I feel the covers slip down my body, and the cool night air tickles my back. My eyes pop open, and I take in the darkness of my bedroom late at night. I roll over and see Ryan sitting on the edge of my bed.
“What are you doing here?”
“We have to talk,” he repeats. The corners of his mouth twitch like he finds something amusing, although I don’t know what. What I do know is that I can’t let him talk, because whatever the hell it is he wants to say to me in the middle of the night cannot be good. If it had to do with Rachel, he would have said it right out. But he mentioned when he had broken into my bedroom earlier that he wanted to talk.
I was humiliated when he walked out of my house the first time without a backward glance—not that one would have been welcome with the way he was snarling at me—after he fucked me on the foyer floor. He was hot one minute and then cold and harsh the next. Ryan taught me a lesson, one that should have sunk in through all my years of dating in New York: Men are rats.
Even though I feel in my gut that he’s not. There’s something about the way he is around everyone else. He’s private, and no one really knows anything about him, but Jake trusts him with his life. He even told Grace, who told me. I just have this feeling there’s more than meets the eye with Ryan Black.
So I can’t let him explain why he was a jackass the other day, because if he shows me that he’s a decent guy, I’ll want to fall for him, and I can’t let that happen. It hurt when I only had the promise of him and he threw me away. If he’s a good guy and into me and then he throws me away again, it’ll destroy me.
“Babe,” he says, and I look at him watching me. I realize that my mind must’ve wandered off. “Did you hear me?”
Oh, I heard him all right. But that’s all I’m going to hear tonight. In my sleepy brain, I figure I have two choices: fight it out with him, knowing he will talk circles around me and win, and then he will get to tell me all he wants to say and the whole thing will be moot. Or I can take matters into my own hands and distract him until I can get better locks installed on my house so he can’t keep breaking in like this.
I’m pretty sure I’ll realize this is a harebrained scheme that has no potential to work in the morning, but for now, I’m still a little champagne drunk and definitely a lot sleepy, so I don’t think about it anymore. I just launch myself at Ryan, and he does not disappoint when he catches me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. I may have started the kiss, but Ryan finishes it as he opens his mouth against mine and licks inside. His arms went tight around me when he caught me, but now he traces patterns up and down my back and then under my camisole, and it goes up and up and up then over my head.
“Ryan,” I whisper as he looks into my eyes. Whatever he sees there, I don’t know, but something comes over him. He changes before my eyes, and then he dips his head and draws my nipple into his mouth.
I squirm as he nips and kisses my breast before moving to the other, and when he sucks it into his mouth, my squirming turns to rocking over his lap. I feel his hard cock between my thighs and let out a whine as I use him to heat up my body.
I grab his T-shirt in my fists and push it up over his head, making him let go of my breast so I can take it off and throw it to the floor. With his hands on my ass, he puts a knee to the bed and tips me backward so I land on my back. And then he grabs the waist of my pajama pants and rips them down my legs.
He pushes my thighs open with his strong hands, and then his mouth is there on me. He doesn’t go slow or tease, no. Ryan devours me. I run my fingers through the hair at the top of his head where it’s longer and pull him closer to me as he sucks my clit deep into his mouth.
I’m seconds away from coming when he pulls back, and I wonder, for a split second, if this is some kind of punishment, to bring me to the edge and then back off. That is until I see his hands move to his belt buckle and I realize he’s just getting down to the good stuff.
I let my eyes trail over him. His body is beautiful with lean, chiseled muscles all over that lead down to a long, hard cock that stands tall and thick from the opening of his jeans. He’s so good-looking that he makes my breath catch. I might hate myself in the morning, but I’m going to let myself enjoy this right now.
Ryan covers my body with his, and I let out the breath I’d been holding when he slowly slides deep inside me. But this is definitely different. This isn’t a hard and fast fuck on the entryway floor. This is slow and deep. Ryan looks deep in my eyes as he moves inside my body.
