Bed of Lies Read online

  Also by Shelly Ellis

  Gibbons Gold Digger series

  Can’t Stand the Heat

  The Player & the Game

  Another Woman’s Man

  The Best She Ever Had

  Chesterton Scandal series

  Best Kept Secrets

  Published by Dafina Books

  A Chesterton Scandal Novel

  Bed of Lies

  SHELLY ELLIS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Shelly Ellis

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - Terrence

  Chapter 2 - Evan

  Chapter 3 - Paulette

  Chapter 4 - C. J.

  Chapter 5 - Dante

  Chapter 6 - Terrence

  Chapter 7 - Evan

  Chapter 8 - Paulette

  Chapter 9 - Dante

  Chapter 10 - C. J.

  Chapter 11 - Terrence

  Chapter 12 - Evan

  Chapter 13 - Paulette

  Chapter 14 - Terrence

  Chapter 15 - Dante

  Chapter 16 - C. J.

  Chapter 17 - Terrence

  Chapter 18 - Evan

  Chapter 19 - C. J.

  Chapter 20 - Dante

  Chapter 21 - Paulette

  Chapter 22 - Evan

  Chapter 23 - C. J.

  Chapter 24 - Evan

  Chapter 25 - Paulette

  Chapter 26 - Terrence

  Chapter 27 - Evan

  Chapter 28 - Dante

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  To Andrew and Chloe, my own little squad.

  Acknowledgments

  When you look at the odds of successfully getting a book published, let alone publishing several books in this kind of environment, where other talented authors lose contracts all the time—it can seem rather daunting to decide to become an author, to try to make a career out of it. And if you do decide to take the big leap and hope that you get a contract, agent, your contract renewed, etc., you need to find time to pursue your dreams. You need to find those hours to contemplate characters and craft perfect scenes. More importantly, you need a group of people who believe in you and are willing to support you with their time and effort. They basically become your own little support team.

  So I’d like to say thanks to the biggest member of my support team (in duties, not girth), my husband, Andrew. You’ve been there through the highs and the lows and always believed that I can do it and that I had the talent to pull it off. It takes a strong, patient man to do what you do with our household and family while I sit alone in a room writing. I can never say enough how I appreciate everything you do.

  I’d also like to say thanks to my backup team—my parents, Donna and Craig Stratton. You guys have been there since the beginning, since I was scribbling stories in notebooks and daydreaming of the day I would see one of my books on a shelf. You still provide encouragement and effort (in the form of babysitting your lovely, crazy granddaughter) to help me crank out each chapter. Thanks so much for your love and support.

  I’d also like to thank my editor, Mercedes Fernandez. Thank GOD you love telenovela/soap opera drama like I do! (Jane the Virgin is beyond compare, is it not?) This will be our sixth book together and I appreciate you allowing me to embrace complex characters, dramatic storylines, and hot love scenes, and believing in my voice from the first book.

  And a big thanks to my agent, Barbara Poelle. I had secretly always wondered why I needed an agent. I rationalized that I got a book contract without one. I was doing just fine. Of course, agent extraordinaire proved why I needed one. Thanks for being my advocate and pushing me to be an even better writer. Thanks for treating all your clients (from the authors waiting for their debut to The New York Times bestsellers) like they’re all important to you. I see your skill and dedication and I appreciate and rave about it.

  Thanks to my network of author buddies I talk to on the Web. Seriously, I will meet all of you one day in person! Your support and sisterhood help get me through the rough patches.

  And thanks to the readers who have reached out to me to tell me how much you like my work. You complete the circle and make this all worth it.

  Chapter 1

  Terrence

  “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” Terrence Murdoch yelled over the heavy bass before tossing one-hundred-dollar bills into the air and letting them fall like confetti. The cute brunette in front of him showed her appreciation by doing a split on the stage, clad in only a smile and a bright yellow G-string that glowed under the blue-hued stage lights. Two other strippers danced beside her in clear platform stilettos, gyrating and swinging around each pole as Terrence and his friends hooted and yelled with delight in the VIP section of the club.

  Terrence didn’t know where to look first. It was a delectable sampling of full breasts, round thighs, and pert behinds. He just wanted to dive in and bask in all the womanly beauty.

  He raised his beer bottle and toasted the sexy performance. “I’ve died and gone to heaven!” he cried. He then turned to his older brother, Evan, who had hung back from the stage and chose to stay at the table behind them. “Ain’t they beautiful, man?”

  When he saw what Evan was doing, his grin disappeared. He slammed his bottle back to the table in outrage. “Ev, what the . . . what the fuck? Are you kidding me?”

  Instead of admiring the strippers, Evan had been peering down at his BlackBerry under the flashing strobe lights. At Terrence’s cry of outrage, the company CEO glanced up from his phone screen.

  “Huh?” Evan asked absently. “Oh yeah, it’s great, Terry.” He began to type on the phone keys again.

  “Ev, put that damn phone down and look at this, man!”

  “I’ll be right with you. Just let me finish this e-mail,” Evan said, still furiously typing. “Got to get this out tonight. They’re in a different time zone.”

