Текст книги "Sinful Desire"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Chapter Fifteen
The dry spell had officially ended, so Sophie ordered french fries and a chocolate milkshake.
Because the combination felt like a celebration, and she was celebrating not only the first time she’d had sex in a few years, but also the best sex ever.
Make that – Best. Sex. Ever.
They’d stopped at a roadside diner on the return to the city, and he ate a burger and shared her fries. She reached for one at the same time as he did, and their fingers bumped. He laughed. “We could fight for it. Or I could let you have that one,” he said.
“I trust you’ll let me have it,” she said then snatched the fry in question and dragged it through ketchup. As she brought it to her lips, she peeked to make sure her napkin was spread across her skirt. Damn. She’d missed a loop when she’d put her belt back on. Wait. She hadn’t. One of them had split.
That was some hard loving.
“Looks like I ripped a belt loop,” she said after she finished chewing.
“I’ll have it fixed for you. Pretty sure I’m responsible.”
“I’m pretty sure I can fix it easily with some needle and thread.” Then she noticed the dress was streaked along the bodice and the skirt. The danger of sex on a car in a white dress. “Oh no. My dress is dirty, too,” she said, gesturing to the marks on the front.
He frowned. “My fault, as well. I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”
She scoffed. “No. You’re not paying for my dress.” Funny, how she consented so easily to his orders during sex, but the rest of the time she had no problem holding her own.
“But I made it dirty,” he said then took a bite of his burger.
“You didn’t make it dirty,” she said, correcting him. “Fucking you made it dirty.”
He set his burger down on the plate and narrowed his eyes, giving her a purposeful stare. “Sweetheart, I fucked you. You didn’t fuck me.”
She grinned wickedly, loving teasing him like this. “I know.” She leaned closer to him across the table. “And I loved it. I loved how you fucked me,” she said, and even just saying that word—fuck—turned her on. Holden had never been one for fucking. Bless his heart, but Holden was a let’s make love type of guy. Then there was her college boyfriend, Zach, her one and only other lover. He was the quintessential two-pump chump. There was no finesse. No attention to detail. And no more than two minutes, tops. Sex with him was all about choking the chicken so he could rush back to work on his startup ideas, which had never amounted to much.
She couldn’t even compare Ryan to those guys. He was in a class by himself. Everything about him—that soft brown hair, those dark blue eyes, his hard body, the way he took her—he was fantasy material.
But real.
Add in the easy way they were able to talk, toss in the intensity of the connection, and mix in the sweet little gestures, and she was dangerously close to feeling something more.
Ryan reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never met a woman like you, one who’s so strong and direct in everything else, but able in bed to turn over the reins. It’s addictive,” he said, his eyes fixed on her the whole time, the look in them earnest and truthful. Her heart swooped in a daredevil loop the loop.
Correction: she was already feeling something more.
Which meant she wanted him to know more about her. She brought the straw in her milkshake to her lips and swallowed some of the delicious chocolate ice cream concoction. “Confession—I’ve never had the chance to be like this.”
He arched an eyebrow in question.
She put the shake glass down, keenly aware of the sounds of the diner—the cooks frying up bacon for patrons ordering breakfast for their late-night dinners, the twang of a country tune playing softly overhead, a waitress taking an order a few booths away. “This isn’t some big secret. I know you looked me up before the gala, so you might have learned this, but I was married for five years.” At this point it would be odd not to tell him this fact of her romantic life.
The surprise in his eyes told her he hadn’t known this. “No, I wasn’t aware. How long have you been divorced?”
“Since I was twenty-nine, so a little more than two years now. Which means I was twenty-four when I married Holden,” she said, sharing the details matter-of-factly, because there was nothing to hide. Now, on a third date, after hot sex on her car, seemed the right moment to mention her past marital status.
“That’s young. Did you go to college together?”
She shook her head. “We were best friends in high school, and we stayed close. He went to Berkeley and I was at Stanford, so we weren’t far away. I didn’t date much in college, except this one guy, Zach, who was a computer geek, too. Truth be told, Zach was kind of a competitive ass who thought his tech startup would blow mine out of the water, and he told me as much every day.”
“Did it? Blow yours out of the water?”
“As if.” She was pleased, and not a bit guilty, to share this next tidbit. “He never even got funded. He actually applied for an engineering job at my company two years after graduation.”
“Did you hire him?”