His mouth hovers over mine, and he touches his lips to mine every so often, but he doesn’t let it deepen. He doesn’t close his eyes but instead watches me. I don’t know what he’s trying to say with his eyes, his mouth, and his body, and I don’t want to either. This can lead to nothing but my heartache.
And still, I have no choice.
I rake my nails down his back as he plunges over and over. I gasp as he hits something deep inside me that makes my thighs tighten around his hips, and he moves faster, drives farther.
I open my mouth to cry out as the climax that Ryan had been carefully building washes over me, and he covers my mouth with his, giving me his deep rumble as he follows me over the edge.
Last time, he couldn’t pull out and pull up his pants fast enough, but this time, he slowly glides in and out of me as the last trimmers of my orgasm roll over me. He traces the tip of his nose down the side of mine and places soft kisses on my mouth. It’s sweet and it’s intimate and it’s too fucking much.
Oh my God, what have I done?
I put my open palms to the front of his shoulders and gently shove him back while I try to tamp down the stinging behind my eyes. Ryan rolls to his side, and I lose his cock. I feel a pang in my heart, but I don’t stop. I push up from the bed and head toward my bathroom.
“Jules?” he asks.
“I was wrong,” I whisper as I grip the doorjamb tight in my hands. “I can’t do this.”
“Julia,” he says more firmly, and I can hear the rustle of the sheets, so I move fast into the bathroom.
“If you ever respected me, even a little bit, you’ll leave,” I whisper, and then I shut the door tight and twist the lock.
“Jules, honey, open the door,” he says, and I can hear his hands against the wood panel. “Please, baby, we’ve gotta talk.”
“I can’t,” I whimper, and I hate that I can hear myself cry. I fucking hate it, and I hate that he can hear it too.
“Please, Jules,” he pleads. “I have to hold you.”
“No!” I practically shout. “Go. You have to go.”
“Julia.”
“Please,” I sob. “Just go.”
There’s silence around me that I fill with my cries, but I know he’s still there, listening to me lose it. And then he says, “All right, honey. I’ll go… for now. But this isn’t over.”
But he’s wrong. We have to be over now.
I hear the rustle of fabric as he dresses, and then he says softly, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And then he knocks softly on the door before I hear his boots move down the stairs.
I hold my breath until I hear the front door close, and then I give in to my tears and hysteria. I lie down on my fluffy lilac bathmat, and I cry myself to sleep, the whole time thinking I won’t hate myself tomorrow, because I hate myself now.
How could I have been so stupid?
“President’s Aide-de-Camp Injured in Hunting Accident”
Chapter 5
I was wrong
My eyes burn and my face is puffy. As I stare in the bathroom mirror, I realize I am not a pretty crier. In fact, I look like absolute shit.
There’s no way I can go out looking like this. Today, I’m going to have to do some serious self-care. I’m going to lock myself up and turn off my phone. I’ll order takeout and watch Lifetime movies, because I’m not sure I could handle the happily ever afters of Hallmark in my current mental state. I need a day of murderous nannies and psycho
stalkers. Maybe I’ll dive into that tiger documentary everyone is talking about.
But first up is a hot shower. I turn the taps to steaming hot and climb in. My muscles ache from sleeping on a bathmat, and the hot water goes a long way to work them out. I finish rinsing off and then pat myself dry.
I pull on panties and a sports bra, because I’m going to be comfortable today, but I’m also not going to be photographed looking like a saggy-boobed psycho when I open the door for some Uber Eats. I pull on a worn soft pair of jeggings that are more legging than jeans and a couple layered tank tops in different colors. I top it all with my favorite NYU sweatshirt that’s been worn and washed so much that it’s soft and cozy.
