Oh, fuck. If she started to cry . . .
“Why her?” she suddenly barked. “Why’d you have to sleep with that vicious twat?”
Good question. One that required a bit of explanation if he wanted to move them past this particular issue, but honestly, what the hell was he supposed to say? No amount of flowery words was going to explain what had actually gone down with Kim.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” he mumbled.
“Really, you asshole? Don’t fucking parse the phrasing, Ashforth,” she bit out.
Yikes. Dealing with Rhiann when her mouth was at full throttle was a scary place to be. And it never boded well for him when she called him by his last name.
“You had sex with her—whether sleeping was involved is immaterial.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his forehead crease with a frown. In his mind, even calling what they did having sex was a stretch.
“Okay, look,” he mumbled as a sheen of unexpected sweat gathered at the back of his neck. “I know this may sound like a lame excuse, but I was shitfaced drunk.”
Her derisive snort gave him the chills. “Try again, pal. I’ve seen you knock back a bucket of vodka and be able to navigate upright afterward, so how is that an explanation?”
“You’re right.” He gave her that one. “But my cocktail of choice wasn’t on the menu that time. It was the tequila, the Devil’s own brew, that did me in.”
“Hmmph. Pussy.”
“And then there’s that,” he agreed. “But in my own defense, it was a celebratory occasion and an overabundance of high-octane alcohol took my better judgment out with one punch.”
“So, you got drunk and fucked her.”
“Uh . . .”
“No?” The thoughts running wild in her head were there on her face for him to see, as plain as day.
“Oh, my god!” she suddenly screeched. “Was this an oral thing?”
He had to hold her still when she practically leaped off his lap.
“Rhiann, no. I swear. NO.”
“Well, what the hell is left if it wasn’t that?”
The sweat gathered in intensity. Fuuuck. Looking at her with an embarrassed shrug, he tried not to say the words.
The last thing he expected her to do was burst out laughing—but that was exactly what happened. And the laughter? It was real and growing louder and more raucous with each passing second.
Wiping away hysterical tears, she sniffed and tried to reel it in with little success.
This time when he held her on his lap, it wasn’t to stop her from running away, but to keep her from falling over as her giggles turned to snorts.
“Holy fucking shit! Backdoor Kimmy got it in the pooter?” She was screaming with hysterical laughter now. “Ewwww!”
Well, he was glad she found it funny. At least one of them did.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her laughing face and cooed, “Oh, baby. You really had to have been drunk. At least you didn’t have to look at her frozen face while you did her.”
Witch. Only Rhiann would find any humor in this.
“For the record,” he added in a surprisingly priggish voice. “I wouldn’t characterize what happened as doing her. It was more like being conveniently there while she did it herself.”
Whoops of laughter filled the air. “And,” she snorted on a choked laugh, “even better!”
She composed herself with great effort, giggling intermittently as she pushed her hair behind her ears and bit her lip so hard he was sure there’d be blood.
Taking a deep breath, she fixed him with a serious green-eyed stare. “So, just the once?”
“Yeah. Once. And it was years ago, at that.”
He might have been insane to add anything to the tawdry confession, but he blurted out the next before thinking through the wisdom of his words.
“And nobody took their clothes off. It wasn’t like that.”
Knowing she could have taken what he said the wrong way, Liam was relieved when a look of smug satisfaction lit up her face.
“Please don’t tell me you bent her over your desk when this went down.”
“Fuck, no!” he assured her. “And I didn’t do any bending, believe me. The desk was my pool table and really, honey—she had her moves down to a science. Right down to the lube in her purse.”
“Pool table? But you don’t have a pool table.”
“Not anymore.”
Women. Strange and mysterious creatures. You just never knew how they would react to anything so Liam was startled when she nuzzled the side of his face and sighed. Apparently, the gods had been looking out for his sorry ass.
“I’m going to think about how you can make this up to me,” she purred.
“My black Amex is at your disposal,” he teased; thankful beyond fuck that this potentially volatile moment was passing.
“Where’s Bishop?” Liam asked when he emerged from the bedroom, dressed and ready for their outing.
Just looking at him in another immaculate suit, all buttoned up and CEO proper, hurt her eyes. Poor man was in for a sartorial re-alignment that she just knew he’d piss and moan about.
“He’s out in the car waiting for us. His phone rang and he walked away, so I’m assuming he had business to take care of.”
Grabbing her jacket, she looked around for her purse, found it, and headed for the elevator.
“C’mon, big guy.” She chuckled as she crooked her finger. “Get your ass in here with me, and if you promise not to be a butthead about the shopping, I’ll let you feel me up on the way to the first floor.”
The smile that chased the scowl from his face triggered a four-alarm blaze inside Rhiann. He was just so damn good-looking and when he smiled—for real—she melted.
Stepping into the small elevator, he pulled the door shut behind them and immediately pinned her to the wall with his big body. Sliding his hands beneath her sweater, she whimpered softly when each of his hands molded her breasts and squeezed.