“No. But it had nothing to do with our past relationship. It had to do with him rushing through things, including his work. He was always cutting corners.” His work ethic was similar to his sex ethic. “Anyway, we only went out for a few months during college, and even though it wasn’t a tough decision to end things, he was quite insulting at the time. Holden was there for me when I broke up with him.”
“So Holden was the guy you turned to when things went amiss with others?”
“In that case, yes. There weren’t many others, honestly. But Holden was there for me. I was there for him. And soon enough after college, marrying each other just seemed to make sense.”
He furrowed his brow, as if marriage didn’t truly compute for him. Perhaps it didn’t. “Make sense?”
He reached for a french fry as she nodded. “We were great friends. And we actually still are. He’s probably my best friend.”
He dropped the fry. “I don’t get it. How can you be best friends with your ex-husband? If you’re that close, why aren’t you with him?”
She inhaled deeply. Okay, telling Ryan she’d been married wasn’t hard in the least. But explaining why they’d split up was a wee bit tougher. She lowered her voice. “We weren’t compatible in the bedroom.”
“You mean he’s gay?” Ryan asked, so damn straightforward in his assumption that Sophie laughed.
She shifted her hand back and forth like a seesaw. “Sort of.”
“Sort of? How the hell are you sort of gay?” he asked with a laugh.
“Um, it’s called bisexual, Ryan.”
He blinked, and shook his head, as if he were processing this information about sexuality for the first time. Maybe he was. Maybe bisexuality didn’t occur to him because Ryan Sloan was as straight as they came. If there were a mold for hot, dominant, heterosexual male, he’d fit it perfectly. Hell, he’d probably made the mold. “Okay, I hear you,” Ryan said. “So he likes boys and girls.”
She nodded. “Yes. And he was interested in sharing me with boys.”
He drew a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Did you?”
She studied his face, unsure if the uncertain look in his eyes suggested that a past ménage was a deal-breaker. She didn’t want to be judged for her past, even though she didn’t have one. She needed to know Ryan wasn’t that kind of person. “Would it bother you if I had?”
“No,” he said immediately, then waited for her answer.
She shook her head. “I didn’t have a threesome. I don’t want to be shared.”
He pushed away from his side of the booth, stood up, and moved in next to her. Draping an arm around her possessively, he pulled her close, then brushed his finger along her jawline. “If you were mine, I’d never share you,” he said, his deep, sexy voice sending goose bumps over her flesh.
“Is that so?”
He cupped her shoulder in his strong hand, his fingers brushing along her bare skin. “I’d never let anyone else touch you. The thought of it already drives me mad. And I’d never stop touching you,” he said, then dropped his mouth to her lips and kissed her hard, as if he were marking her.
Her mind went hazy. Sparks raced madly in her bloodstream, all from a kiss.
He pulled away. “If you were mine, you’d only be mine. And I’d satisfy you every night. Every day. Every morning. Every single time,” he said, claiming her lips once more. Roughly. So damn roughly that it sent a charge through her. Every kiss was an assertion. Every touch was ownership. His words said if, but his body said you’re mine.
She felt like his. It was crazy to feel that way so soon. But tell that to her heart, beating furiously from his possessive words. “You would satisfy me every time. You already do,” she said in a breathy whisper, her voice feathery soft now, as he crowded her in.
His throat rumbled. “If you were mine, I’d never let you want for anything. I’d take care of you and all your needs. All the time. Anytime. Whatever you needed, I’d give you,” he said, and his words set her on fire. They were so hypothetical, but so damn appealing. They made her want him again.
They gave her confidence, too, the kind she’d felt when she was running her company. The kind she hadn’t always felt with men. She reached for his collar, needing to hold on, knowing this was as good a time as any. “Ryan,” she asked carefully, nerves sneaking up on her.
“Yes?”
She swallowed. “There’s an event I’m organizing for the local community center. A fundraiser in another week. One of the donors wanted to set me up with his grandson,” she said, and he clenched his hand around her tighter as she said those words. His eyes seared her. “But I told him I was seeing someone, and I was hoping that someone would take me to the event.”
The corner of his lips quirked up in a knowing grin. That smile settled the anxiety. “And who is this someone you want to take you to the event?” he asked playfully.
She rolled her eyes. “You. Obviously.”
“And do you want me to act all possessive, so everyone knows you’re taken?”
“Would it be an act?” she asked, countering him.