I dry my hair and twist it up into a messy bun on top of my head and dab a light amount of makeup on my face. I hate this step, and it seems stupid, unless you’ve been caught looking like you’re seven hundred years old because your hair and makeup isn’t done, which I have, and that was not a fun box to check. So I layer a tinted moisturizer and powder with a soft, dewy pink blush. I swipe some dark brown mascara on my lashes, and then I cap the tube and toss it back in my bathroom drawer.
I make my way downstairs and pop a pod in my Keurig as it makes the noises it does while it heats up. I place a cup on the little tray all while dreaming about the hot liquid that will magically help me get my life in order, because, real talk, something has to change. I can’t keep going on like this. Maybe it’s time I throw in the towel and go back to New York. I could always let my mom marry me off to someone with powerful business connections to further the family business. It would suck, but maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Or I could go to Texas and visit my friend Angie and her family. We were college roommates. She, Grace, and I stayed close, even though life took her to East Texas through a series of unfortunate life events, but she found her happy in the form of a retired professional football player and their daughter.
Then again, her husband Cody has the same slow southern drawl Ryan does, and I don’t know if I could handle the reminder of his sexy voice every day.
Life sucks.
I’m just about to lower the little lid to brew my coffee when there’s a knock at the front door. I let out a frustrated groan. I just wanted one day to get myself in order. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, it is, because there’s another knock at the door. I let go of the little handle and make my way to the front door. I twist the lock and pull the door open and instantly regret I did.
“Mornin’, honey,” Ryan says as the corners of his mouth tip up in a smile.
“What do you want?”
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” he asks, and if his booted foot wasn’t blocking the door, I’d have already shoved it closed.
“Not if I can help it,” I mutter, making his smile widen.
“You don’t mean that,” he replies with a sexy rumble to his voice.
“If I don’t let you in, will you just break in later?”
“Probably.” He chuckles. “But this is business.”
“Rachel?” I ask.
“Something like that,” he says. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”
“This better not be a trick,” I warn as I slowly step back to open the door wider to allow him entrance.
“Donovan wants everyone to rally around Cara, because she’s falling apart,” he says instantly as soon as the door closes.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Grab your purse,” he replies. “We’re all heading to his place.”
“I’ll follow you.” I try to avoid spending too much time in Ryan’s company. This way, I can beg off early.
His smile widens. “No.”
“Oh fine,” I snap as I grab my bag off the counter and slide my feet into a pair of ballet flats.
Ryan follows me through the house and takes my keys from me when I move to lock the door and does it for me. He unlocks his truck and opens the passenger door for me before closing it once I’m settled. And then he walks around with a smirk on his face that I’m choosing to ignore, and he climbs up into the driver seat.
He heads to the next town over, one a little more family friendly than mine, and we stop to pick up some coffee and donuts before heading on over to Rick’s house, where he has coordinated this well-planned attack to distract Cara.
“We brought takeout,” Ryan says as we let ourselves into the house that’s already brimming with our friends.
“And coffee,” I add with a big, fat fake smile on my face. “Lots and lots of coffee.”
“What’s all this?” Cara asks, and Grace cringes. Grace never could keep a poker face around the people she loves. Cara clearly knew nothing about this planned visit, and Grace just spilled the beans.
She swipes at her temples, and I can tell she’s hanging on by a very thin thread, so I ask, “Can I get you a cup of coffee, honey?”
“No,” she says just a little too sharply. “I have a headache. I think I had just a little too much champagne last night.”
“Okay, but—”
“I’m just going to go lie down,” Cara inserts. “Let me know if you need me.”
And then she scurries up the stairs. I look to Grace, who has a concerned look on her face. I feel the same way. Cara is falling apart, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.
“Any news?” I ask softly, and Jake just shakes his head.
“Maybe we should go check on her,” Grace suggests. “Maybe the crowd was overwhelming but she’d want some company. Come with me, Jules.”
“Okay.”
We make our way up the stairs, tiptoeing softly like a bunch of crappy cat burglars. Grace tries the door handle, and it rattles but doesn’t turn. Cara has locked the door. Shit. That can’t be good.
