Exposed (VIP Book 4)

by Kristen Callihan

  At some point last night, an envelope was thrust under Rye’s door, containing a heavy iron key and a note from Killian that read:

  For the love of all that’s holy (and my freaking ears), please, please, please take the cottage. Love you, Bean (& Rye, I guess).

  —Kills

  I suppose Rye and I had gotten a little too loud, and the note was Killian’s way of saying he supported our relationship, something I think we both needed to hear. So we happily decamped to the cottage, heading directly for the massive oak tester bed, draped in butter-colored toile that took up nearly the entirety of the bedroom alcove.

  Though the house has a fully stocked kitchenette, later the following day, Whip delivered us a lunch basket, smugly speculating that we needed real sustenance in the form of a hot meal.

  A grinning Rye thanked his friend at the door then crawled back in bed to feed me bites of savory steak pasties with a buttery crust that melted on the tongue and left little golden flakes on my lips for Rye to lick off.

  We devoured lunch, washing it down with cold, hoppy beers, before Rye shoved everything to the side and then spread my legs to have his “dessert.” At some point, we drifted off to sleep, but it must not have been for long, because the fire still crackles behind the grate when I wake.

  It begins to rain, a steady fall that taps against the windows and turns the outside light weak and gray. Inside, however, is quiet and cozy and beautiful. Cream-colored rag rugs over mellow wood floors, tobacco-velvet club chairs, and the slouchy long couch covered in faded cream-cabbage rose print lend the room a soft and pleasing feel, while emerald-green gourd lamps with deep red shades cast a rosy glow to the room.

  Rye is still asleep, his muscled body a sprawl of firm, golden skin and mosaics of colorful ink. One big foot hangs over the edge of the bed, the white sheets twisted around one beefy thigh. Smiling, I run a hand over the back of his spiked hair. In the dim of the alcove, it’s the color of old bronze with glints of gold. He grunts in his sleep, turning his head my way. There’s not a gentle line on his boldly shaped features, save his lips. Those are wide and soft, the bottom lip plush and utterly biteable.

  A light exhalation leaves him, the thick fan of his lashes fluttering with his dreams. I let him be. The poor man more than earned his sleep.

  Languid and replete, I lift my arms and stretch out all the delicious little aches and pains that making love to Rye left behind. The room is warm enough that I don’t bother with a robe but pad naked to the bathroom.

  When I return, I curl up on the end of the bed, watching the fire play over the pale walls, and draw in the faint scent of lavender tingeing the air. I have no idea where it comes from, but it is sweet and clean and soothes me. Every part of this room is created for enjoyment. And all I can think is that I am here, and I am grateful. I love my life and the people in it.

  Contentment has me feeling lazy. I revel in it, give myself permission to let go. It’s surprisingly easy to do with Rye.

  Damn, but the man can put a smile on my face even when he’s sleeping less than two feet away. I allow myself that joy too, because I’m done worrying about what I’m supposed to be doing.

  Behind me, Rye stirs, uttering an adorably confused grunt, and I know he’s awake and most likely rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  I continue to watch the fire and feel his gaze like a warm caress along my back.

  “Good sleep?” I ask softly.

  He grunts again, a sated beast lounging in his bed.

  “Yeah,” he says, just as soft. He’s silent for a moment. “You okay?”

  The sound of his quiet care has me smiling, but I don’t turn around. Not yet. A strange sort of peaceful lethargy keeps me in place. “Yes. Just thinking about my parents.”

  He waits a beat before answering. “They don’t deserve you, baby.”

  Baby. We rarely call each other by those types of names. But the way he says it, gentle and tender, makes me feel wrapped up in his protection. I like it. A lot.

  Ducking my head, I pick at the cashmere duvet cover. “I’m okay. Better, actually.”

  With a light sigh, I tilt my head back and blink up at the ceiling. “I was sitting here, feeling safe and content, and this realization stole over me. For my entire life, I worried about fitting in, felt like I was the outsider when it came to the wealth and success Killian, his parents, and you guys in the band all had.”

  Rye doesn’t say a word, but I know he’s ready to reach out if I need it, and the words come easier.

  “I’d hear my parents’ warnings, all the times they said I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t fit in this world, and deep down, I believed it. But the truth is, my parents were the ones who didn’t fit. They were the outsiders, not because they weren’t good enough, but because they didn’t let themselves belong.

  “I belong here for the simple reason the people in my life care about me, and this wealth and success is the result of hard work and talent. I fit in because this is the life I made for myself. For years, I ran from anything that threatened to leave me emotionally open. I denied myself true happiness, denied myself you. Back in that kitchen, I stopped running, and everything shifted. And…I don’t know…it just truly sank in.”

  Pausing, I smooth my hand over my bare knee, that gentle sense of peace floating over me. “We are who we are, and who we are is pretty great as far as I’m concerned. No one can take that from me without my permission. Not even my parents.”