He shook his head. “No. It’s not difficult for me to feel a sense of ownership of you,” he said, brushing his hand along her bare arm.
“Do you like owning things?”
“You’re not a thing.”
“Do you like owning women?”
He moved in closer, which was no small feat in the diner booth. There was hardly any room between them already. “No. I don’t ever get close enough to feel that way,” he said.
Her heart fell as his words made landfall. There it was—the admission. She’d suspected all along he wasn’t a relationship type of guy. He had walls around him. He’d had them from the start. She didn’t know why, but she’d sensed they existed. Now she was certain, and she wished she didn’t feel like a balloon deflated.
She straightened her shoulders and tried to mentally talk herself down. They were hardly having a relationship anyway. This was a tryst. A delicious, druggy, wondrous tryst. “That’s fine,” she said, holding up her chin.
He narrowed his eyes, looking at her curiously. “It’s not fine. Because nothing about you is just fine. Because you do something to me that drives me wild.”
“I do?” she asked, trying to rein in a grin that had resurfaced.
He nodded, his lips parting as he pulled back. “You do. So when I take you to this event—because I will be taking you. You might have asked me, but I’m the one taking you, Sophie,” he said, and that commanding tone lit her up. “And when I do, it will be clear to everyone that you’re with me.”
A fresh wave of longing rolled through. “Am I? With you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Oh God, her heart galloped. It raced away from her brain, launching a full-on separation from her sanity, from her clarity, from her mathematical mind. Her heart had gone rogue, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even though a part of her was furious—he’d just told her he wasn’t a relationship guy and now he was telling her she belonged with him. She hated being toyed with.
“How can you say that? You just told me you don’t ever get close to people?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t. I’m not good with serious relationships. I was in the army for five years, and wasn’t involved with anyone then, and since I’ve been back I don’t usually make it beyond the third date. But look what you’ve done to me. We’re already planning our seventh.”
“Seventh?”
“The way I see it, I’m not going to last a week without seeing you, much less a few days. So if we’re going to this fundraiser thing in a week, I’m going to be seeing you at least three times before then. So the fundraiser will be our seventh, and you need to be fully prepared for me to fuck you like I own you over the next three dates.”
Okay, so that was pretty epic. She beamed. “I can handle that.”
“You can and you will. And do you know what else I would do if you were mine?”
“What else?”
“Fuck you again on our third date.”
He tossed some money on the table, and led her out of the diner. After opening the car door for her, he pulled into the dark corner of the lot, far away from the lights. He cut the engine and grabbed the back of her head, kissing her in a way that heated her up and made her squirm in seconds. His hand traveled up her skirt, brushing against the panel of her panties, feeling her wetness.
That was all he needed. “Backseat. Now,” he growled.
She scurried into the backseat, and he followed. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She obliged willingly as he grabbed protection, unzipped his pants, and sank into her. Her body flooded with pleasure, with a deep and hungry desire to give herself over to him, to however he wanted her.
Gripping her hips, he drove into her. “Tell me something, Sophie,” he said in between thrusts. “Who’s fucking who right now?”
Heat licked her veins. “You are. You’re fucking me.”
He grabbed her hair, wrapped it around his fist, and yanked. “That’s right. I’m having you. I’m claiming you. I’m taking you,” he said in a hot, smoky voice. “Are you taking me?”
“No,” she said, as he tugged tight on her strands. “You’re doing it.”
“I am. And I’m going to do it again and again and again.”
“Yes. Please do it again,” she cried out, as electricity roared through her body. She shut her eyes, seeing stars, feeling heaven, and losing herself to him.
He swiveled his hips and claimed her with his cock. He commanded her with his words. He brought her the most bone-deep pleasure she’d ever known as he took her to the edge and came undone with her.
Chapter Sixteen
“Tell me about this event. What should I wear?” he asked, as he turned onto the Strip to drive her home.
“Tux. Do you own one?”
He laughed softly. “Of course I own a tux. Where is it?”
“The Venetian.”
“And who are the sponsors?”
“Well, me, for one,” she said, then rattled off a few names of local companies, including a law firm, an insurance company, and a national sporting goods chain. “And Redwood Mountain Ventures, too. A venture capital firm.”
He jerked his head to look at her as he pulled to a stop at a red light. “Redwood Mountain Ventures?”
She nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“That’s my brother’s firm. Colin’s.”
