by Robin Kaye
Vinny shrugged. He wasn’t sure what to say, not that Rich would let him get a word in edgewise. Maybe that’s what they call one of those rhetorical questions teachers always ask. They don’t expect anyone to answer unless they’re called on. Obviously, Richie wasn’t calling on him. And until he had something important to say, he wouldn’t interrupt. The boy was on a roll.
“I don’t think Emily gives a shit about Becca’s family, but if Becca thinks there’s even a chance Emily’s interest in her art is because of her family, she’s so freakin’ stubborn, she’ll pull out.”
“Are you gonna tell her?”
“I don’t know what the hell to do. See, when my dean told me to settle down, I’m not sure if it was my dean talkin’ or if it was my friend and mentor, Craig. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Vinny rubbed his stubbled chin. “Yeah, it’s like when we’re having a meeting here at the restaurant. I gotta tell Mona what’s what ’cause I run the place, and she handles the serving staff, but she’s also my wife. It gets confusing.”
Rich nodded. “Exactly. If I tell Becca what Craig said, she might cut off her own nose to spite her face. And if I don’t tell her, and Emily likes her work, I have to smile and make nice with Craig and pretend that I don’t resent the hell out of the fact that Becca’s family connections pushed me over the edge and into a tenure track position instead of telling him he can take his job and stuff it up his ass.”
“Yeah, that’s probably not a good thing to do.”
Rich ran his hand through his hair. “If I do, then Becca’s the one who’s going to lose.”
“Plus, it’s probably not a good idea to make waves at Columbia either. Don’t forget you got out of Dartmouth without much damage to your rep—”
“There was no damage.”
Vin raised an eyebrow. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Don’t tell me you left with a glowing recommendation after dumpin’ the dean’s daughter the way you did.”
Rich poured another Jack and sipped it.
“So now you gotta figure out what to tell Becca. Then you gotta decide if you gonna play the game and stay the big man on campus. If you do, you’re goin’ against your nature. You were born pushing the boundaries.”
“Yeah, but if I leave, then I screw up Becca’s chances. I can’t do that.”
Vinny filled their glasses. “You’re walkin’ a fine line here. If Becca finds out you kept somethin’ from her, that ain’t gonna look good. I guess you gotta decide if you’d rather give her all the information and let her decide what to do about it, or keep it to yourself and maybe screw up your whole relationship.”
“I love her, Vin. I want her to have this chance.”
“Are you sure that’s all there is to it? If she goes for this, then you’re part of the package, aren’t you?”
“What the fuck are you trying to say, Vin?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re afraid to tell Becca because you’re her in with your boss’s wife as much as she’s your in with your boss.”
Vin slid his seat back, because the look on Richie’s face told him he may be pummeled soon. Still, he had to say it. “If she goes for this then she’s tied to you, right? Once she finds out about the whole family thing, you know she’s gonna take a pass, and she won’t need you anymore. So I guess the real question is if she doesn’t need you, will she stay with you?”
Chapter 14
THE WHOLE WAY HOME RICH THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT to tell Becca. Vinny was right. He wasn’t sure she’d stay with him, and if that didn’t dent the old ego, then all he had to do was think about what the dean had said to take a wrecking ball to it.
He gave himself a mental smack upside the head. Wasn’t that exactly what he was going for when he practically begged Becca to pretend she was his girlfriend? Now that they weren’t pretending, it suddenly felt dirty. He was annoyed that his plan had worked.
If the president thought they were going to benefit from his relationship with Becca, he obviously hadn’t heard about the new heir to the Larsen throne and that Becca wasn’t as loaded as she used to be. Not that Rich knew how much Becca was worth or even cared. Well, okay, he cared, but only because he’d hate to see her not able to do what she wanted to do with her life because she needed a paycheck. But Rich made pretty good money, enough to take care of her while she worked and made her mark in the art world. He was no art critic, but he knew what he liked, and he was floored by the work she did.
He wanted that for her, which kind of freaked him out. He never thought about taking on that kind of responsibility before. But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If they stayed together they’d need a larger place, and the apartment she was renovating was almost twice the size of their place. Besides, she and Annabelle were putting an art studio on the fourth floor, so she’d want to be close so she could work whenever she got the urge. He supposed he could take over the mortgage. They’d have to watch the cash flow, but he’d been saving ever since he started working and had never touched it.
He tossed the idea around in his mind, which was, unfortunately, slightly addled thanks to the Jack Daniels. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share a brownstone with Mike and Annabelle. Not that they would be in each other’s hair. He supposed it would be like living next door. As long as Mike didn’t have a problem with it, Rich thought it would be okay. He liked Mike a lot and had always gotten along well with Annabelle.
The problem would be that if he and Becca moved in together, his family would never accept the fact they were just roommates, not that he thought for a minute they bought it now. But they’d stop turning a blind eye if he and Becca moved into the new place together and made it permanent. Which meant they’d have to get married, or he’d be disowned.
The thought of being married to Becca didn’t scare him as much as the thought that she might not want to be married to him.
