Exposed (VIP Book 4)

by Kristen Callihan

  “I love that,” Stella says. “Power in numbers and all that.”

  “I do too,” Libby says.

  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t let me continue to handle your public relations,” I tease.

  “As if I’d have it any other way,” she says with a wink.

  “And I was wondering, Stella and Sophie, if you two would consider joining me as partners.”

  “What?” Sophie claps her hands together. “Really?”

  “Seriously?” Stella adds with a smile.

  “You guys are excellent at public relations, and you know it. With Stella’s fundraising smarts and Sophie’s social media genius, we could kick ass.”

  “Oh, I am in,” Stella says.

  Sophie nods, picking up a cookie. “Me too. I mean, I love these guys, but it would be nice to branch out a little.”

  “Good.” I exhale with a small, bubbling laugh. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Fun,” Whip repeats, a little dazed, but then leans over and kisses the side of my head, ending with a brotherly muss of my hair. “Whatever floats your boat, Bren.”

  I swat him away with a smile. I can’t look at Rye. I feel him, though. He is etched in my skin.

  Killian lets out a breath. “Okay. That’s good. Like I said, it’s better when we—”

  “I’m not finished,” I cut in, my heart in my throat. It’s pounding so hard, I’m surprised I can speak. Part of me is screaming that I need to shut it. Not say another word. But I have to.

  “There’s more?” This from an amused but watchful Scottie.

  “Yes.” Licking my lips, I look straight at my cousin. “Right after Stella’s birthday, Rye and I began hooking up.”

  The room explodes into comments.

  “She went there,” Jax says in awe. “Just laid it down on the table.”

  “Holy shit,” Stella murmurs.

  Killian’s color drains then comes back in a rush. He turns to glare at an obviously poleaxed Rye. “What the fuck!”

  “Don’t you dare get mad at him,” I snap, pulling his attention back to me. “It was entirely consensual, and frankly you have no say in either of our personal lives.”

  He falls back, slumping in his chair. “Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He does not address this to Rye, and I’m fairly sure Killian is still imagining kicking his ass. Killian’s dark eyes remain on me, wry remorse filling them. “I’ll try my best not to act like an overprotective brother, because I know no one can protect someone else from getting hurt. It’s just…Rye? Seriously?”

  At this, Rye makes a noise that might be interpreted as a growl but could also very well be him scoffing. But he doesn’t take his eyes from the table.

  “Don’t make me come over there,” I warn Killian.

  He holds up a hand in surrender. “I only meant I thought you two hated each other.”

  “Not the brightest penny in the jar,” Whip murmurs, earning a glare.

  “Moving on,” I say firmly, as though I’m not shaking like a damn leaf on the inside. “I thought, in the spirit of this newfound openness, I’d tell you.”

  “Finally.” Jax lifts his hands in exasperation. “It was a nightmare keeping silent.”

  “Amen,” Whip agrees with feeling.

  Killian gapes. “You two knew?”

  I gape too. Not because of Whip, but because almost everyone at the table is nodding.

  “From the beginning,” Scottie deadpans.

  “Well, I didn’t,” Sophie wails. She glares at her husband. “You kept this from me. This? Gabriel!”

  He gives her a sidelong look, fondness lighting it. “You wouldn’t have been able to keep it secret, chatty girl.”

  Sophie snaps her mouth closed then wrinkles her nose. “It’s true. I would have blabbed to all and sundry.”

  “I can’t believe you guys knew,” I say, still not quite able to look at Rye. I’m aware of him, though, sitting there, humming with tension, staring at me like he can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing.

  Jax laughs shortly. “Honey, if you’re trying to be discreet, you can’t be making out in your kitchen during family dinner.”

  Killian makes a noise of disgusted horror.

  But I have to smile. “Caught us, did you?”

  Jax glances at Rye, likely gauging how much to say. “Unfortunately. But Rye told me to fuck off with the gossip and leave it alone on pain of death, so…” He trails off with a shrug.