  Terrence reached over and yanked the BlackBerry out of Evan’s hand, catching his brother by surprise.

  “No, look at it now! How can you be doing business when you have this in front of your face?” he asked, jabbing toward the stage.

  One of the women dropped to her knees before turning her ass toward the men huddled around her. She did a twerk that made the men holler for more. Another stripper hopped up on a pole and twirled around and around, letting her blond curls dangle inches above the ground.

  “I mean . . . come on!” Terrence turned back to look at his brother with a grin that was so wide it could barely be contained on his face. “Look at this!”

  Evan gazed at the two strippers, inclined his head, and nodded. “Nice,” he said thoughtfully, like he was considering a new pair of shoes.

  “Nice?” Terrence comically looked at the women onstage, whipped his head to glare at his brother, then stared at the women on the stage again. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Nice’?” He jabbed his index finger at the strippers. “Those women are fuckin’ perfect, Ev!”

  Evan emphatically shook his head and smiled as he reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out another cell phone. He dragged his index finger across the screen, scrolling through a series of photos. “No, this is perfect.”

  He held the glass screen toward Terrence. Terrence squinted under the club lighting to see what his brother was showing him. It was a photo of Evan’s fiancée, Leila. She was wearing a tank top and yoga pants and rolling her eyes as Evan took the picture, like she had wanted anything but to be photographed at that m
oment.

  Terrence had to admit that his future sister-in-law was one gorgeous woman. And Evan had been pining after her for years—hell, decades! He had been secretly in love with her since he was nine years old. In Evan’s mind, Leila Hawkins had probably reached almost mythical proportions in beauty, brains, and loveliness.

  But still, how could a man ignore what was right in front of his face? It destroyed the whole purpose of Evan being here at the strip club if he sat toward the back of the room, fiddling on his BlackBerry.

  Terrence had invited Evan out with his friends for a night of drinking and debauchery to give Evan a long-needed break. His older brother was a consummate workaholic, and now when he wasn’t working, he was almost plastered to the side of his new fiancée. Terrence had wanted his big bro to have some fun. But Evan looked like he would be more entertained if he was sitting at his desk going over contracts and sales figures at Murdoch Conglomerated, where he was CEO. Or maybe he’d rather be sitting beside Leila, staring at tablecloth swatches for their wedding reception.

  “Are you telling me you aren’t just a little bit interested in looking at those titties?” Terrence pleaded. He once again pointed to the stage. “Not just a little?”

  Evan burst into laughter. “I’m sorry, Terry, but from here they look like average breasts to me. But you know what? Go ahead and enjoy yourself. Don’t let me ruin your fun.” He yanked his BlackBerry out of Terrence’s hand. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll take this back.”

  Terrence slowly shook his head in bemusement as he watched his brother sit down in one of the leather club chairs and start scanning through his e-mails again.

  Operation: Get Evan Turnt Up was going downhill—fast.

  Terrence glanced at the drink Evan was now sipping: a Shirley Temple. He could try to ply Evan with alcohol to make him loosen up, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Evan didn’t drink thanks to his alcoholic wife, Charisse. Her drunkenness had been part of the reason they were now getting a divorce—that and the fact that she had been cheating on Evan.

  Nope, getting him drunk is out of the question, Terrence thought.

  An idea suddenly popped into Terrence’s head. A wicked smile crossed his full lips.

  “Well, if they just look like average titties from here, I guess you’re going to have to see them up close.”

  Evan frowned quizzically as he lowered his glass back to the marble tabletop and looked up from his e-mail. “I’m sorry . . . what?”

  Terrence suddenly turned on his heel, marched toward the stage, and shoved a group of his friends aside so that he was front and center.

  “Ladies!” he shouted as he whipped out a series of hundred-dollar bills, spread them into a fan and brandished them in the air. “My brother would like a lap dance. Now! A grand to the first woman who does it.”

  The three strippers paused mid-routine. One almost fell off her pole. Another scrambled off her knees. The three women ran off the stage and came barreling toward Evan, whose mouth was agape. One looked like she nearly twisted her ankle trying to make her way down the short staircase.

  “No!” Evan said, holding up his hands in protest and furiously shaking his head. “Really, ladies, I’m fine. I don’t . . . I don’t want a lap dance!”

  Terrence cackled as he watched the strippers shove and elbow-check each other to get to Evan first. The blonde turned out to be the victor and promptly fell onto Evan’s lap and started gyrating for all her worth.

  “Terry!” Evan yelled, trying his best to rise out of his chair without touching the half-naked women who were huddled around and over him. “Terry!”

  “Enjoy it, Ev!” Terrence grabbed his beer and held it up before tossing the hundreds in his hand into the air and taking a swig. “You deserve it!”

  “Hey, you forgot this,” Terrence said as he handed Evan his suit jacket.

  The two men walked out of the strip club almost two hours later into the chilly February night. A few of Terrence’s friends trailed behind them, laughing and joking with one another.

  “I didn’t forget it,” Evan mumbled as he tossed the suit jacket over his forearm. “It was stolen from me.”

  Terrence chuckled.

