“Jen.” There’s a gentleness in his eyes as he lifts my hand in his. “I cared about you. Jesus, I wanted you so damned badly. Why do you think I came over again? I was dying to be near you, to get my hands back on you. But there were other feelings to consider. Other people. And when I said the situation was fucked up, I meant me. Not you, sweetheart. If things had just been different, I wouldn’t have ever let you go. That was one of the hardest damn decisions I’ve ever made.”
****
If things had been different. I can’t get those words out of my head. Nearly two hours later, I’m back in my car, my head in a dizzy gray fog. My emotions are like a pendulum—swinging one way then the other. They’re difficult, erratic, and far from calm.
They’re everything but rational.
After I stop at the grocery store and toss a few essentials into the cart, I give up on trying to think of what else I might need and check out, run home, unload everything, tidy up, then dial Keith’s number and leave a voice mail. “Hope you’re home. Hope you’re alone, because I’m headed your way. I need to talk.”
Ten minutes later, I’m driving toward Ryker Ranch, regardless of the late hour.
I’m confused, out of touch with my feelings. Questions crash and collide in my head. I want, and need, the truth. All of it. I can’t work for Keith if I don’t clear my mind.
Why has Keith never married?
Why has Jason never married?
Why did Keith walk away from me?
Why did Jason refuse to take my virginity?
I want to know everything.
And whether or not I get my heart broken all over again, I’m not leaving until I do.
Chapter Seven
Jen
There’s something tranquil, almost intoxicating, about being out in the country, something that’s missing in the hustle and bustle of the vast polluted urban cities.
My God, this place is more beautiful than I remember.
I pull into the circular drive with memories barreling through my mind—the parties, the bonfires, the music. Glistening stars are like live glowing embers, twirling, sashaying, and illuminating the coal-black veil of sky, while the blanket of darkness feels comforting, safe and secure, like a place to let your soul run free.
Nothing comes close to the night air at Ryker Ranch.
With a gentle breeze blowing through the air as I exit the Jeep, my heart starts thundering at the sight of Keith sitting on the wraparound front porch, his expression undecipherable, stock-still, a tumbler of amber-colored liquid rolling between his palms. Silence lies between us, but other sounds prevail—the chirp of insects, an airplane far in the distance, a whippoorwill serenading us with its three-syllable whistle. He doesn’t blink once, his eyes icy, insensitive, transfixed on mine and dead of emotion.
“I’m home. Alone. So let’s talk.”
My gaze falls to his jeans that are faded and ripped at the knees, his normal Western button-down that’s been replaced by a black Henley-type shirt with the sleeves casually pushed up to the elbows and hugging every hard inch of his chest, and his shiny expensive boots exchanged for a pair that are aged, scuffed, and the soles worn down. As he sits in nothing but a sweep of light shining down from the stars, I can still see the glistening brown of his eyes flashing with an unnerving seriousness and the dusting of dark hair trailing up his arms that I find way too damned sexy. Despite being aggravated as hell and the bitterness swirling through my belly like a bad case of indigestion, for a second, I have the sudden urge to place my hand against the firm plane of his abdomen and slide it down over his belt buckle and the bulge beneath.
More striking than ever before, he looks like fire and sex.
But why am I thinking about him naked, the scent of his cologne, and the way he used to kiss me? Why am I thinking any of these things? He’s hiding something. Jason’s hiding something, and I’m here for one reason, dammit. One!
Answers.
I light into him before I lose my nerve, determined not to yield to the likes of Keith Ryker and these memories refusing to stop charging through my mind. “We used to tell each other everything, Keith. Even after you dumped me, even after I moved, for years I continued to open up to you about all my insecurities. I told you things I told no one. My God, I told you about men I’d slept with. Clubs I’d visited. So, what’s with the bullshit? All the secrets? The weird vibes I’m getting from the both of you?”