  At Jax’s admission, Rye’s head jerks up, his eyes wide and slightly panicked. Our gazes collide, and I shake my head slightly, trying to tell him it’s okay.

  I put him in a difficult position with vows of secrecy. I can imagine Rye worrying that everyone would start talking and how it would embarrass me. It’s oddly sweet because I know he was protecting my feelings.

  Rye sags slightly, but the muscle in his jaw remains bunched. He breaks our gaze first, blinking down at his hands as though he doesn’t know where to look or how to deal with my sudden confession.

  I’m sorry, Ryland. It had to be done.

  Libby’s amused voice tugs my attention away from Rye. “I guessed but didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. It was your body language. People fucking…” She gives a stewing Killian a hesitant glance. “Er…having sex, act differently around each other.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty obvious,” Stella says, then smiles at Killian. “Well, to some of us.”

  I turn to Scottie, because he’s far too quiet and way too smug. “How did you know from the beginning, Gabriel?”

  He gives me a “get real” look. “I knew what would occur the second Rye stormed out of Stella’s birthday party.”

  “Oh, you did, did you?” Arrogant ass. He probably did. He’s creepy that way.

  “Love, why do you think I set you up with Marshall, who happens to look far too similar to a certain dithering idiot here? I’d had it with all the sexual tension dressed up as antipathy. Thought you both could use a little motivation.”

  “That’s some Machiavellian shit right there,” Jax says with a laugh.

  For the first time, Rye stirs, shooting a dark glare at Scottie. “Dickhead. You gave me so much grief about it. And now you’re claiming you were matchmaking?”

  Scottie doesn’t even blink. “More motivational hurdles, mate.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Stella hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know…I’m still not convinced Scottie didn’t set me up with John.”

  Jax huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Us? No. You were only pet sitting. He didn’t even want you to bother…Fu-ck me.” Gaping, he points a cookie at Scottie. “Make that Machiavelli’s evil brother.”

  I have to bite my lip not to smile, because these sorts of machinations are exactly Scottie’s style.

  Killian lets out an expansive breath. “Right then. Scottie’s moonlighting as the manipulative love fairy. And you two are…?” He makes a vague, helpless gesture with his hand, pointing between Rye and me.

  Rye stiffens, his jaw bunching. Red tinges his ears, and he stares at the table like it might hold the meaning of life.

  I take another bracing breath. “No. Not anymore. We decided to be friends instead.”

  I don’t miss the way Rye flinches, his big hands curling into tight fists. I want to reach out and touch him so badly, my bones ache. But I can’t. Not yet.

  “Thing is, I don’t want that, Rye.”

  His head jerks up, his skin paling. Wide, pained blue eyes meet mine.

  My lip wobbles dangerously, and I blunder on. “I promised I would never lie to you, but I did. I lied when I said I was okay with being friends. I’m not.”

  His breath is growing uneven, his eyes turning red. But he doesn’t blink, barely moves past the working of his jaw. It’s so silent, I can hear the frantic beating of my own heart.

  “You once thought I was worth the risk—” My voice breaks then finds strength. “You’re worth it too. I don’t want to just be your frien
d, Rye. I want…I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. Wherever I land, whatever I’m doing. Because I…I adore you, Ryland Peterson.”

  He takes a sharp, shuddering breath, the sound loud in the thick silence.

  “I’m saying it here, in front of everyone we love, because you deserve that. I forced you to hide our relationship from them, like a dirty secret. When you’re…You’re the best man I know, and I’d…I’d be honored to be even a small part of your life. Though, you should know, I want everything. If you’ll…if you’ll have me.”

  I stop there, hot and flushed and utterly drained.

  Rye doesn’t say a word. No one does. The only sound is the snap-pop of the fire and the rushing of my blood in my ears. Then, abruptly, he stands, knocking back his chair. I stand too; I can’t sit and remain passive. Besides, I’m going to run like hell if he tells me it’s too late.