With her hands full, all she could do was stand there and let him touch her however he chose. Bummers, huh?
Covering her smaller body with his much larger one, he massaged her aching tits and demanded, “Open your mouth.”
“Are you going to push the button for the first floor?” she asked on a breathless sigh.
“After I’m finished tongue fucking you—maybe. We’ll see.”
He hadn’t been kidding about the tongue fucking. When she opened as he asked, he zeroed in and went deep. The things he did in her mouth with his tongue had her trembling within moments. And when he moved a hand between her legs and ground his palm against her? Oh. My. God.
When he was finished, he stepped back and eyed his handiwork. Pulling her sweater down, he smiled into her shocked and very turned on face, squeezing her between the legs one last time.
“That’s a good look for you,” he drawled with a hooded leer. “Not quite just fucked but definitely freshly manhandled.”
The elevator came to a halt, and he opened the door, politely helping her out. As she passed by, Rhiann drifted her fingers over his crotch and murmured, “Just remember, paybacks are a bitch.”
His laughter followed her all the way out to the car.
Their shopping excursion was a non-stop whirlwind as Rhiann moved her two companions through every outlet store that struck her fancy as she proceeded to completely overhaul Mr. Scowl’s wardrobe.
Roman, being as good-natured as ever, stood by and watched with an amused expression as she made Liam try on an endless parade of jeans, shirts, sweaters, shoes, and anything else she could find to annoy the shit out of him.
They were in the Ralph Lauren store trying on a dozen pair of jeans when she cashed in a payback.
“I like these,” she told him as he stood in front of a full-length mirror.
Of course, she was standing behind him ogling the view from the rear when she said it.
Crowding close, she peeked over his should
er while running her fingers inside the waistband.
“Not too tight, right?”
“I don’t feel comfortable in jeans,” he grumbled like a crotchety old-timer.
“Tough. I like them.”
With one hand slipped inside the front of the pants, she traced her fingers down the zipper, making sure to press just so . . .
“And here? Not too tight?”
He found her eyes in the mirror, and she laughed at the horrified expression on his face.
“You keep that up, milaya, and too tight will be an understatement.”
“Mmmm,” she sighed. “That’s all right by me.”
“I’m the one who’s uncomfortable,” he muttered.
“Aw, that’s too bad because these jeans make your, um . . . package . . . look mighty impressive.”
“I do not need a pair of jeans to help my package,” he snapped. “You weren’t complaining about it last night.”
Rhiann moved to stand in front of him, blocking his reflection in the mirror. Fussing with the collar of the polo shirt she made him don, she snickered and flat-out palmed his package.
“I was under the impression, Mr. Ashforth, that you were rather enjoying my ass in a pair of jeans.”
He hissed instead of answered as she increased the pressure of her fingers on his manly flesh.
“Well, turnabout is fair play. I think we’ve already agreed on that, yes?”
He nodded and pushed his groin into her hand for more direct contact.
“I like these jeans. You will wear them out of the store, and I will stare appreciatively at your impressive assets as you do. Then, when we get home, I’m going to get on my knees and tug these bad boys down just far enough for me to have access. That’s how much I like your ass in a pair of jeans.”
His eyes flared, and he said, “Buy ’em all, then. The whole goddamn store if you’d like.”
And that was how most of the day unfolded. While Liam was willing to grab the first thing he saw, she dug through everything looking for the best deal—much to Roman’s amusement.
“He can afford it, you know.”
“That’s not the point,” she said while standing in line at the register. “All that money can take the fun out of simple things—like shopping. If all he has to do is nod and say, that—that—and that, well . . . honestly. How boring.”
Jostling Liam with an elbow, Roman jested, “You’re going to keep her, right?”
Liam’s snort of amusement filled her with happiness, and she beamed at him. This was the most fun she could remember having in a long time.
After a couple of hours, the trunk was full of bags, but she wasn’t quite satisfied. Not yet. Dragging their unwilling butts into an old school souvenir shop crammed full of tacky gifts and t-shirts priced at three for ten dollars, she tortured them with a non-stop stream of consciousness about loving the beach life.
Piling hoodies, t-shirts, sweatshirts, beach towels, hats, and about a dozen baby onesies into a cart, Rhiann was having the time of her life. When she spied a selfie stick at the checkout, she had to have it!
Having gotten them matching hoodies with the OBX logo, she insisted they put them on out in the parking lot and then pose for a dozen pictures that she hilariously subjected them to using her new selfie-toy.
“This thing rocks!” she declared from the backseat of the SUV. Pushing the stick with her iPhone attached to the end between the seats so it rested on the dash, she made Roman and Liam lean together, with her smiling face in the middle as she shot one picture after another.
“Oooh, let’s go down to the beach,” she insisted.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold for that,” Liam groused.
“Tycoon? Meet your hoodie.”