His expression tightens, and he motions me to sit down beside him, just the small insignificant gesture sparking heated flames in my core. Beside him is everywhere I want to be, everywhere I’ve always wanted to be. But I force myself not to give him the satisfaction. I don’t move an inch.
“I don’t want to sit,” I respond with a scowl. “I want to know why you really quit communicating with me after years of texting and emailing. Your poor excuse of life and work getting in the way is lame bullshit, and you and I both know it. I want to know the real truth behind you wanting to reopen that stupid museum when you have everything a man could want? Why does Jason hem and haw around when I ask him anything about his private life and the obvious bite marks on his neck? Why am I really here, Keith? What do you…”
My voice cracks and a flicker of arousal ripples between my legs as he rises from his chair and struts toward me mightily, powerfully, oozing strength and authority like a raging lion that’s inches away from charging its unsuspecting prey.
“You know why.” He takes my cheeks between his palms and walks me onto the porch and into the wall, his hands still on either side of my face as he slants his mouth over mine and swallows my string of questions with his lips as he pulls me against the firmness of his body where he undoubtedly feels my nipples turning to hard points. God, he tastes good, like peppermint Tic Tacs, like bourbon, like lust and greed and hunger. Like heat and sex and sin. Like Keith.
“Keith.” He gazes down at me with that damn lethal stare and darkening eyes while kissing deep into me like his life depends on it, gently but urgently, full of passion, but also with a warm spontaneity. Our strokes become deeper, more desperate, like a desirous melding of our mouths. His tongue sweeps against mine and licks into me with a strength and determination like no other kiss I’ve ever experienced and sparks fire and lust through every inch of me as the thick ridge of his cock presses into my belly.
“Sugar.” With his tone sounding like sex and romance and sin all wrapped up together, he deepens the kiss while staring wildly into my eyes, his long strong fingers digging through the hair at my temples, and kisses the damned strength straight out of me.
Yes. God, yes. Don’t stop.
When his hands lower down my torso and squeeze my ass cheeks, a growl escapes his throat that echoes all the way through my bones, and I’m instantly remembering that same sound, these same hands grabbing at me, squeezing at me, making my body tremble and ache with heat and hunger, and the pain I felt when he ended things. Breathless and lightheaded with confusion stirring in my mind, I bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood then push against his chest.
Red-hot fire blazes in his eyes as he flinches then draws back.
“What the fuck?” There’s an angry chill to his voice and a vein popping out on his forehead as he glowers at me with an intensity that steals the oxygen from the night air. He traces a thumb across his bottom lip. “If things were different, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a damn week.”
The urge to apologize and dab at the speck of red on his lips before dropping to his feet and awaiting my punishment lingers inside me like a huge gaping hole that needs closing, but I resist.
“Well, they obviously are different, aren’t they?” I bite back. “And I didn’t come here tonight to fuck or fight. I’m here for answers.” Abruptly, I walk to a swivel rocker and take a seat, my knees knocking, my hands warm and sweaty. “I want to know why you really bought that damned museum, what happened between the two of us, and why you led me to believe we had something specia
l. Did I ever mean anything to you? At all?”
“For fuck’s sake, Jennifer. You know what you meant to me.” There’s pain in Keith’s voice, almost a tone of regret and remorse that clashes with every reason that I’m here.
“Jennifer? Now I’m Jennifer? And do I? Really?” With my heart sinking and anger flaring, I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds as I fight the emotion knocking hard at my chest. “One day you couldn’t get enough of me. You made me think there was something good and special between us. Then the next, you were dumping me like yesterday’s trash and went on to live this awesome life without so much as an explanation. I accepted that years ago. I did. But do you have any idea what it feels like not knowing? Wondering if I did something wrong? Or didn’t do something good enough?” I blink away from him, stare at the light coating of dust on my Jeep for a few seconds, then say, “For weeks, I picked up the phone to call and ask why. I wrote letters … texts. But I got over you. I damn well did. I moved on from all the hurt and heartbreak. But then, out of the blue, you suddenly wanted me back in Springhill. And I suddenly couldn’t refuse you … again. I want to know why. I know damn well that museum isn’t important to you.”
