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Grace Jamison had left the little town of Everly twelve years ago with her son and vowed never to return. But in order to move on with her future, she finds she has to return to her hometown and fix the wrongs of the past— starting with the only man who had the power to
The last person Trick Burnett wanted to see on West End property was his adulterous one time stepmother; the woman responsible for his father’s murder. Too bad his body seemed to have a mind of its own where Grace was concerned.
Trick hated secrets and Grace was a walking cache of them. He wasn’t above committing sexual blackmail in order to trick the truth from her time and again. Her sweet responsiveness always left him hungry for more until the mere revelation of her dark secrets was no longer enough. He couldn’t rest until he had everything from her—mind, body and soul.
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“Like hell you will.”
“Like hell we will,” she countered in a tone that was just as quietly confident as his had been sarcastic.
He gave a bark of disbelieving laughter. “You plan on bringing up an innocent kid in a town where you’re known as a murderess and a whore?”
“I never killed anyone and you know it, Trick.”
“Same as,” he muttered darkly.
She jumped in alarm when she felt his hand on the side of her neck.
“What are you up to?” he grated out through clenched teeth. “Just get it out in the open. What do you want from me?”
“I’m not ready to tell you yet.”
For the second time that night her answer seemed to catch him off guard. His nostrils flared and fury gleamed in his eyes.
“Not up to talking right now, is that it?” he asked in a misleadingly calm, low voice. “Knowing your ways, you’re probably a lot more ready for this.”
Her gasp of shock was stifled when his mouth covered hers. She instinctively twisted her jaw to escape him but her chin encountered his large, strong hands in both directions. He crushed her lips painfully against her teeth. When she tried to cry out in protest he slid his tongue into her mouth. Tears squeezed past her clenched eyelids as he began to thrust and sweep his tongue everywhere—against her teeth, far into her depths, along her lips—in a manner meant to humiliate as much as to thoroughly dominate.
Grace pushed against his shoulders and chest wildly but she might as well have been fighting a mountain. In a moment of blind desperation she formed a fist and pounded it against his ribs and hard stomach. He responded by snaking one hand up along her scalp and pinning her in place for his pillaging tongue, gripping her hair between his fingers, and encircling her wrist with his freed hand.
Trick barely registered her surprised grunt when he backed her against the wall of the cottage and forced her captive hand up to rest next to her ear. With her head more upright and their disparate heights it became a difficult angle for him to maintain the pressure of his marauding kiss. He suddenly wanted…no, needed to drown himself in her taste.
With a sound of impatience he grabbed beneath her armpits and lifted her slight weight onto his bent knee and thigh. A low growl of savage satisfaction vibrated his throat as he plunged his tongue again unrestrainedly into her honeyed depths. He promptly forgot his original intent to humiliate her as animal lust pounded through his veins.
Grace wasn’t sure at what point she stopped fighting him. She just knew by the time he flexed the hands beneath her arms into the sides of her breasts she was already growing torpid as heat swept from beneath his mouth and fingers down her belly and pooled like a liquid ache at her sex.
He pressed his hips into her at a slightly upward angle. She resisted the pressure, grinding her pelvis into his.
He felt hot, hard, elementally male…like an irresistible force of nature.
Trick’s lips began to mold and sip when formerly they had crushed and bruised. His tongue sought and caressed when before it had dominated and plundered. His palms shaped themselves languorously around firm, thrusting, succulent breasts.
He paused when he registered her soft cry. Instead of hosing down his violent lust with the equivalent of ice water like such a plaintive cry logically should have, it conversely inflamed him further. The realization acted like an alarm jolting into his awareness.
A groan roughened by anger and lust vibrated deep in his chest as he tore his mouth from hers.
For a few suspended seconds their escalated breaths mingled.
“It doesn’t take much to turn you into a bitch in heat, does it?”
She inhaled unevenly, instinctively pushing down the sharp pain that pierced her with his words. What could she say? He wasn’t half wrong. How could she have allowed herself to respond so wholeheartedly to him when his only intent had been to punish and subjugate her to his will?
Trick pushed himself away from her as if he’d just woken from a jaunt of sleepwalking and found himself French-kissing a cobra.
“I’m calling Grayson first thing in the morning. Don’t bother unpacking your bags. You’re going to be out of here by noon tomorrow. There isn’t a court in the country that would force me to live on the same property with my father’s murderer.”
Grace struggled to regain her former composure despite the anxiety his threat caused. “That would be a great speech if it was true. But it’s not. Your father’s murderer is locked up in Bloomington Correctional Facility.”
“Still pining for him? Does old Len get conjugal visits up there in the pen? From the way you were sucking on my tongue just now, I’d guess they’re nowhere near sufficient for cooling your blood. But then again, everyone in Trenton County knows just one man never could keep you satisfied.”
Grace hunched over, instinctively guarding her spiritual wounds as she stepped away from the wall. Weariness assailed her. “Not that I think you were asking for any other reason than to insult me, but I have seen Leonard several times over the years. He deeply regrets what he did to your father, not that it can ever be excused.”
Trick’s lip curled in renewed fury. “Yeah? Amazing, isn’t it? How much regret can be inspired in a little weasel like Len Mallet when he’s surrounded day in and day out by four concrete walls and nothing but three hundred pound sociopaths who probably think he’s as pretty and as fun to play with as you do?”
A tense silence followed his blistering comment.
Eventually Grace spoke. “I’ve talked with my lawyer, Trick. I have every right to be here. I own the Widow’s Cottage.”
“You don’t own the rest of the property though,” he said coldly. “How are you going to get to the cottage? Where are you going to park? Where are you going to put your garbage? Where’s the kid going to play?”
“How can you be so cruel? Randy’s your own brother. He’s a child. He doesn’t deserve even a hint of your contempt!”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you dragged him into this self-serving scheme of yours. You’re fucking with the wrong man. So why don’t you just high-tail it back to whatever trailer park you and your kin call home these days,” Trick said with icy finality before he turned and left her standing alone on the Widow’s Cottage front porch.
Read the Reviews
TRICKED TRUTHS is a prime example of Beth Kery’s exceptional writing abilities. The story drew me in and I couldn’t put it down until I had read the final word.
5 Stars Romance Junkies Reviews