He goes over to a side table and pours himself a few fingers of scotch. Then he slouches into an overstuffed armchair, looking comfortable and at ease, the exact opposite of me.
“You know if you do this, your sisters will never forgive you.”
It’s definitely a last-ditch effort.
“And you know if I don’t, my brothers will never forgive me. My sisters are far more forgiving.”
Lovely.
“Now start stripping, before I do it for you, and believe me… you don’t want that.”
My fingers fumble over fabric, and I'm well aware of the rigid line of his cock, the way his eyes are half-lidded, as if he can't hold back his lust.
I feel like a total jerk for writing these books about his Clan, for putting them in any type of dangerous situation. And now I want to tell him. But I don't speak while I take off my clothes down to my knickers and bra. I just start stripping, letting them fall to the floor in a puddle. Fabric glides over my naked skin, heightening my senses as he undresses me along with his eyes.
I’m squirming under his gaze, and it surprises me how wobbly my voice is. I feel suddenly like I'm under a spotlight, as if there’s nothing in the world more mortifying than taking off my clothes and standing half-naked in front of Tate Cowen.
I'm a curvy girl, with pretty big tits, and an arse to boot. I cover things up with scarves and flowy clothes and leggings and whatnot, and I never go to the beach in anything less than a simple black one-piece suit and a little dress to cover things up.
I'm no virgin. I've slept around quite a bit, because… well, I like sex. But I like sex in a darkened room, and it helps if the guy I’m with has had a few drinks, because men are a lot less picky when they're horny and drunk. That sounds desperate, but it’s just pragmatic.
And honestly? None of the men I've ever been with have looked like Tate. I mean, these Cowen men must have genes that go back to the gods. It might be why I'm a little infatuated with Tate.
So stripping? It’s a little uncomfortable. I'm brutally aware of the dimples in my thighs, the rolls at my tummy, and the way there's a little divot in my back because of… you know, back fat. I'm a normal lass. Every once in a while, I'll get a wild hair and do a couple of crunches, but everyone knows that doesn't do much when it's once in a blue moon.
But right now, when I'm standing here in front of Tate, and he's sipping his drink like he's about to watch a peep show, I'm suddenly wishing that I did squats a little more than once a fortnight. I'm suddenly wishing that his beautiful house wasn't so fucking well-lit.
"Look at me while you strip," he orders. “Do not break eye contact with me.”
"So we crossed that line, have we?"
"Oh, yes."
I hold his gaze. He's the first one to break it, as he drags his gaze down my full body from my neck to my toes, then slowly, ever so slowly, back up again.
He puts his glass down. Stares at me. "Now, tell me the fucking truth."
Does he think that being clothes-less makes me want to fess up?
"Which truth is that?"
"All of it."
There's no use in pretending anymore. There's no use in holding back. I don't know why I ever did. It's time for me to give him nothing but the bold, honest truth, like I've sort of been wanting to do anyway.
So I'll get in trouble. So I'll be punished, whatever that entails. But I can't hold back anymore. I've taken this way too fucking far.
And I don’t want to lie anymore. I want to face the consequences… then deal with the aftermath, whatever that may be.
I draw in a deep breath. Let it out again.
Fine, then.
"It was me. I wrote the books. I didn't want to tell you the truth because it's embarrassing to admit. I never meant for them to sell as well as they did, but once they did, I couldn't stop, because they’re my bread and butter. I make crap for money at the bookstore, and because of… reasons… I need the money.” He doesn’t need to know all that.
It’s like now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “So I kept writing the books, and I told myself that it was okay because they cast a really positive light on all of you. I also told myself that they were really cute, that you guys were all just sort of inspiration for these books."
He’s not surprised as he looks at me, and he doesn't say a word. His jaw is tight.