Rich let himself into the quiet apartment, put the food on the table, and tossed his gym bag in the laundry room. He heard pounding coming from Becca’s old room and went in to find her up to her elbows in a hunk of clay. Tripod lay beside it, attacking what looked like a wooden knife. He had the blunt end in his mouth, his front paws holding it while kicking it with his one remaining back paw.
Tripod spotted him before Becca did and let out one of his catcalls. She turned her head and smiled the most beautiful smile he could ever remember seeing.
“You’re home.” She wiped off her hands on a muddy looking rag, not that it seemed to do any good, and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Damn, he could get used to coming home to this every day.
“Emily called a little while ago and asked if we were busy Saturday night. She said she was really looking forward to seeing my portfolio and the few pieces I brought.” She pulled away from him a little, which only served to force her pelvis against his. He held back a groan as she wrinkled her brow. “Do you think we could get your Aunt Rose’s lasagna recipe, or better yet, talk her into making it?”
Rich grabbed her ass, keeping her pasted against him, while trying to follow the conversation without thinking about how right this all seemed. He figured he had to be at least a little drunk to be thinking of marriage without breaking into a cold sweat. “Whatever happened to you insisting I make the lasagna?”
She kissed his neck and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. Shit, that bed beside her was looking pretty good.
“Let’s just say I’ve come to appreciate your other talents. Besides, I can’t expect a gourmet meal from a guy who didn’t know to take the plastic off the cheese before cooking it, and I don’t want to take the chance of poisoning anyone. That won’t help either of our chances.”
Nothing like dousing the flames of passion. Christ, he needed to tell her something. He just didn’t know what to tell her. After drinking a beer and he wasn’t sure how many Jacks, it probably wasn’t the time to make life-altering decisions. But if he didn’t mention that he was made a full-fled
ged professor, she would wonder why. Wouldn’t she? That wouldn’t look good. At the moment, he couldn’t see the downside to telling her, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Fuck. He should never drink on an empty stomach.
Becca tasted the beer and something stronger when she kissed Rich, and he didn’t seem quite himself, not drunk exactly, but not sober either. “How much have you had to drink?”
He rocked back on his heels. “I had one beer. That I know. It’s just the Jack Daniels I’m not sure of. Vinny was pourin’, and then Nick—maybe, even me, I don’t know.”
“Did you eat?”
“No, I brought home food though. You see, I’m a good provider.”
“Yeah, a real prince. What did you bring me?”
“I don’t know. Nino packs up whatever. He doesn’t give us much choice. But it’s all good.”
Taking his hand, Becca led him out of the room toward the table. Before they hit the hallway he roped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to him. He was a little drunk and a lot horny.
“Becca, you feel so good.”
She loved that he always seemed to want her. One of the men in her past went so far as to tell her she might want to find another boyfriend in addition to him because he couldn’t keep up with her. Rich didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping up, and he certainly would never recommend that she take on another lover. It was one of the positive things she’d put on her list. She smiled as his hands ran up her torso to her breasts. He seemed to love her breasts, what there was of them, and never once mentioned having them surgically enlarged, another plus on her list. She made it to the table just as his mouth met her neck, kissing, nibbling, tormenting her while she tried to concentrate on her list. Her hands hit the table as he unbuttoned her sweater and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. She still couldn’t come up with any minuses.
“Since we have to reheat dinner anyway, why don’t we wait a while longer? I’m really not hungry for food.”
“Me either.”
He slid her pants down her thighs and kissed his way up from her lower back. Every touch sent sparks up and down her spine as he pushed her sweater over her head, so it and her bra slid down her arms, leaving her wearing nothing but her panties. Standing straighter to rid herself of the garments, she pressed her ass against him and felt nothing but Rich. She wasn’t the only one who lost her pants. When had he done that? “Rich?” She kicked her pants away as he pulled his sweater and T-shirt over his head.
“Yeah, baby?”
She pushed the bag of food further down the table. “Don’t you dare rip my undies. I don’t have many left.”
“Then I guess we’d better take them off, hadn’t we?”
He kissed his way down from her neck, hitting erogenous zones she never knew existed. He tantalized slowly. The man didn’t rush. The way he nibbled her back, side, and hip while his hands skimmed under her panties, brushing against her, but not lingering, brought her so close to the edge she was sure she’d come the second he entered her.
Becca bit her lip, waiting and wanting and wishing he’d hurry the hell up. Her breath was choppy, and by the time he slid her panties down, she was pretty sure he could wring them out. Kicking them off her feet, she widened her stance, and for the first time in her life, thanked God she had long legs. She looked over her shoulder, and he slid slowly inside her. Her muscles clenched, pulling him deeper as she lost patience and pressed back against him, wanting more. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands out, anchoring herself.
“Relax, Bec.” He pulled her up to him, her back to his front. “Perfect. God you’re sexy. You feel so good.” His hand slid down to massage her as he slowly pulled out and thrust back into her, driving her mad. “Open your eyes. Watch me love you, baby.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and he was mesmerized by their reflection in the mirror on the wall over the sideboard. “Oh.” It was exactly how she pictured them together. She was amazed by the accuracy of her work as much as by the feeling that both the image in the mirror and the sculpture produced in her.
