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  Copyright © Lisa Renee Jones 2017. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the supplier and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at http://lisareneejones.com/contact

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.lisareneejones.com

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Dear Reader

  CHARACTERS

  PLAYLIST

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS INFO & TEASER SEXY SCENE!!

  BONUS: CHAPTERS 1-4 OF DIRTY MONEY

  Dirty Money – Chapter One

  Dirty Money – Chapter Two

  Dirty Money – Chapter Three

  Dirty Money – Chapter Four

  ALSO BY LISA RENEE JONES

  About the Author

  Dear Reader:

  As always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for picking up a book of mine. But you’re not here for me to wax poetic about what fantastic readers I have (it’s true though!), you’re here to see what happens between Faith and Tiger! So first off, I think this goes without saying, but if you haven’t read book one in the White Lies Duet, PROVOCATIVE, stop here and go read it, because that’s how this story begins. For those of you who have, I’m going to give a brief recap of book one for a refresher.

  We met Nick “Tiger” Rogers, a badass attorney, as he was tracking down the woman he thought killed his father, and even her own mother. What Nick wasn’t expecting to find when he cornered Faith Winter, the now owner and operator of her family’s Reid Winter Winery, was a woman who would lay him out on his ass with her wit, charm, and his need to have her, fuck her, possess her. Then there’s Faith, on the heels of her father’s death two years ago she had to put a hold on her passion as an artist and come back to help her mother run the family winery, though her mother ran it into the ground, refusing to relinquish control to Faith so she could save it.

  When Nick and Faith share one night of passion together, it’s out of the ordinary for them both to let it go any further. Faith has been burned from a past relationship, an artist named Macom, who was a selfish and sabotaging asshole, those hang-ups of hers lead to hang-ups between her and Nick. She pushes him, he pushes back, alpha-style. And despite the secrets he’s holding back, he continues to push, because he knows this woman is it for him. But his secrets are many: his father and her mother’s murders, which he originally thought Faith to be the culprit of, but soon discounts that idea, and the sex club he owns, which he is sure will spook Faith based on her past reactions to his need for control, even though their bedroom time has gotten quite un-vanilla a time or two. Spanking scene, anyone? That one was an intense one to write! But while Nick battles with finding the truth, Faith finds her own truth. Amidst the monetary troubles at the winery, with the note past due, and the vendors unpaid from her mother’s unknown antics, Nick has become the only person to inspire her to paint after a long drought. And those paintings, have made her eligible to delve back into the art world that she ran away from because of Macom. Though at the helm of pushing her back in the deep end in the most unhelpful ways is Josh, her agent, a sloppy one at that, who just so happens to also be Macom’s agent. But she has been pulled right back into that world, just as Nick is pushing her to fall right into a relationship with him. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and scary, but she takes the plunge. Her father never believed in her art, and wanted her to just take over the winery, but she is doing things for herself. But with every piece of herself she gives to Nick and her art again, Nick pushes for more of her. He wants to help her get the winery out of trouble, and spend more time with him.

  Through this all Faith has been selected to be showcased at Chris and Sara Merit’s gallery Allure, and also in the L.A. Art Forum. Two very high-profile opportunities, that she can credit to Nick’s presence in helping her paint again. All the while Nick has people (his friend Abel, and he PI Beck) working his father’s and her mother’s murders and finding out why the winery was hemorrhaging money when it is a profitable business. To force the hand of the bank that holds the note on the winery, Nick pays the past due amount and six months ahead of schedule to take the pressure off of Faith and see if that alleviates the threat to them both, but that creates once more secret and one more push from him that may send Faith over the edge.

  Provocative, comes to a conclusion right after the exclusive event at the gallery, where Sara and Faith hit it off as good friends, Chris sells 3 of Faith’s paintings (proving she can make a living with her passion), and Chris and Nick having words over Nick’s failure to mention the sex club to Faith. It’s a tumultuous end to say the least, but then Nick’s father seemingly reached out from his grave with a note he left in his belongings that reads: Faith Winter is the problem. She’s dangerous. Far more than her mother. She must be stopped.

  And after that ominous note is where we pick back up. Nick has his secrets. Faith has her doubts. But they have an intensely passionate affair going on that may shatter and break when all is revealed…

  Enjoy!

  xoxo,

  Lisa Renee Jones

  CHARACTERS

  Faith Winter—30, blonde, green eyes. Heroine of the story. Owner of the Reid Winter Winery in Sonoma. Artist, paints black and white landscapes with bursts of red. Trying to help the winery recover from her mother pulling them under. Nick Rogers comes into the picture wanting her in a way no other an ever has, and making her want things she’s never wanted.