  His nostrils flare, and then he’s stepping up onto the table. He’s tall enough to do it with graceful ease. On a mission, he walks across the table, the dishes rattling, gaze locked with mine as he comes. Lightly, he hops down to stand before me.

  I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He searches my face for one long moment, a man uncertain he’s heard correctly, but then his mouth trembles. When he finally speaks, his voice is deep, so deep, as though the words are coming from the very core of him.

  “I always was.”

  I can’t quite make my mouth work correctly. “Always was what?”

  “Yours.” Tender hands cup my cheeks. “I’ve always been yours. And you…You already are my everything. You’re my music, Bren.”

  A sob escapes. “Rye.”

  That’s all he needs. He dips his head and kisses me, a bit frantic, a bit tender, and entirely perfect. It’s air, the first true breath I’ve had. I pull him to me, but he’s already there, wrapping me up in his solid warmth, kissing me like I’m his air too.

  I’m his music. And he’s my wings.

  “Aw,” says a voice, breaking the silence. “That’s an Instagram moment right there.”

  Rye pulls back enough to shoot Jax a repressive glare. “Excuse us,” he says to everyone, then hefts me up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his trim waist as he palms my butt. And then he’s kissing me again and walking out of the room.

  Faintly, I hear Killian mutter, “And the world was never the same again.”

  I smile against Rye’s lips, joy soaring, because he’s right. My world will never be the same.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rye

  Somehow, I get us to my room. Somehow, I manage to shut the door behind us without dropping her in my clumsy haste. How am I supposed to function properly when my woman is wrapped around me, eating at my mouth like she’ll never get another taste?

  My woman. Holy shit. She’s mine.

  Mine.

  I press her against the door, my fingers threading through her hair. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”

  She laughs against my lips, a soft exhale of cocoa-laced breath. “No dream, buttercup.”

  A shot of pure, unfiltered happiness shoots up my spine, and I kiss her deep, my body pressing into hers. She feels so damn good. Warm and real. Delicate.

  Fragile.

  Shit. I’m too big to be shoving her up against doors without care. Pulling us away from the door, I spin her around to lay her on my bed. She smiles up at me, auburn hair a halo around the oval of her face, as I take off her little fuzzy slippers, tossing them next to mine, before crawling into bed.

  I settle over her, my arms bracketing her slim body. Now that I have her here, I can slow down. I can savor this.

  There’s so much I want to do, touch every inch of her silken skin, breathe her fragrance in deep. Kiss those cherry-sweet lips. But all I can do is stare, my hands clumsy as I cup her cheeks.

  “You nearly killed me down there,” I croak. “For a second. When I thought…” My chest hitches, and I kiss her again. Just to feel her, to confirm she’s real.

  When I pull back, Brenna traces one of my brows with the tip of her finger, her expression solemn. “I bumbled through the first half. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Thank you.”

  Her lips quirk with an uncertain smile. “You’re thanking me for a badly worded public confession?”

  “Yes. My heart was broken. You made it whole again.”

  “Rye.” She strokes my cheek. “I’ll do my best to be more careful with you in the future.”

  I said that to her once. When I risked it all and thought I’d lost her. She’s giving my words back to me. A slow smile spreads through me. I feel it down to my toes, on the back of my neck, in the pounding center of my chest.

  I want to say something, tell her what she means to me, but she’s tugging me down, her mouth fitting over mine.

  For a long time, we simply kiss, slow and easy, whispering nonsensical things, exchanging small touches just because we can. Lazy contentment steals over me. She’s warm and delicious, her mouth a wonder, her body my most covetous dream. If all I had of her was this—lying in her arms, tasting her mouth—I’d take it.

  But she’s given me everything. The knowledge fills me up, has me threading my fingers into her hair and holding on.

  Brenna’s gaze is soft as she rubs the scruff of my beard. “What were you going to tell me in the hallway?”