Silence—not even the sound of chirping insects in the background—is uncomfortable, tense, awkward, and seems to last forever. Strained energy ripples through the dark air until finally, with his voice softening and almost apologetic, he responds.
“First of all, you meant everything to me, Jen. You have no idea how much. Special doesn’t light a candle to the feelings I had for you. I never, not for a minute, stopped thinking about you, wanting, or caring for you. But certain things were happening in my life then … dark things … deviant things I couldn’t explain, because I didn’t understand them myself. There was just—”
Keith plunges his fingers through his hair, his jaw stiffening as he stares up at the sky.
My eyes sting, and my insides quiver. Will I ever really get over the likes of Keith Ryker? Will I ever stop comparing and just accept that other men—good men—do exist?
“Just what? Fresh pussy you couldn’t refuse? Stronger and more experienced submissives?” I stand up nervously, my pulse pounding in my ears. “You could have at least waited a little longer before you flaunted it in my face and made me look like a complete loser when you started fucking everything with a vagina.”
“Good one, Jen. I’ll let that one slide,” he responds with a voice low and hoarse. “Next time, however, you’ll end up across my knee.”
Tears burning, I gaze up into the millions of stars and search for the Big Dipper during what seems to be ten years of an excruciating, deplorably tense sullenness while waiting for words, for answers, for fucking anything at all as I hold everything I want and need to say inside. Finally, I swipe at my eyelids then blink back at a solemn Keith.
“Whatever, Keith. Just tell me one thing. Why am I really here?”
“You’re here,” he hisses while catching my elbow and spinning me around to face him, “because I can’t stand you being anywhere else, god fucking dammit.” His thumb brushes over my trembling bottom lip. “I bought Ryker’s old place nearly two years ago thinking I might tear it down and build a house, possibly a duplex. Then I realized that wasn’t why I bought the motherfucking place at all. I bought it because I’m a selfish bastard and wanted you back in Springhill. And in my damn life.” With narrowed eyes that are flashing with guilt and self-reproach, but also hard and brown and lethal, he studies me while running his finger over my chin, and with all that I am, it takes every bit of strength I have not to cut my stare and blink away from that brown gaze. “There’s just so much you don’t know, Jen. So much you won’t understand or accept.” He peers down at me for another hellish long minute with his jaw clenching. “And as for fresh pussy, if I recall, you offered that sweet little piece of heaven to Jason long before you did me.”
My blood grows warm as more tears well in my eyes. “You know what?” I jerk back, instantly missing the feel of his finger on my lip. “Fuck you, Keith Ryker. Fuck your damned museum renovations and your suspicious behavior and half-ass answers. Fuck all your cowboy hotness and every other fucking thing. This was a brutal mistake coming back here and another stupid decision I made on pure emotional instinct. I won’t let you rip my heart from my chest again.” Just as I spin around to leave, he catches me and forces me against his racing chest.
“Horseshit.” He crushes his lips against mine and seals his arms around my body like two heavy steel wires and kisses me with a depth and passion that I feel in every part of me. For seconds, everything outside his hands, his mouth, and his body all come to a standstill as he claims me with heat, hunger, and desperation that has my heart racing so fast that I feel faint. There is something between the two of us, something strong, something that’s never subsided, something that’s way more than just a decade-old sexual crush. I love this man. I want this man more than anyone I’ve ever wanted before. Only him.
Only you. Fill me where I need to be filled. Stretch me the way I need to be stretched. Love me. Own me.
His eyes flash with possession, heat, and need. “Did that feel like a motherfucking mistake?” His voice is grit and gravel, strength and sway, and pleasure and everything my body and soul needs. Stubble rubs against my skin as his lips brush down my neck, and the wicked hot seduction behind his zipper presses into my stomach.
