Prologue
Kennedy
It started with a dare…
I knew he was coming back for me. The inevitable ticking of our hearts counted down the hours until I could be his. He swore he’d wait for me. And, he did. Now that he’s in my life again, I’m not so sure I can keep him—not so sure I should. Everything is different now, an entire sea of secrets have filled the space between us, thick as the lies they are embedded in. There is nothing left for me to give him, and yet he has everything I need.
“I dare you to jump.” It was me who started this charade. I found Caleb in a tree high above the marsh, the murky lake below at uncertain depths, shirtless and tanned, his dimples approving of the situation before his smile could get there.
It took a moment for his eyes to snag on mine, and as soon as they did my adrenaline spiked, my stomach boiled with heat, my cheeks flushed. All of the classic signs of lust were present and accounted for. Whoever this boy was, I would make sure we were about to have one amazing summer.
He jumps from his perch onto dry land. Not terribly impressive, but, at least, I don’t need to flag down an EMT. It was a ridiculously dangerous dare to begin with. Most boys would have done it for me, but this one is careful, and, as he draws in closer, I can see he’s older, too—by five years? Eight?
“Caleb McCarthy.” He holds out a muscular arm. His abs are golden and well defined. I haven’t seen him around the lake before, but we’re littered with tourists this time of year.
“My name is Kennedy.” I accept his firm shake and match it with my own. “Did you say McCarthy? As in Warren McCarthy? My stepsister is dating him. He came in the mail as a part of the asshole-of-the-month-club.”
He gives a slight nod as if it’s yes on both accounts, but he’d rather not talk about it. Can’t say I blame him.
“Do you want to go for a swim?” His eyes drip down my body, raking over my bikini-bare flesh, hot as coals over a fire.
I shake my head offering my own nonverbal response.
“Good.” He takes a bold step forward, his eyes glowing like the pale western sky. “Neither do I.” His fingers brush over my cheek, sweeping the loose hairs off my face. He gives the briefest smile, his eyes suddenly drugged with ecstasy, growing heavy as he leans in close, so close.
His lips crush to mine, hard and greedy. His body sears over me, skin on skin, there is no bigger high.
A soft sigh escapes me as he responds with his own aching moan. His tongue mingles with mine, and then we’re lost in the best way possible. Caleb and I stay locked in that embrace, in that beautiful kiss with our mouths fused together for the better part of the summer, and then the summer after that, and a portion of the next. We are the lake’s best-kept secret. These kisses are a private reserve. This is a relationship born of an intimate charm, kisses in exchange for words, groping hands, lust as heavy as the summer haze. This is covert, classified, a cult built for two. We worship at the altar of one another’s mouths, lust after these combustible kisses until we collapse in each other’s arms. We draw the line at our lips, our gliding hungry hands, but we both crave something more, something deeper to sink our teeth into, something he could sink into me.
Caleb has become my favorite time of year, my favorite flavor, my favorite carnival ride. He is all I want all the time, even when he is gone.
But now Caleb is back, and he’s come to claim what’s his, but we were a forgery—a fraud in the truest sense. You don’t get to know someone too well with your tongue down their throat. And, deep down, I know I can never be laid bare for Caleb McCarthy to see.
Caleb wasn’t my only secret.
Caleb is back with those glowing western-sky eyes, that tan, fit body, those blessed-by-God abs. I don’t know how much longer I can stay away.
I have built a fortress of deceit around my world, but Caleb wants in. I wish I could warn him. I wish I could tell him to stay away—tell him that my life is a calamity, a disaster, a ruin in the making.
Caleb McCarthy doesn’t know how lucky he is to have been kept in the dark. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to not know the real me—after all, the sharper the lies, the darker the secrets.
Love in the First Degree
Kennedy
Caleb McCarthy isa tangible part of my past that has come back to haunt me—huntme. He’s been here for months—him watching me—me watching him. It’s a game stretched over razor wire, and both our feet are bleeding from traversing it. We are a masquerade of past secrets come to life. We have paraded around in our silence for so long, we don’t know what it means to fall in line with the crowd and be ourselves. We were almost lovers, the most desperate kind of relationship. I did love him, though. Yes, I did.
A steady stream of girls push against him all night, each one in her short party dress, her best assets on display for him to freely examine. There is no shortage of women interested in Caleb tonight, or any other night. He is in demand, fresh meat, an import, if you will, to Loveless. His newness, his novelty, makes him valuable. He glitters in the eyes of the estrogen sect. Women of all ages and stages of life cast him a lingering glance as the party rages on.
A beautiful brunette with a short dress (that might as well qualify as a T-shirt) and a pair of matching gladiator sandals (that absolutely need to find their way into my closet) whisks him into the crowd like a stowaway. Her arm slowly slips around his waist, and I frown at the tramp who openly made me lust after her shoes. God only knows what part of her Caleb is lusting after. And, yet, the party doesn’t stop at that single trashy brunette. Caleb has his choice of rainbow-colored girls with their glossy hair, and glossy lips, with their matching mani-pedis accented with tiny Hawaiian flowers, encrusted with tiny glued on jewels. The leggy blondes, the busty brunettes are out and about in aggressive force. Loveless is a bachelor’s utopia, at least for tonight.
A crisp breeze swims through my bare legs as I watch the ducks fly over the lake in a V formation. It takes everything I have to fake the jubilance I’ve been exhibiting all night. I wouldn’t dare let him see me with my guard down—the real me, with the dead eyes, who simply wants to stare at the birds. I force a desperate grin as I sway to the music, alone, just the way I like it.
“How about we dance?” A deep voice asks from behind, and I spin into him. My stomach squeezes tight. A hot pang of wild lust-fueled excitement bursts through my chest. Here it is, that constant slow yearning, that constant ache, the stirring of my soul, my heart, and my hormones whenever he’s around.
Caleb’s eyes widen a bright robin’s egg blue. Caleb McCarthy is the only person I know whose eyes change colors depending on his mood. He’s curious now, hopeful, mostly content and feeling in control, but I’m about to tear all of that away from him.
“You know”—he inches in, that devilish grin blooming on his face—“my body and yours pressed up close together, hardly moving, cheek to cheek—mouth to mouth if you’d like.”