  “Oh, that?” My smile is self-deprecating, the heavy desperation of that moment replaced by buoyant satisfaction. “I was going to engage in a little light begging. Tell you that I was a bonehead coward when I said it was a mistake to ask for more.” I tug her closer. “It was a lie, Bren. I wanted you. So fucking badly, that I said what I thought you wanted to hear so I could keep you in my life.”

  “We spent a long time protecting ourselves from each other.” She strokes me to gentle the words. “Made us both a little boneheaded.”

  “Now I want to make a joke about bones,” I confess with a laugh. Because it feels so fucking good just to laugh with her.

  Her lips purse, but she can’t stop the smile. “Of course, you do.” The smile breaks free, and her lips press to mine. “You gonna?”

  “Going to what?” I ask against her lips, distracted.

  She snickers. “Bone me?”

  I blink—and then burst out laughing, my body quaking with it. God, I adore this woman. So much, my hands are clumsy as I lift her shirt to free her from it. The sight of her pert, pink-tipped breasts has me groaning low in my throat. “Hello, lovelies, oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  She huffs a laugh, as I lean down and kiss each rosy tip with due reverence. But the sound dies as I gently suckle one nipple, and her fingers thread through my hair. “Rye…”

  “Yeah?” I rasp, nuzzling under the curve of her breast. She smells so good, feels like satin.

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  The confession, softly spoken and filled with longing, has my heart clenching tight. With dreamlike slowness, I map the silken dips and lines of her body, drawing off her pants as I go. She opens her legs for me, and I find the heat of her, swollen and slick, and all for me.

  I need a taste. She is luscious, melting against my tongue, dripping honey that I lap up with growing fervor. I drown in her flavors, the musky scent of her desire. It feeds my own, and I grind into the bed to ease the ache. I am utterly lost, working her as she comes and comes.

  Until she grabs at my hair, tugging with impatience. “Up here,” she demands, all dewy pink and panting. Greedy hands pluck at my shirt. Grinning, I help her out, whipping it off, easing down my pants. My dick slaps against my abs, it’s so damn hard.

  I palm it, squeezing hard to get it under control. But her hands are on me now, running along my shoulders like a balm. I surge up to kiss her, needing those lips, needing to feel her skin pressed to mine. It’s been too long. Forever. Fucking agony.

  But she’s wrapped around me now, easing the pain. Legs locked with mine, her hands stroke my back, grasping my ass.
I love it. Love everything about her.

  I murmur words of reverence as I cup her cheek, kiss her mouth. Tell her how much I missed her, missed this, how she’s the only one I think of, the only one I want. She shivers, moans against my lips.

  “There’s only you,” she whispers. “No one else will do.”

  Has she any idea what that does to me? My lids prickle, emotion clogging my throat as I ease between her spread thighs. Staring down at her softly smiling face, auburn strands of her hair sticking to her flushed skin, my arms bracketing her slim body, I push into the snug clasp of her and shudder, undone, pleasure flowing down my limbs like liquid heat.

  I move slowly, going in deep and holding there for a long moment before pulling back and doing it again. Again. Working myself home, claiming my place, making her moan.

  I kiss her mouth, touch her cheeks, the curve of her neck. This is love. I know it now. The utter adulation in our touches, the perfection of it. It is peace and comfort and pleasure all in one.

  The knowledge swells between us, reflected in her eyes. And she touches me with trembling hands, moves with me, taking me just as I take her. In that moment, I know the truth: I am home.

  After a long journey, I am home.

  Brenna

  The little house in the woods just beyond the lake started life as a gamekeeper’s cottage. Like something out of a fairy tale with its thatched roof, eyebrow dormers, and walls of timber and stucco. It had fallen into disrepair until Uncle Xander renovated the place in the 1990s. Now, the floors glow mellow honey and marshmallow-cream walls contrast with the dark old beams stretched over the low ceiling.

  As kids, Killian and I used to sneak in here from time to time, pretending to be Hansel and Gretel. Or, in our teen years, to smoke pot and read books, or listen to music while lounging on the overstuffed sofa set up before the river-stone fireplace.