  When I finish, Rye doesn’t say anything. But I know he’s heard and is processing. The bed creaks with his movement, then his voice, thick with sleep but also emotion, reaches over the small space between us.

  “I love you.”

  So simply said, like it’s always been true.

  It soaks into my skin, fills my heart. Finally, I turn. He reclines on his side, head resting in his hand, looking back at me with that truth shining in his eyes. Strong, pure, gorgeous. Mine.

  This man is mine. My friend. My lover. My home. My heart.

  “I love you too.”

  His smile is the dawn. And when he reaches out to tug me against his solid warmth, I go willingly, curling into him and threading my fingers in his messy hair.

  The corners of his denim-blue eyes crinkle as he touches my cheek with the blunt tips of his fingers. “We just said we loved each other.”

  “We did.”

  The grin turns incandescent. “Say it again, so I can fully soak it up.”

  “I love you.”

  “God, that’s nice.” He kisses me, melting little presses of lips to lips. “One more time.”

  “I love you, Ryland Peterson.”

  “Mmm…Just gets better and better.” He rolls me back and settles between my legs, his big, firm body a blanket of warmth around me.

  I stroke the short strands of his thick hair. “Let me see. Tell me again.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle, a look of utter happiness lighting his face. “I love you, Brenna James.”

  “You’re right, it feels really good.”

  Rye hums and kisses the crook of my neck. “I’ll tell you every day, then.”

  Little shivers of delight race over my skin. “And twice on Sundays?”

  “Multiple times every day.” He finds the sensitive spot under my ear, his voice dipping. “I’ll say it whenever I’m thinking it, which is basically all the time.”

  I trace the hard curve of his shoulder where his skin is hot and tight. “Let’s not go crazy, now.”

  “You’ll love it,” he growls against my neck, playfully nipping me.

  My smile pulls wide, joy making me giddy. “You’re right. I will.”

  He chuckles, the sound rumbling and infectious. And suddenly I’m laughing too, wrapping myself more firmly around him as he peppers my face with kisses, his big body quaking with humor.

  “Why are we laughing?” I ask idly, my hands finding their way back into his hair.

  Rye lifts his head and meets my gaze.
His entire heart is in his eyes and it is stunningly beautiful.

  “Because we’re happy, Berry. We’re happy.”

  Epilogue

  Brenna

  Rye finds me by the pool. I’m more of a burner than a tanner, so I wait until the sun is low in the sky to take a swim. I’ve had a long day, talking to prospective clients, coordinating with my new staff to set the business up—including wooing Jules away from Scottie’s employ. I’d feel guilty about that if he hadn’t given me his blessing to pursue her.

  Now, all I want to do is drink my cocktail and hang out with my man.

  When he stops at the end of the double-wide lounger I’m sitting on, I smile up at him. “Hey, buttercup. You done for the day?”

  We’ve set up camp at his LA house. And it’s been surprisingly easy, living and sharing workspace together. I took the home office that overlooked the valley below, and Rye mainly spends time in one of the studio spaces. So far, he’s produced two albums this spring, and is working with a bunch of other artists for upcoming projects.

  “All done.” He eases in next to me, his big bulk taking up most of the space. With a happy sigh, he leans down and kisses me, his hand cupping my cheek in that way of his that says I’m his world. I melt into the touch, humming in pleasure.

  When he pulls back, his expression is relaxed and light. A far cry from how he’d been for so many months. The time off from the band had been hard at first; he’d felt like he was abandoning them. But then he started to heal, to expand his creativity with producing, and the tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes began to ease.

  “Want a sip?” I offer him my cocktail glass.

  He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and accepts the drink. “God, I needed this.”

  Rye runs a hand through his hair, sending the bronze strands on end. Months in the sun have bleached the tips light gold. His free hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together in a comfortable clasp. He smiles at me, a soft look, as his gaze moves over my face like he’s memorizing it. The mellow light of the late afternoon sun turns his eyes sapphire blue. “Needed you too, Berry.”

  “Well, obviously,” I say, as if his words don’t make me giddy. We’ve been together for nearly six months now, and the man still has the power to make my insides flutter with just a look. “You’d be an utter mess without me.”

  Of course, that goes both ways. I used to think needing someone was a weakness. But life is better, richer, more real with him in it. And I’m not weaker admitting this; I’m stronger.

  Rye lifts our linked hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I would. I’d probably forget to tie my shoes, run into walls and not notice, be a blubbering lonely wreck. I definitely function better on a steady diet of stellar sex.”

  Rolling my eyes, I reach over him to take my drink back. “Stellar, is it?”

  He catches me around my waist and hauls me close, chuckling. “Spectacular.” His lips brush the crest of my cheek. I feel that touch deep in my belly. “Perfect. The very best ever.”

  I sip my drink, suppressing a smile. “No one likes a kiss-ass, Ryland.”

  Gently, he takes the drink from my hand and sets it on the side table before hugging me close and burrowing his face in the crook of my neck. “Roll over and I’ll kiss your ass right now.”