“It’s locked,” Grace whispers before knocking lightly.
“Honey, are you all right?” Rick asks softly from behind us.
“Do you think she’s okay?” Grace asks him.
“She’ll be fine,” he answers tersely. “She’s probably just sleeping. It was a late night last night.”
“But don’t you think we should have told her….” Grace’s voice trails off.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” Rick says. “She has enough on her mind.”
“But Rick—”
“Just leave it alone,” he snaps.
There’s not much we can do, so Grace and I do as Rick asks and let it go.
We make our way back downstairs, where everyone is sipping coffee and waiting. A ballgame plays low in the background, but I couldn’t tell you who is playing or what sport. That’s how high tensions are right now. When Rick, Jake, and Ryan devised a plan to bait the kidnappers last night, I was worried, now I’m terrified.
“We should have heard from them by now,” Rick says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.
“We will,” Ryan assures calmly. “You have to let the plan work.” After a moment, he turns in his seat. “Did you hear that?” Ryan asks. He’s suddenly alert, and it’s creepy the way he does that, but it also stands the hairs on my arms on end.
“Hear what?” Rick’s brow furrows.
“It sounded like the door opened,” he says, reaching for his gun that’s tucked into the back of his jeans. “I’m just going to go check that out.”
“Sure,” Rick says.
This is all so crazy. I’m not sure what to do with myself, but I know I need to stay calm for my friends. Otherwise, I don’t know. But I hate this.
“Hey, Rick?” Ryan calls out from the back of the house, and I instantly know something is wrong.
“Yeah?” Rick calls out.
“The side door is unlocked.”
Rick jumps up and runs upstairs. I can hear doors opening and closing, and I know—we all know.
“She’s gone.”
I grab Grace’s hand, and she squeezes mine tight as the men follow him upstairs. We wait silently while they s
peak in low tones I can’t hear upstairs. And then they all file down the stairs and out the door.
“Stay with Grace,” Jake barks as he follows them out.
“I guess we’re supposed to stay here,” she says.
“I’ll make some coffee.”
“Funeral Plans are Pending”
Chapter 6
Little white lies
“It’s time to move,” Gus, Jake’s Secret Service Agent, says.
“What’s happening?” Jake asks.
“The package has been retrieved,” Gus replies, tapping the earpiece in his ear. “We need to return to the residence.”
“And Black?” Jake prompts, and I hold my breath, wondering what the hell could have happened to Ryan.
About an hour ago, everyone went tearing through the house while issuing orders for me to stay behind with Grace, so that’s what I did. We hunkered down in the living room and waited. Sometime later, Jake and Gus returned. But that was it. Everyone else was gone, and the boys weren’t talking.
“Gunshot wound.” That was all he said. Just two little words and all the breath whooshes out of my lungs.
“Status?” Jake barks.
“Alive,” Gus replies before his eyes twitch over me for a split second, and I get the feeling there’s a whole conversation happening between Gus and Jake just through looks and nods.
Someone shot Ryan. He’s breathing, but I don’t know how freely he’s able to do so. God, was it only last night I swore I would never let him into my bed again? How stupid am I? I let my feelings get in the way once again, and now, some of the last memories I made with him are tainted, when I should have just been his friend.
And now I might never get the chance.
If I could go back in time, I would take every moment he came to me and let him love me well. I would gratefully accept every time he spoke to me with the sharp side of his tongue and not snap back. I would accept him for the man he is and not butt heads against it.
But now, all there can be done is to sit and wait.
I sit back on the sofa and curl my legs underneath me on the sofa. Grace curls her round form into Jake’s side, and I watch with unchecked longing as he wraps his arm around her while he talks to Gus. The way they offer comfort to each other is beautiful to watch, and I want it for myself with everything that I am. Not Jake, but someone who wants to comfort me and care for me in times of need.
The Press Secretary's Passion (A Presidential Affair Book 3) Page 5