  Nick “Tiger” Rogers—36, long hair he ties back, navy blue eyes. Hero of the story. Attorney of his own firm. Deceased mother. Deceased father. He and he father had been at odds for years when he passes away. Though his death was suspicious which led Nick to Faith Winter. He thought she may have been a killer, but now she’s the woman who possesses his heart and much more. Still keeps many secrets from Faith, but thinks he’s doing it for the right reasons.

  Meredith Winter—Faith’s mother. Died two months ago. Left the winery in shambles. Cheated on her husband numerous times, including with his twin brother.

&nb
sp; Reid Winter—Faith’s father. Died two years ago. Always wanted Faith to run the winery, never believed in her art. Put up with his wife’s wandering ways. Had a falling out with his twin brother when he learned his wife slept with him.

  Bill Winter—Faith’s uncle. CEO of Pier 111, a social media platform, that his wife founded. Slept with his brother’s wife. Had a falling out with his brother right before Faith left for college.

  Kasey—50, gray hair, tall. Long time operator and second-hand at the winery for twenty years.

  Abel Baldwin—30’s, buzzed blond hair. Nick’s best friend. Criminal lawyer. Tries to help him find answers through his work connections concerning the autopsy for Nick’s dad.

  Beck—35, black spiky hair. Ex-CIA. The private investigator Nick hired to find the answers to this twisted web.

  Rita—Older, married with children. Red hair. Nick’s ever-so-efficient assistant.

  Josh—30’s, short hair, clean cut. Faith’s agent for her art work. Macom’s (Faith’s ex) agent as well.

  Macom Maloy—30’s, spiky dark hair. Well-known artist. Faith’s ex-boyfriend. All around jackass.

  SHAMELESS PLAYLIST

  “Black” by Dierks Bentley

  “Every Little Thing” by Carly Pearce

  “I’m Comin’ Over” by Chris Young

  “Moonlight Sonata” by Beethoven

  “In My Head” by Brantley Gilbert

  “Sober Saturday Night” by Chris Young

  “Now or Never” by Halsey

  “Bad Liar” by Selena Gomez

  “Losing Sleep” by Chris Young

  “Issues” by Julia Michaels

  “Who I Am With You” by Chris Young

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nick

  Faith Winter is the problem. She’s dangerous. Far more than her mother. She must be stopped.

  Those are my dead father’s words, scribbled on a piece of paper I’d found in his things only minutes ago. Words now burned in my mind, as I stand in the doorway of my bedroom, staring at Faith as she sleeps, moonlight from a nearby window casting her in a soft glow. Her blonde hair draped over my pillow. Her amber and vanilla scent a sweet whisper in the air on my skin. While the words she’s dangerous repeat in my mind again and again, radiating through me like an electric charge, but not because I trusted my father’s opinion about anything. But rather, there is no denying the fact that I did seek Faith out with the opinion that he was murdered, perhaps by her.

  And he didn’t say she’s trouble or a problem or difficult. He said that she’s dangerous.

  And yet, as seconds tick by, I am riveted by the image of Faith in my bed, where I invited her to sleep, and holy fuck, I like her there. I want her there, when I never let anyone else in my house, let alone in my bed. I’m obsessed with this woman, and as Faith herself warned yesterday, obsession is dangerous. Some—most—would say fucking a woman you suspect killed her mother and your father is dangerous, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I want her. I am crazy about this woman, and maybe that just makes me crazy.

  Needing space to clear my head, I walk across the room toward the bathroom, my tie and jacket that I’d worn to tonight’s event at the Merit gallery, gone, and I don’t even remember removing them. I remember Faith. Her smile as she’d been praised for her art. The way she trembled with the news of her success, when she is not a woman that trembles. Not unless it’s with pleasure. And these thoughts are exactly why I stop myself from turning back to her, because what I really want is to be in that bed with her. But, when I’m with her, touching her, kissing her, just fucking holding her, even looking at her in my bed, I am not objective. And yet, knowing this, I reach the doorway, about to escape into the quiet sanctuary of the next room, seconds from the space I need to rein in my thoughts, and fuck me, I find myself pausing in the doorway, facing the bed again.

  She stirs suddenly, as if she senses me watching her, a soft, sexy sound slipping from her lips as she shifts from her side to her back, her hand settling on the pillow next to her. She instantly rolls over to where I should be, reaching for me, only to sit up, the sheet falling away, and even in the shadows, I am aware of her naked breasts, her naked body that I know feels so damn good against mine. “Nick?” she calls out, turning in my direction, sensing me here.