“Oh, that’s great. I’ve been dealing with one of the other partners. A woman. I didn’t make the connection that your brother the venture capitalist was at this firm. But how wonderful that he’s a supporter. It’s a great cause. I was at the community center earlier today. They’re going to do so much for kids that need extra help.”
“Interesting,” Ryan said, wondering why Colin never mentioned anything about such a hefty donation. But then again, his youngest sibling had never been one to brag about all the ways that he gave back. “I wonder if he’ll be there.”
“You should ask him. It would be nice to say hello. I’m hoping John can make it so perhaps you can meet him, too,” she said, lightness in her tone, because, of course, she had nothing to hide.
Unlike him.
His chest clenched. He muttered a silent curse as he reached her building. Now would be a great time to admit he’d already met her brother, had been questioned by him at police headquarters about his father’s murder, and then received a phone call from him, hunting for more details about his mother’s straying ways.
Honestly though, telling her about the connection to her brother wasn’t the hard part. What felt insurmountable was what it meant—if he told her he knew John, he’d have to tell her about his parents. He’d have to give voice to how his family had been blasted to pieces one night when he was only fourteen.
He’d never told someone he’d dated. He’d never wanted to.
But here in the driveway of her building, nearing midnight, after the most mind-blowing sex of his life, was not the moment to dive into the past. He needed to figure out how to tell her without fucking everything up. His experience in saying the right thing was terribly limited for many reasons—he didn’t get close to people, and he didn’t speak of matters no one else needed to know.
Trust was a screwed-up promise.
Intimacy was a lie.
Love wasn’t real.
She’d shared so much though, and he had to figure out how to do the same.
He said good night and headed for his home, taking his dog for a midnight run to glean some answers. But an hour of hard exercise under the stars didn’t illuminate his own path any better, so when he got into bed with his dog curled up on top of the covers, only one thing was clear.
He was fucked.
Because he liked her more than he’d ever intended. That first night with Sophie he’d gone in armed with every intention of keeping things only physical. The second time, too. Hell, he’d tried to do as much tonight. But his intentions were futile. He wanted this woman with a desire that burned away everything in its path. That consumed his brain cells. That chained up his heart. And for the first time ever, he felt the flicker of something awfully dangerous. So dangerous it made him start to use words.
Words that mattered.
Words that came from that organ inside him that had gone on lockdown many years ago.
Words that could mean the start of something more.
from: [email protected]
date: July 17, 1:13 AM
subject: You
You are exquisite.
He tossed his phone on his nightstand and dragged a hand through his hair, dreading the moment that was barreling down on him.
He ran a hand between Johnny Cash’s soft ears. “Where do I go from here, buddy? Tell me that.”
The dog licked his face.
“Ha. Already done that. That’s not the problem whatsoever.”
Chapter Seventeen
Becky waited for him on the front porch, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun.
Ryan cut the engine on his truck, hopped out of the cab, and made eye contact with his dog, pointing to the house. “Go inside, Johnny Cash,” he said, and the dog followed the command, leaping out of the front seat and scurrying across the yard. He parked himself at Becky’s feet and wagged his tail at rocket speed.
“Aww, you’re such a sweet boy. Give me a kiss,” Becky said, cooing at the dog as Ryan walked across the yard and joined her on the steps.
“Watch it. He’s a crazy kisser. He can’t help himself around the ladies,” Ryan said, lowering his shades and wrapping his arms around Becky.
“’Course he can’t. He has good taste,” Sanders said.
Ryan looked up to see Sanders open the door and join his wife on the porch. “Hey. Didn’t expect to see you at the crack of dawn,” Ryan said.
His dad’s friend puffed up his chest in his faded blue short-sleeve button-down with his name stitched on the right-hand side. “I’m still a working man for a few more months. And it’s a Wednesday.”
“Right. Of course,” Ryan said then turned back to Becky. “Have fun with my boy today.”
“I will. You drive safely,” she said, patting him on the cheek, then headed inside with the dog.
Sanders walked Ryan to his truck. “You gonna be gone all day?”
Ryan nodded. While he could have left his dog home on a day like this—Johnny Cash was well trained—Becky liked having him around from time to time, so the dog-sitting worked for everyone. “Probably won’t be back until the evening. I need to take care of a few things in town before I take off.”
“You be careful. No speeding,” Sanders said with a wink.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ryan said.
