Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)

Afterwards, we lie on the floor of her office. Me on my back, one arm behind my head, the other wrapped around her waist. She’s lying on my chest in the picturesque postcoital position. About halfway through our tangle of hard sex, we started making love. We can’t avoid it. Everything with us eventually becomes emotional — even when we try not to make it that way. I am replaying every warm second of it in my head.

“I think I’m sexually addicted to you.”

“It’s just the newness of it,” she says, “because we never did it before.”

“Why do you always try to downplay my feelings for you?”

“I don’t trust them,” she says after a minute. “You claim that you love me, but you’ve loved other women in between.”

“You pushed me away, Duchess. I’m a human being. I was trying to find someone to replace you.”

“What about Leah? You married her.”

I sigh. “Guilt. I dragged her into something, she fell in love with me, and then I lied to her about the amnesia. I felt like the only way to make up for everything I did was to marry her.”

She’s very still in my arms. I wish I could see her face, but I want to give her privacy to deal with my words.

My heart. If my heart had knees that’s where it would be — doubled over, throbbing from the pain. I pull my arm from behind my head and rub my eyes.

“Olivia…” my voice catches.

I want her to demand the whole story, make me relive the seconds that changed both of our lives, but she pulls her fingers away and darts up to kiss me. Sliding on top of me, she reaches a hand between us, and I forget everything — everything except us.





The door was slightly ajar when I arrived. I was about to knock when it swung open and a man came out carrying a garbage bag. I stepped back, too startled to speak. My thoughts spun in a hundred directions. He wasn’t her type. I was going to kill him. Why was he taking out her trash? Did he sleep here often? I waited for him to look up, thinking every man deserved a chance to explain himself before he got the shit beat out of him.

He was mildly startled to see me standing in front of him. He looked past me to see if I was with someone else, and then said, “Help you?”

He hadn’t pulled the door to Olivia’s apartment closed, and I could see inside.

Empty.

I felt the air leave my lungs. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back. No, no, no.

I walked away, my hands in my hair and circled back to where maintenance was looking at me curiously. My instant jealousy had caused me to miss the uniform and name badge. Why did I leave her? Why didn’t I just stay? I knew she did this. She ran when she was afraid. I thought — what had I thought? That I could keep her because we’d made love? That her demons wouldn’t find her in the orange grove where I’d sold my soul to be with her?

I eyed the badge clipped to the front of his shirt.

“Miguel.” My voice sounded raw even to my ears. Miguel raised his eyebrows as he watched me struggle with a sentence. “When did she — how long?”

“This one’s been open for twenty-four hours,” he said, referring to the apartment behind him. “We have a waiting list. Have to make it ready for next tenants.”

Twenty-four hours? Where did she go? Did she leave right away? Did something scare her away?

I ran a hand through my hair. I’d left her just two days earlier to go settle my affairs. I danced with her in the parking lot before I left. She tried to tell me the truth, but I stopped her. When she found out about the amnesia, she’d think of every possible reason to run from me. I’d planned on locking her in the apartment, making love to her again and convincing her that we could make it work. But, first I had loose ends to tie up.

I’d left Olivia and gone straight to Leah’s townhouse. When she opened the door, I could tell she’d been crying. It took me thirty minutes to break her heart. It hurt me to do it. She had done nothing to deserve what I was doing to her. I told her I’d met someone. She didn’t ask who, though I suspected she knew since she’d followed me to Olivia’s apartment a few weeks earlier. Before I left, I kissed her forehead. I didn’t tell her about the amnesia. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had.

I went to my condo next. As I stood under the shower, I thought of our week together. I thought of the orange grove, the way she tasted, the way her skin felt like cold satin beneath my fingers. When my mind went to that first moment of being inside her, the way her eyes had widened and her lips had parted, I had to blast myself with cold water.

She’d given me everything — everything she’d held back before. She was different. She was also the same. Stubborn, defiant … full of lies.