  And the minute she says my name, her voice is like silk on the sandpaper of my nerves, and I know that if she’s dangerous, I’m fucking high on the danger. And if that is what she is, I want that danger on my tongue, in my hands, in my bed.

  I rotate and press my hand to the doorframe over my head, shutting my eyes. What the hell am I doing? Either I have a killer in my bed, which I reject as an option, or I have a woman I’m falling in love with who has to hate me for lying to her. Love. Damn it to hell, where did that come from? I don’t do love. I don’t do commitment, and once again, I have to remind myself that you don’t prove guilt when you’re looking for innocence. And yet, I know this woman is not a killer.

  Dangerous, though. That word just won’t let go of me. Why the fuck did my father use that word?

  “I just finished up some work,” I say, lifting my face to the ceiling, lashes lowered. “I’m going to shower and I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I’ve no sooner said the words before Faith is not only slipping between me and the wall, my gaze riveted to her moon-kissed naked skin, resting against the doorframe under my hand. My body arches in such a way that she can’t easily touch me, and I don’t touch her, but I want to, and I don’t even remember in this moment, why I resisted doing so before now.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  Aside from the fact that my dead father called you dangerous, I think, or that your stunning, naked breasts should not be in my hands, I need time to think. But since she doesn’t know about my father, can’t know about my father, not yet, I offer her the expected answer of, “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Liar,” she whispers.

  “Work is on my mind,” I supply, and that’s not wholly untrue. I was working on the mystery of two murders when I found that note.

  “Liar,” she repeats, her tone sharp, some unidentifiable jagged-edged emotions radiating off of her, or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s my jagged-edged emotions that are crashing into her and then slamming right back into me.

  “I’ve been watching you sleep,” I say, embracing every honest word I can speak to Faith when so much, too much, has been lies.

  Her eyes open, and even in the shroud of shadows, I feel the punch of her gaze colliding with mine. “That’s not an answer,” she says. “That’s a deflection, and deflection doesn’t suit you any more than fear.” It’s a reference to the night that she’d pulled a knife on me and used it to remove my shirt buttons, and I understand the message: We feel like we did then, uncertain, incomplete in some way.

  “I wonder,” she continues, pushing off the wall, her hands pressed to my chest, the slight but firm heft of her body weight knocking me backward, against the wall, “if I held a knife in my hand now, if you would trust me to cut the buttons off your shirt, or would you wonder if I would cut you instead?”

  I’m not sure if she’s daring me to trust her or pushing me to do the opposite. Pushing me away. Pulling me closer. It’s all the same with her. With one always comes the other. “We aren’t where we were then,” I say, but I don’t touch her. Once I touch her, I won’t stop, though I’m really fucking trying to figure out why the fuck that feels important right now.

  “And yet I feel the same now as then,” she says, “and so do you. And don’t lie again. You know I’m right.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “It is. And we are. And that leaves only one of the possibilities you had us proclaim earlier tonight. Me making us both forget all the rest. Whatever the rest actually is, since you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  Suddenly, she’s peeling away her panties, the only garment she’d worn when she’d gone to bed. The next moment, she’s kneeling, her hands on my knees, he
r head tilted down. I know exactly where this is going, and if I intend to keep my head clear, I should stop it now. Only the head on my shoulders isn’t the one doing the thinking. Not when Faith’s hand strokes the one between my legs that has been hard as a rock since her and all her naked curves slid in front of me. Hell, since practically the moment I met this woman. She tugs my shirt out of my pants and starts unbuttoning it, her gaze reaching mine as she says, “If I only had that knife.”

  I don’t laugh. She doesn’t laugh. The edge between us is as jagged as those emotions beating through me and obviously into her. I reach up and undo several buttons on my shirt, just enough to then pull it over my head, tossing it into the bedroom. It’s not even hit the ground, and Faith has not only unbuckled my belt, she’s pulling it free of my pants.

  It hits the floor, and she reaches for my zipper, wasting no time freeing my cock. She grips it, her hold firm and confident. Her eyes boldly finding mine as she licks the end of my erection and then draws it into her mouth, her message clear: Right now, she demands control, a response I strongly believe to be a reaction, to the questions I’ve allowed to stir between us. She needs to own me right now. And while, I don’t let anyone own me, even if they do have their mouth on my cock, I’m oddly at peace with this woman’s power. There’s a message in that regard, which I’ll analyze when I’m not hyper-focused on the silk of her tongue and the sweet suction of her mouth.