  I laugh, half-heartedly trying to wiggle away. “No ass for you, big guy.”

  He grabs said ass and gives it a fond squeeze. “Now, Brenna, you know we both win when you give me this fine ass.”

  He’s not wrong. Flushing, I cup the square line of his smooth jaw. He shaved off his beard about a month into living in LA, not liking how it felt in the warm California sun. “Give me your fine ass in return and we’ll talk.”

  His grin flashes wide. “Done. Now be a good girl and take this off.” He plucks at my bikini bottom.

  “We can’t.” I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “I just got a text from Stella. They’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

  We’d seen our friends on and off for months. Stella, Sophie, and Libby have been helping me set up our business. And while Libby isn’t a working partner, she’s been active in recruiting talent. The plan is for us to work out of both coasts, and we’ve had lots of FaceTime meetings. But this is the first time everyone is coming to stay with us all at once.

  My birthday is tomorrow, and we’re all celebrating.

  “Fine. I’ll claim that ass tonight.” Rye flops back with a long-suffering sigh, but his expression is happy. He’s missed his boys. A lot. It is no surprise to me that they’re planning to work on new material once they get here.

  “We’ll see.” He totally will. I’ll make sure of it.

  Rye grunts but then sits up straight as though startled. “I forgot something…” With a quick kiss on my cheek, he rolls over and hops up. “Don’t move.”

  “Wasn’t planning to.” Smiling to myself, I lift my hands overhead and settle down with a sigh. But Rye returns quickly, carrying a black lacquered box big enough to hold a loaf of bread.

  He appears almost shy as he hovers by the edge of the lounger. “Your birthday present.”

  Hauling myself up, I eye him then the box, not having a clue what’s in it, but loving that he’s brought me a present. He does that a lot now, though mostly with little things: pastries from my favorite shop, fashion magazines he knows I like—the warming lube was really for both of us, but I appreciated it just the same.

  “But my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

  “I know.” Again comes the strange hesitation in his voice, as though he’s nervous. Expectation lights his eyes as he hands it to me. “But I wanted to give this to you when we were alone.”

  I run my hands over the silky, smooth surface.

  “Go on.” He gestures with his chin to the box. “Open it.”

  “I’m opening it,” I insist, fighting a smile.

  He hunkers down next to me, thick thighs stretching his worn jeans. His nearness distracts me for a moment, and I find myself leaning into his warmth to press a kiss on his neck, but the impatient yet amused look in his eyes brings me back to the task.

  Lifting the lid, I find the insides swathed in pink tissue paper. It takes me a moment to discover my prize but when I do, my breath goes short. Hands trembling, I lift out a perfect open-toed sandal made of pale pink leather with a slim rose-gold metallic heel. What makes the shoe utterly beautiful is the pair of delicate laser-cut leather angel wings covered in rose-gold glitter and rhinestones poised on the back of the heel as though they might soon flutter and take to the air.

  “Oh, my.” I know these heels. They are Sophia Webster Evangelines. I’ve admired them from afar, but they seemed too frivolous, too ethereally pretty, to buy. And yet the fact that Rye bought me the loveliest pair of princess heels I’ve ever seen has my vision blurring and my heart swelling. “They’re perfect,” I get out.

  His expression fills with tenderness as he runs a finger along my forearm. “Wings, Bren. So you’ll never forget how far you can fly.”

  Oh, hell.

  I set the magical heel back into the box, then grab him, hugging him fiercely, my face buried in his neck. “With you in my life, I’ll never forget how far we both can fly, Ryland Peterson.”

  He squeezes me back in a grip so strong, it almost hurts, before rasping, “I love you too, Brenna James. I love you too.”

  And that’s really all that matters.

  Thank you!

  Thank you for reading EXPOSED!

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  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to editors, Manu Velasco and Christa Desir at Tessera Editorial, p
roofreaders Christine Yates, and Angie at pinkadotpages, and my beta readers Louisa Edwards, Sam Young, Adriana Anders, and Kati Brown.

  A huge thanks to Nina, Mary, Kim, Kelley, and everyone at Valentine PR.

  But the biggest thanks goes to the dedicated fans and reviewers who have made this series what it is and have patiently waited for this book. I cannot express how much this means to me.

  Also by Kristen Callihan

  THE GAME ON SERIES

  The Hook Up —Book 1

  The Friend Zone – Book 2

  The Game Plan —Book 3

  The Hot Shot — Book 4

  VIP SERIES

  Idol —Book 1

  Managed —Book 2

  Fall—Book 3

  Cowritten with Samantha Young

  Outmatched

  With MONTLAKE

  Dear Enemy

  Make it Sweet

  DARKEST LONDON

  Firelight

  Moonglow

  Winterblaze

  Shadowdance

  Evernight

  Soulbound

  Forevermore

  About the Author

  Kristen Callihan is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author. She has won a RITA award, and two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.

  To get to know Kristen

  www.kristencallihan.com

  Kristen.Callihan@aol.com