He surrounded her, his dark hand on her white breast, the other between her legs. The way he watched her, read her, and moved her took her breath away. They looked as if they belonged together, as if they fit in reality and in her imagination. He had somehow completed the picture of love she’d only just imagined. It was eerie. Whatever this was could never be put on a list. It was indefinable. It was as simple or as complex as they wanted to make it. But the one thing that could no longer be denied was that this was love. She wasn’t sure if the act spurred the emotion or the other way around, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Tell me what you see, Becca.”
“Beauty. Love.”
“I love you, Becca.”
She watched him watch her. The emotion clogged her throat; she could only nod. She closed her eyes to hold in the sudden tears that stung her eyes.
“Stay with me, Becca. I want you to see how I love you.”
She tried blinking them away, but one escaped, and then another. If there was any question in her mind that she loved him, her certainty increased with the intensity of his thrusts, his breath, his moans. She met his eyes, his thrusts, his breaths, and his love. Her head rolled back against his shoulder. It was too much—the intensity of the sex, the emotion—and she let go. “Rich… oh God.” She didn’t bother fighting it. She came with a ragged cry, and he joined her, drawing out her orgasm and shattering any semblance of equilibrium she had.
Rich lowered her to the table, his body covering hers. She rested her hot, tear-stained face on the cool table and was in no rush to move. She was probably incapable.
“You okay, Bec?”
“No. I’m in love with you. I may never be okay again.”
“You’re sure? Don’t tell me that unless you’re sure you mean it.”
“I’m sure. I even made a list.”
She heard and felt Rich laugh, which sent a bunch of mini-orgasms zinging through her. God, he was still hard. She sucked in a deep breath, and he slid in deeper as he reached for the notebook that lay just beyond her head. “In here?”
“Oh God. Don’t…”
“Don’t look, or don’t stop.”
“Both.” But he already had it opened to the list and was reading it.
“Since you love me, and I love you. There’s only one thing to do.”
Becca struggled to come to terms with the fact that he could see what she thought of their relationship in black and white. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“Marry me, Becca.”
Rich couldn’t believe he actually proposed in the middle of great sex and on the dining room table no less.
Actually, the question of whether this was the middle or the end of great sex was dependent upon the answer. It could be the middle if she said yes, or even maybe. If she said nothing or no, it would be the end. The longer the silence stretched out, the less likely it became that this was the middle of sex and not the end. Shit.
Rich quickly figured out that the only thing worse than proposing marriage in the middle of great sex was the silence that followed said proposal.
It was too late to pretend he was joking, which he wasn’t. It never occurred to him before how much he really wanted her to say yes. It also became apparent that there was no graceful exit to this debacle. What was a guy to do? Pull out and walk away leaving her spread out on the table like a buffet? He really should have planned this, but he wasn’t a planner. That was Becca’s job—she was the planner. She was the list maker.
Since he had to do something and after her lack of an acceptance the only thing he could assume was that Becca’s answer was a resounding “no.”
Becca lay there stunned on the table, unsure of what to do or say. He shrank away literally and left her unable to move, not knowing what to say to stop the downward spiral they were caught in. She heard a door shut and tried to wrap her mind around what just h
appened.
Marriage? Could he be serious?
She’d just told him she’d loved him, and he proposed marriage? Who does that?
Only Rich.
Shit, she should have expected this. It was just like him to jump into the deep end of things without looking where he was going or even thinking about the aftermath.
She took a deep breath, made sure her feet were under her, and stood. Oh man. He’d picked up her clothes, folded them, and set them on the chair beside the table. She had a feeling she’d just let something wonderful slip through her clay-covered fingers. Her lungs seized, and panic took a firm hold. Had she lost him? Was that the end?
“Rich?” She turned and went to their room. She thought about knocking and then refused to give him the opportunity to deny her access. By the time she got up the guts to open the door, he’d dressed in an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He looked at her with vacant eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She noticed her nakedness and wished she had a robe to throw on, but of course, she didn’t. She grabbed his lucky shirt, which was still hanging off the footboard of the bed, and threw it on before sitting beside him. “I wasn’t expecting you to—”
“Don’t rub it in. Let’s just forget I said anything.”
“Rich. Stop.” She pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. “I’m not going to forget it, and neither will you.”
He tried to push her off him, but she locked her feet under his legs. He let out a long breath, threw his arms up over his head, and lay there as motionless as a corpse. Great, now what?
She ran both her hands through her hair, the shirt she’d thrown on wasn’t buttoned, and the movement left the shirt open. He didn’t even notice. He wasn’t looking at her. She buttoned it as quickly as she could. “Jesus, would you at least look at me?”
He grimaced first, but he opened his eyes. Once he did she reached for his hands, lying over him so they were nose-to-nose. She smiled when she felt his body react to hers. “I love you, Rich. I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I just got to the ‘I love you’ stage. Obviously, you’re way past that. You’ve got to give me some time to catch up at least.”
