Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

My vision blurs, and I start to see my life slipping through the grip of his fingertips.

He’s really going to kill me…

My heart begins to slow, and I lose sensation in my fingers. I feel my leg muscles going weak, then my arms.

Right as I’m succumbing to the end—seeing a light haze everywhere, Michael’s eyes flutter open. They meet mine, and his recognition of the hands grabbing my neck is instant. He looks at me in utter horror, immediately letting me go.

I suck in several hard-fought breaths and stumble off him.

“Meredith…” he says, looking remorseful and embarrassed. “Meredith, I’m—”

I don’t give him a chance to finish.

I get up and rush the hell away from him, toward my bedroom. Right when I’m grabbing the doorknob, I feel him gently grabbing my waist from behind, picking me up and sweeping me off my feet.

He carries me through his bedroom and into the master bathroom suite. Carefully setting me onto the edge of the tub, he looks into my eyes—his gaze extremely apologetic.

As if he’s unsure of what to say first, he grabs both my hands and looks into my eyes. He stares at me for what feels like forever, looking just as hurt as I feel.

“I would never hurt you, Meredith,” he says, his voice low. “I had no idea what I was doing…No idea it was you.”

Who the hell else would it be? I don’t respond to him. I have no words to say.

“This is why I always left you in the middle of the night,” he says, cupping my face in his hands—using his thumbs to catch my tears as they continue to fall. “I never wanted you to see me like that.”

I still don’t answer, but now that I think about it, I’ve never seen this man sleep once. Even when I fell asleep in his arms, I always felt like he was on edge, always awake and listening to every sound. And any time I woke up, his green eyes were already staring into mine and waiting to start the day.

“You have to know that I didn’t mean to do that,” he says.

“No. I don’t.” I shake my head. “I really don’t know who the hell you are.”

“You know me better than anyone else I’ve ever been with…” He steps back and grabs a small towel. Then he holds it under a running tap. “I’ve told you a lot more than what I originally planned.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a twin brother.”

He ignores my comment and gently pushes my head to the side—examining the pink marks that the pressure of his fingers left in my skin. Through the mirror, I can see the look of shame on his face as he soothes me with the cold towel.

“I lost something years ago,” he says softly. “It’s been affecting me ever since, and not a single day has gone by that I’ve forgotten.”

“Is it an ex you loved? A child?”

“No,” he says, pressing the towel against me again. “It’s not someone, just something.”

For several seconds, we don’t speak. The silent seconds stretch into minutes, the minutes stretch into moments. Moments of him using the towel to try to make up for what he’s done.

When he finally sets it down, he kisses my neck—softly darting his tongue against every soft spot where his fingers once tightened against my skin.

“I’m sorry, Meredith,” he says.

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I don’t expect you to…” He runs his fingers through my hair, and as much as I want to push at him and walk away, I can’t. “I think you should let me help you feel better, though.”

“I can do that myself.”

“Can you?”

He slides a hand between my thighs and my skin heats. My body immediately reacts and I have the sudden urge to taste his lips.

“Answer me…” he says, sliding his hand under the band of my panties.

“Just because my body reacts to you, doesn’t mean that I want you.”

“Do you honestly mean that?”

“I should.” I suck in a breath as he rubs my clit, making it swell in anticipation against the pad of his thumb. “I should…but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t.”

He presses his lips against my inner thigh and begins kissing a heated trail up my skin—pushing back the silk of my slip with every mark of his lips. Gazing up at me with his stunning green eyes every few seconds, he takes his time rendering me speechless.

Gently slipping his hands under my legs, he slides a finger under the band of my panties and pulls them off in one smooth motion. They fall to the floor in a pool of black silk, and he picks them up and stuffs them into the pocket of his briefs; his former, not-so-subtle way of telling me that my pussy belongs to him.

“Sit up for me,” he says, his voice low.