”

“Don’t dismiss what we are, and don’t call me Augusto, please.”

“Should I call you my dirty little secret instead?” I ask. I know I’m playing it cool. I know I’m acting nonchalant, but he’s so tense, this is the only thing that will get him to relax. When his shoulders sag and he narrows his eyes, I know I’m breaking through those thick walls.

“Is that what I am to you? A dirty little secret?” He looks hurt, but he quickly masks it with indifference, gently raising an eyebrow. He’s asking me to be honest while he’s hiding behind his questions and his carefully chosen words.

“Is that all you want to be? Answer carefully, Gus.” Last time we talked, I did brush him off. I was taken aback by everything that happened in the Dominican. Too much, too soon, too fast. Damn it, Nellie. You should be telling him this, not yourself.

He rubs his face with one hand as he shakes it no. “I thought it was, but it’s not. I don’t know what I’m doing here, Nellie, but I would like to be more than just a dirty little secret to you. I want to see where this can take us.”

“And it took you a month to figure it out?” I ask. Maybe mean and bitchy is his kryptonite, because flirty and sexy just gets him to have sex with me. This Nellie, the spitfire, the won’t-hold-anything-back Nellie is getting him to tell me the truth.

“It took me a month to muster the courage to ask. I’m pretty sure I knew the night we danced two months ago.

We can take it slow, but I would like to get to know you better.

” He smiles softly, and it reaches his eyes.

He smiles often, at his friends, at his family, at me, but they’re all different smiles.

This one is sweet, tentative, and maybe even a little shy.

It’s the first time all night that it dawned on me—he might be scared too.

“What about our families?” I ask, trying to gather as much information as I can. If he needs questions to answer, I’m happy to provide them.

“What about you?” His rebuttal comes quick as he sits up and places his hands on my ankles. “What do you want?”

I feel his question bouncing in the walls of my brain, hitting each side like the choices are playing ping pong in my head.

“I don’t know what I want,” I answer, barely a whisper, because I’m not even sure I myself believe that statement.

“I think you do know what you want, and you just got scared. I’m sorry you had to witness that, Nellie.

I am. However…if you’re not willing to look past it, then this—” he points between us with urgency—“is doomed. My medical emergencies are part of who I am. I don’t show those parts to everyone, but you’re not just anyone.

I’m not trying to scare you, but if we’re giving this a try, I need to know you’re all in. So, I ask you again: what do you want?”