  One of the strippers had ripped off Evan’s suit jacket as soon as they had descended on him like a herd of locusts. His necktie had been removed, too, when one of the other strippers used it to bind his hands behind his back when he kept struggling. Another had smothered his verbal protests by shaking her double-Ds in his face.

  “Come on! Admit it!” Terrence prodded, looping an arm around Evan’s neck in brotherly affection. “You had fun, didn’t you?”

  “It was . . . interesting,” Evan said just as one of the guys behind them leaned over and vomited on the walkway not too far from the club’s red carpet.

  “Oh, hell no!” the burly bouncer boomed, hopping off of his stool in front of the door. “Y’all better get his ass outta here!” he ordered, making one of the guy’s companions nod and grab his sick friend around the shoulders. Another helped guide him toward a car that was parked at the end of the block.

  Evan and Terrence shook their heads in disgust as they watched the trio walk off.

  “Is your friend gonna make it?” Evan asked.

  Terrence waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll be fine. One of them will get his sorry ass back home tonight. I don’t know what his wife will think when she sees him like that, though, but”—Terrence shrugged—“that’s his problem.”

  Evan narrowed his eyes at Terrence. “You had plenty to drink yourself. Are you going to be okay driving back to your place?”

  “Me?” Terrence pointed at his chest and laughed. He had a slight buzz, but that was about it. He could remember being in far worse states than he was now. “Man, please! I am far from drunk. Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure about that?” Evan asked again, just as a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. Evan’s driver climbed out, quickly walked to the rear door, and held it open for him. Evan paused before climbing onto the leather seat. “I could give you a ride, you know.”

  Terrence waved him away again as he started to walk in the opposite direction in search of his Porsche. “I’ll be fine, Miss Daisy. Just give Lee a kiss for me. All right?”

  “Oh, I most certainly will,” Evan said with a wink before climbing into the sedan. The driver shut the door behind him.

  Terrence turned and walked down the block back to his car. He raised the collar of his wool coat to block out the chill and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He bet Evan would give Leila a kiss as soon as he got home. Thanks to the erotic performance the men had witnessed tonight, he bet Evan would give her a lot more than that.

  After a few minutes, Terrence spotted his silver Porsche two-seater and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “There’s my baby,” he whispered, almost with reverence.

  The strip club hadn’t had valet parking and he had been loath to leave her parallel-parked along the curb in this neighborhood, but he had had no other choice.

  Terrence inspected his car with a careful eye and whispered a prayer of thanks when he saw no dents or scratches. The paint on his Porsche still glistened and the rims still sparkled from the wash, waxing, and buffing the car had gotten earlier that day.

  If the love of Evan’s life was Leila Hawkins, then the love of Terrence’s life was certainly his 2015 Porsche 911 S Coupe. A close second was maybe the De’Longhi ESAM6700 Gran Dama Avant Touch-Screen Super-Automatic Espresso Machine on the granite kitchen countertop back at his condo in Chesterton, Virginia. If he could be buried with that thing, he would.

  Terrence didn’t have a love of the female variety and he had no desire to fall in love with anyone. Oh, he was no monk; he dated often. He had his fair share of girlfriends and one-night stands. But so far, no woman had made him want to “put a ring on it,” so to speak. Terrence had seen the ravages married life could have on a person by witnessing his parents’ horrendous
marriage for decades and the trials Evan had gone through for the five and half years he was married to his soon-to-be ex, Charisse.

  Though Evan often encouraged him to finally settle down, Terrence couldn’t work up enough optimism about love and relationships to try his hand at anything permanent with a woman. He’d rather live in the moment and collect honeys like they were Pokémon trading cards.

  He opened the door of his Porsche and climbed inside. As he drove, he listened to the voice messages on his iPhone. Unlike Evan, he had turned off his cell while inside the club, not wanting to be disturbed.

  “Hey, Terry,” a female voice cooed over the phone’s speaker as Terrence merged onto a roadway, “it’s Asia. I’ve texted you three times today, baby! Where are you? I was hoping we could meet up this weekend. Give me a call back when you get this. I miss your fine ass. Byeeeeee!”

  Asia was a waitress at a Cuban restaurant downtown. She had full lips, big thighs, and a beautiful smile, but lately, she had become kind of clingy. Terrence wondered if he should call her back or cut her loose.

  “Bonsoir, mon ami!” Terrence heard next, instantly making him smile. “a va?”

  He knew that throaty purr from anywhere. It was Georgette, a blond Victoria’s Secret model based out of Montreal whom he had met back during his modeling days. He loved Georgette because of her good taste in food and wine, her French accent, and because she understood the true definition of “no strings attached” sex. They had been hooking up off and on for the past six years.

  “I will be in the city for a few weeks,” Georgette continued. “Let me know if you wish to meet, huh? I packed the lace teddy you like and the . . . you know . . . the stuff that you lick . . . qu’est-ce que c’est? Ah, who cares! I show you, Terry! Je te veux! Can’t wait to see you, mon ami. Au revoir!” He heard kissing sounds and then the line clicked.

  Oh hell, yeah, he thought.