Read Tell Me a Truth (The Story Series Book 5) Online
Authors: Tamara Lush
Tell Me a Truth (The Story Series Book 5) (11 page)
My beautiful husband caught my gaze and winked. I winked back and beamed at him, then blew him a kiss.
He blew one back, then beckoned to me with his finger.
I went to him, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Colin was talking about something, but I wasn’t listening. I tilted my head up to my husband and grinned.
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, ignoring Colin’s story. “Kiss me.”
I did, in front of everyone. I snuggled into Caleb’s side, surrounded by his love. Love like I used to feel, plus a new, more complex emotion. Something deep and profound.
Was this what marriage was about? Moments of intense connection and stretches of hell and bouts of clarity? Did you suddenly remember all of the wonderful things and the long-buried memories about the person you loved? Did everything amazing come rushing back, right when you were at the bleakest point?
None of the questions mattered, really, as long as Caleb and I had returned.
To each other.
THE END
Keep reading for a preview of Constant Craving, a new serial novel by Tamara Lush, available in early 2017.
T
engo hambre de tu boca
, de tu voz, de tu pelo . . .
Those were the first words I heard Rafael say.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair . . .
On a warm October day, he stood at the front of the University of Miami classroom, reciting Pablo Neruda’s most erotic poem in both Spanish and English.
No me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia . . .
Rafael was a little skinny and wore faded jeans and a plain black t-shirt. The dark stubble on his face, combined with his black eyebrows, dark eyelashes and short black hair, made him look like the devil’s best student. A flashing red hazard to my heart.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day . . .
As he spoke, Rafael stared. At me. I was sitting in the second row. His eyes were so filled with possessive desire that I longed to kneel at his feet and beg him to do anything he wanted with my body and soul.
Busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día.
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
When he finished speaking, Rafael watched me, his mouth open in a half-smile, one that held the promise of pleasure.
I was breathless. Hypnotized.
“Thank you, Mr. Menendez. Justine Lavoie, you’re next,” the professor called out, startling me enough so that I hurriedly gathered my papers. One fell to the floor, and I scrambled to retrieve it, scooping it up with shaking fingers.
Stepping to the front of the room, I passed Rafael as he took his seat. I swallowed hard when our eyes met for a quick second. My mouth was uncomfortably moist and I folded my arms. I was aware of how my vintage black and rose-printed Betsey Johnson slip dress and black flip-flops rubbed against my skin and would’ve liked to strip everything off. Rafael’s gaze made me feel naked. Made me want to be naked. With him.
“Please tell us the title of the Neruda poem you’re reading,” said the professor.
“I’ve selected Sonnet Seventeen,” I replied in a shaky voice, staring at the ground.
“Uncross your arms. And you’re going to have to speak louder. Remember, this is a public speaking class. Not a public whispering class.”
The few students who bothered to pay attention laughed and I raised my eyes toward Rafael. He slouched low in his chair, his long legs sprawling and taking up space in the front row. His lips curved upward and built into a sensual smile.
With a deep breath, I began.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
Rafael consumed me with long, slow glances as I recited the poem. His lips parted and I caught sight of his tongue in the corner of his mouth. By the time I reached the second sentence, I smiled. A secret, just for him. It was as if we were the only two people in the room.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
When class ended, I hurried outside into the white-bright Florida sun, shivering with restless longing. A hand gently grabbed my wrist and the fine hair on my nape trembled.
“Justine?” he asked, his voice gentle and flecked with a slight Spanish accent.
“Yes.”
At twenty, I had barely kissed anyone. How could a man so raw, so carnal, exist? Or inspire such craving within me?
“Where are you from?” My small wrist looked so fragile in his big hand.
“St. Augustine.”
Rafael’s grin revealed dimples under the stubble.
“So, Justine from St. Augustine,” he said, rhyming and stealing my heart. “What are you doing for Halloween? Going to a party? Dressing up?”
I laughed and shook my head, temporarily mute. My skin flared with heat, as if I had spent a day at the beach in August. His eyes were the most unusual color, almost copper, and they glinted in the sun.
“I don’t have plans,” I murmured.
Another grin, this one wicked. I had never seen such long eyelashes on a man.
“Do you know what you should be for Halloween?”
I shook my head again and he stared at me for a smoldering beat.
“Mine.”
D
uring the day
, Tamara Lush is a journalist with The Associated Press. At night, she writes fictional romance tales about complicated, sexy men and the women who love them.
When Tamara isn’t reporting, writing or reading, she’s doing yoga, cooking for her Italian husband or chasing her dogs along a beach on Florida's Gulf Coast.
She loves connecting with people on social media. Go to her website at
www.tamaralush.com
and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like details on new releases, exclusive content and adorable photos of her dogs.