“Hey, Donald’s coming over later for poker. You can say hi to him when you pick up your dog,” Sanders said, mentioning another friend of his dad’s. The three men had been close buddies. For a brief moment, Ryan’s chest ached with the image of what tonight could have been. His dad should have been joining them this evening, playing poker, smoking cigars, having a beer.
He should have been doing so many things.
Hell, at this point, maybe his dad would even have met a new woman if he were still alive. Found someone else. Fallen in love again.
Ryan scoffed as he drove to the office, wondering how such a ridiculous notion had appeared in his head out of nowhere. Because love was a fucking lie.
* * *
He slapped the contract on his brother’s desk. “Boom. Done. Another deal for us,” he said, parking himself in the black leather chair in Michael’s office. Guitar-heavy rock music pulsed from the laptop. His brother used to play the electric guitar and had dabbled in rock bands in high school and college. A workaholic with little time to play now, he still assaulted his eardrums with his favorite tunes.
Michael arched an eyebrow. “You don’t say. Maybe I should keep you around.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Hey, fifty-fifty, I could say the same of you,” he said, meaning their joint ownership of Sloan Protection Resources.
“Yeah, I know. Just giving you a hard time.” Michael cast a cursory glance at the pages on his desk. He tapped his index finger against them. “Looks good. I see White Box is getting a full suite of security services. This is the company you met with in San Francisco a few weeks ago, right?”
Ryan nodded. He’d been slated to visit his mom in prison with Shannon at the time, but their mom had gotten the dates wrong, and Shannon wound up going solo. Ryan had been in San Francisco instead, meeting with the head of White Box, a guy named Charlie Stravinsky, and his right-hand man, Curtis. Charlie owned some restaurants, including a once-popular Chinese eatery, but had now converted them to private clubs, the kind that catered to gentleman with big wallets and hearty appetites for both women and bets. That kind of business needed security, and since White Box was expanding from San Francisco to Vegas, the firm had reached out to Ryan and Michael.
“And you said his VP of biz dev is coming in to sign the papers?”
“One p.m. today. Guy named Curtis,” Ryan said, tapping his watch. “He’s local here in Vegas. It’s on you for the final signatures. I worked on that deal all day Saturday and Sunday.”
“Aww, poor baby,” Michael said, breaking out an imaginary violin and running the bow across the strings.
“Whatever,” Ryan said, waving a hand dismissively. “Point being, I’m out of here the rest of the day.”
“You going to see 347-921?”
Michael didn’t even use their mom’s name, just her inmate number. At first it had rankled Ryan, and he’d told his brother as much. Use her name at least, he’d said. Michael never did, and Ryan had learned to let it go. Now, he was used to the way Dora Prince had been reduced to digits.
“I am.”
His brother made a scornful sound as he shook his head. “Why do you waste your time with that?”
“Why? You’re seriously asking why?”
Michael nodded as a guitar riff played through the speakers. Ryan rose, planted his palms on Michael’s desk, and stared at him, wondering if he was crazy. How did his brother not get it? “Because I want to know why the fuck the case is open. Don’t you?”
“She won’t tell you shit.”
Ryan stabbed his index finger against his sternum. “But I’m the only one she might tell something. That’s why I’m going. Because I’m the one who sees her, besides Shan. So if there is something to say, or someone else involved, I’m the one she’s going to talk to.”
Michael softened his tone but still held his ground. “Look, man. I get it. I understand she did some kind of number on you and convinced you she might not be guilty—but she’s so fucking guilty, Ryan. Day is day, and night is night, and our mother had our father killed. Maybe there was someone else involved, maybe Detective Winston is sniffing around for a middleman, or something between her and Stefano, but I guarantee that you’re not going to exonerate inmate number 347-921.”
Ryan gritted his teeth as frustration seared his nervous system, running a wild course through his body. “Here’s the bottom line. Someone knows something about our family that we don’t,” he said through tight lips. “I want to know what that something is, and I’m not going to stop until I find out.”
Michael stood up and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “You’re a determined bastard. But you’re my determined bastard. So don’t speed like Sanders. We need you squeaky clean here at the company. No tickets, no record, nothing.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m never dirty,” he said with a wink.
Michael tugged him in for a quick hug. “Love you, bro.”
“Love you, too,” Ryan grumbled.
This. His brothers and sister. His grandmother. His dog. That was real love to him—the only kind he trusted.