My God, no. Nothing ever felt like a mistake with Keith, other than the day he walked away. I loved him with my whole heart. I always have. I still do. “I—I loved you, Keith. You were my first love. And I did everything you wanted, everything you needed. When I saw you with your hands on Kelly Martinez only a week after you broke up with me, I wanted to die. I was so humiliated. And as for Jason … I—I don’t know how to explain it. I was in love with you, but there was just something about him. I cared about him, and I still do.” Panting softly, I shudder and take a step back. “But he wasn’t you, you egotistical, self-centered bastard.”
Keith rubs his hands over the top of his head like he’s unsure how he feels or how to respond, and then he takes my cheeks back between his palms, firmly, possessively, and brushes his mouth against mine, his breath smelling of whiskey and mint. “I’m sorry for hurting you, sugar. I’ve never forgiven myself for all the shit I pulled back then. It killed me walking away from you. But I had to find myself, and I couldn’t, and wouldn’t drag you into my personal turmoil.” He rests his chin on top of my head. “Stay with me tonight. Let’s talk more about what happened then and what’s happening now.”
I want to stay. More than anything in the world, I do. My stomach clenches so hard that it hurts just thinking how much I want to be here, how desperately I want his hands on me, his body on mine. But all the love, the longing, and the desire doesn’t heal the tender pangs or bruises in my heart or respond to all the pending questions in my head. He’s still the same Keith that dumped me, the same Keith that kept secrets when I shared everything, and ultimately the same Keith that’s still keeping something from me. It’s all too painful, all too familiar, and I won’t let myself fall again this fast, this deep.
“You may be a studly, wealthy West Texas cowboy with beautiful women falling at your feet for an evening in your bed, but I absolutely, positively will not be your flavor of the week or the next notch on your belt.”
Keith tips my chin up, those brown eyes icy as power radiates off him. “Let’s cut the crap and get one thing clear right now, Jen. If I were looking for a fuck buddy, I could have one within the half-hour. But I haven’t had my hands on a woman in over a year.”
Feeling beaten and worn, I push away and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Damn you, Keith. Damn you for being this way, for making me this way. I walked away from everything. Everything! And for what?”
“Sugar.” Keith cups my face and presses his mouth to mine for a long sensual steady kiss, then lowers his forehead against mine. “Because you need to be here. Because I need you to
be here. Because we need to be here—together. Please, baby. Please come inside with me.”
Chapter Eight
Jen
Made of stone and stucco, the Ryker Ranch homestead appears traditional from the outside—one-story, L-shaped, deep red gabled roof, extended eaves, and row after row of uncovered windows. But once we walk through the door, the open floor plan is a little classic but also a little contemporary. Oversized, high-end, caramel-colored leather furniture fills the living area, along with plush hand-woven rugs in muted natural tones with bursts of deep blue atop expensive Brazilian walnut floors, which I only recognize because Charles Jackson, founding partner of Jackson, Miles, & Smith, has the same flooring in his Highland Park estate. Sapphire-colored throw blankets folded neatly on each end of the attached ottoman immediately make me think of curling up with a nice book and a perfectly chilled glass of wine with a long nap afterward. Canvas prints, maybe or maybe not Thomas Kinkaid, line the walls, and a flat-screen television, at least sixty-five inches wide, rests above the fireplace mantel.
“Oh, my God. This is amazing. What did you do? Hire Chip and Joanna Gaines to come decorate this place?” I love my remodeled house on Scenic Drive. Jesus, I do, but this makes my simple fourteen-hundred-square-footer look more like a glorified little she-shed.
Sliding French doors lead outside to a rectangular courtyard filled with plush furniture, an outdoor kitchen that faces a tall, stone fireplace, and a pool with a boulder waterfall.
“Was all this here before? I remember the pool but not the fireplace or the built-in kitchen.”
Everyone always loved coming out here. Whether barbecuing, swimming in the kidney-shaped diving pool, or just sitting around a fire and chilling, we were always welcomed at Ryker Ranch.
Call Me Sugar Page 6