I tried to break her before. Now, I just wanted her as she was. I wanted every last beautiful flaw. I wanted the witty one-liners and the coldness that only I knew how to warm. I wanted the fight and the friction and the make-up sex. I wanted her to wake up in my bed every morning. I wanted her shitty cooking and her beautiful, complex mind.

I’d gone back on everything I believed, to be with her. I threw truth out the window. I was so afraid she’d forget about me, I’d lied to sneak back into her life. Now, I had inordinate amounts of explaining to do.

I looked at Miguel. He suddenly seemed like my last remaining tie to her.

“Did she leave anything? A note … anything?”

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck. “No, man.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

He sucked his teeth. “I’m just maintenance. They don’t exactly give me a forwarding address.” He looked around to make sure we were alone. “But, if she did leave something it would be in this black garbage bag, which I’m going to set right here while I do a run-through of the apartment.”

He dropped the bag on the floor and gave me a look before stepping back into the apartment and closing the door behind him.

I picked it up, weighed it in my hand. It was light. Had she left me something, telling me where she’d gone? Had Jim come back and scared her off? Had he told her? I knelt down and turned the bag over, dumping its contents on the concrete. I was sweating and my hands were damp as I sifted through the trash. Ripped up papers, broken glass, crushed flower petals … what was I looking for? A letter? Olivia would never write me a letter. It wasn’t her style. This was her style — leaving me without notice, throwing me in the fire to burn. I tossed the bag. Half of my heart was breaking; the other half was hell f*cking angry. As the bag fluttered to the ground, I heard the slight tinkering of something hitting the floor. My eyes scanned the concrete, desperate for anything that would lead me to her.

I found it lying between my feet.

A penny.

Had she left it for me, or had she just left it? I picked it up, held it between my fingers. The once shiny surface had the slightly green tinge of aging copper. This was her goodbye? I felt anger and more than anger, I felt confusion. What had I done? The orange grove, the kiss in the parking lot before I left. I’d been so sure of what I felt for her … what she felt for me. There was no way Olivia would have given herself to me if she wasn’t sure of us. Then why? WHY?

I walked to the edge of the parking lot and lifted my fist, the penny pressing against my palm. Toss it, I told myself. My muscles tensed to throw it.

I couldn’t do it. My hand dropped to my side. I put the penny in my pocket and drove home.





She drives me to my car just as the sun starts to come up. Neither of us wanted to leave, but we were both afraid that Bernie would decide to come into the office on a Saturday.

“You’re going to get depressed later,” I tell her when we pull into the Fossy parking lot. “You’ll hate yourself and have a good cry, and then you’ll go to the grocery store and buy ice cream. Don’t.”

She looks at me with big eyes, and I can see the guilt is already starting to creep in.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says. “But, that was very wrong and very unfair to Noah.”

“He left you.”

“Yes.”

“Because you want a baby and he doesn’t.”

“Yes,” she says again.

“And before he left, how often was he around?”

She’s quiet for a long time.

“It’s like he thought he could be married on his terms. Have you at home for when it was convenient for him, but he’s never been there for you.”

“Stop.”

I grab her wrist and hold it. “Why didn’t he come back when Dobson escaped from that damn institution?”

“He said they’d catch him. To sit tight and trust the police.”

“Exactly. He was supposed to protect you. That was his job. He should have been on a plane the minute he found out.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, shaking her head. “He knows I’m tough. He knows I can take care of myself.”

I make a disgusted noise in the back of my throat. This is sad.

“Listen to me,” I grab her face so she has to look at me when I say this, “I know you don’t know this because your dad was a useless shit, and he never did anything to show you how you need to be treated. But you are valuable enough for any and every man in your life to drop everything to protect you. You shouldn’t have to be forced to be strong on your own because no one will stand with you. Your dad failed you. Noah failed you. I will not fail you again.”

I kiss her on the forehead just as she sheds a tear. Just one.



“Round and round and round we go, Olivia. This is about you and me, not you and Noah. Just take a few weeks. Spend some time with me. No decisions until it’s a fair decision.”

“The fair decision would be to do what’s right-”

I cut her off. “For you. Yes, do what’s right for you. Give me some time to show you.”

She opens her pink lips to shoot some venom at me.

“Hush,” I say. “Pack an overnight bag. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“I can’t just take off with you! I have a job!”

“I know you took some time off. Bernie told me.”

Olivia looks flabbergasted. “Bernie? When did you talk to Bernie?”

“I ran into her at the grocery store. She was worried about you.”

Her mouth is open. She shakes her head like the idea that anyone is worried about her is ludicrous.

“I’m fine,” she says firmly.

I grab her wrist and pull her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “No, you’re not. I’m your soulmate. I’m the only one who knows how to heal you.”

She slaps me away, and when I let go, instead of pulling away, she buries her face in my chest like she’s trying to burrow herself into me. I rewrap her in a hug, trying not to laugh.

“Come on, Duchess. It’ll be like the camping trip.”

“Yeah, it’ll be just like that.” Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Except you won’t be lying about having amnesia, and I won’t be lying about not knowing you, and your redheaded bitch of a girlfriend won’t be trashing my apartment while we’re gone.”

I squeeze her tighter. It makes me sick that Leah did that. The things she’s done to keep Olivia and me apart are especially twisted. Almost as twisted as the things I’ve done to keep us together. I grimace and grip her by the shoulders, pulling her away so I can see her face.

“What do you say? Yes?”

“How long will we be gone?”

I think about it. “Four days.”

She shakes her head. “Two.”

“Three,” I counter. “We have to use one of those days for travel.”

She cocks her head and frowns at me. “We’re not really going camping, are we? Because, every time we do — we have some type of emotional catalyst, and I really don’t think I can handle-”

I put a hand over her mouth. “No camping. Pack something nice to wear. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight A.M.”

“Okay.” She tries to act nonchalant, but I can tell she’s excited.

I kiss her forehead. “Bye, Duchess. See you soon.”

I leave without looking back at her. I have no idea where I’m taking her, and I can’t lie and say camping didn’t cross my mind. But, as soon as she reminded me that both of our camping trips went to shit, I tossed the idea. She needed something to remind her how good we were together, not about the games we played. I pull out my phone as I climb into my car. I know the perfect place and it’s only a few hours away.



I knock on her door at 7:45.

“Always early,” she complains when she opens it. Her bag is in her hand. I take it and look her over. She’s wearing faded jeans and a fitted Marlins t-shirt. Her hair is wet and loose around her face.

She sees me eyeing her shirt and she shrugs. “I went to a game,” she says. I catch the defensiveness in her voice and I smirk.

“What?” she says, slapping me on the arm. “I like sport.”

“First of all, I’m the British one, not you. It’s sports. Second, you hate sports and sport and athletes. As I recall, you once told me that professional athletes were a waste of space.”

The corner of her mouth dips in as she frowns. “Noah likes baseball. I was being supportive.”

“Ah.”

I feel jealous, so I turn away and walk to the elevator with her bag while she locks up.

We ride downstairs in silence; standing so close the sides of our hands are touching. When the doors slide open, we don’t immediately step out.



“How long will the drive take?” she asks as she lowers herself into my car.

“We’re not driving,” I say.

She shakes her head, one eyebrow raised.

“You’ll see. Just sit back and relax. We’ll be there soon.”

She gives me a dirty look and turns on the radio. I hand her my iPod and she scrolls until she finds Coldplay.

“You’re crazy and erratic and mean, but I’ll never complain about your taste in music.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, setting down the iPod and staring at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be charming me this weekend?”

I grab her knee and squeeze. “That’s what I’m doing, Duchess. A compliment with an insult. Just the way you like it.”

She smacks my hand away, but she’s smiling.