Roman’s snicker was priceless. She got her way, of course. Hadn’t taken Rhiann long to figure out that her hunky scowler dissented most of the time just so she could press the issue. He liked giving in to her! Wow.
To her astonishment, Liam directed Roman to drive toward a pier loaded with state-of-the-art technology and cutting-edge green design. The minute their outing was about something that interested him, he turned into a chatty Cathy going on and on about the pier’s wind turbines.
For the next hour, they explored the pier with her snapping an endless array of selfies along the way.
Down on the sand, they walked along the pilings as Liam went on and on about those damn turbines. They happened upon a nerd with the same enthusiasm who had a whole tripod setup going as he snapped pictures of the graceful, spinning rotors.
Leaving BPG’s CEO to a conversation that flew right over her head from the get-go, she and Roman found a spot on the sand where they plopped down and relaxed.
“You happy, Princess?” he asked as she drew naughty pictures in the sand.
Rhiann let out a deep sigh and looked at Liam. Happy? Shit. She was ecstatic and had been mentally pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t imagining the dramatic change to their relationship.
“I’ve loved him for so long that I’m not sure how to answer that question, Roman.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
Hmmm. What to say?
“Happy—yes. Scared, too. We’ve been down this road before, you know.”
“He’s not the same person. And him being here now? That’s all him, sweets. I know what’s happening is fucked up but don’t give up on him, okay?”
“You sound like someone who really cares about him.”
“I do—but don’t tell him! He’s an odd bird, I’ll give you that, but when that symphony of doubt in his head quiets down, he’s a good guy. And he loves you, too.”
She sat quietly and let his words sink in.
I don’t want to see him get hurt, Miss Wilde.”
“Neither do I and I will kill anyone who tries to harm him. I’m not kidding, Roman. If I ever get my hands on that crazy cuntface, she’ll need way more than some Botox when I’m finished with her.”
“Cuntface, is it?” he chuckled. “You do know how funny it is when a lady—such as yourself—throws that word down.”
She giggle-snorted in amusement. “Lady, is it? Hmmm. Don’t be fooled, my friend. This lady can roundhouse kick like a motherfucker.”
Liam trotted over just then and dropped onto the sand in front of them, excitedly going on and on about turbines, photo-voltaic cells, and geothermal systems.
Rhiann drifted while Liam babbed with Roman as he made all kinds of notes on his phone. She found his boyish enthusiasm for the cutting edge tech amusing.
Jumping up, she wiped the sand off her butt and pulled a Frisbee from the bag she carried. They started tossing the plastic disc faster and faster until Roman threw his hands up and yelled “Score!” when Liam missed and the damn thing headed out to the ocean.
Luckily, a dog being walked on the beach bounded into the cold water and retrieved it before Rhiann had a holy hell conniption about littering in the water.
Next thing she knew, the two men were engaged in a slapping contest that had her laughing hysterically.
“Marquess of Queensbury rules!” she squealed with delight as they adopted a boxer’s stance with their hands raised ready to fight.
Hopping around in the sand for her amusement, Roman yelled, “Winner takes the spoils!” then proceeded to get slaphappy on Liam.
“You fucker,” Liam bellowed when Roman suddenly quit the mock fight, ran to where she sat, scooped her up, and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
Screaming with delight, she played along, begging for rescue as Roman bounded toward the car while she flopped awkwardly with each thundering step.
It was lighthearted and fun and gave her an insider’s view of the unique relationship these two men shared. Roman was a friend and so much more than a bodyguard. He’d take a bullet for her man. Of that, she had no doubt.
It was getting late, but nobody was really hungry—not after the enormous fish sandwiches they’d inhaled for lunc
h at a local hole-in-the-wall. She whined and pouted until they agreed to stop at a bistro that served tapas and offered wine and beer tastings where Rhiann indulged at the wine station, sampling small glasses of a dozen different wines, Roman and Liam landed at the bar where the knowledgeable bartender walked them through a bunch of craft beers.
She was more than a tad tipsy when the hipster dude suggested they wander up to the mezzanine lounge where the pool table was located. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the look of shocked horror on Liam’s face at the mention of a pool table that rendered her speechless with laughter.
“OKAY,” SHE TOLD HER RApt audience of two. “The Avengers or Twilight: Breaking Dawn.”
“Avengers!” came the insistent bellows from Liam and a relieved looking Roman.
She tried not to laugh at how easy it had been to get them to demand the movie she really wanted to watch. In her experience, anything Twilight or musical like Mama Mia! was sure to get a reaction that was easy to manipulate.
“I’ve got the popcorn; you two get the system fired up and we’ll meet in the theater room in ten. Okay, boys?”
When the microwave dinged, alerting her to the finished popcorn, Rhiann scurried from the master where she’d gone to freshen up. Rolling for comfort instead of style, she changed into her favorite baggy sweats, piled her hair into a messy topknot, and quickly brushed her teeth.
As she emptied the hot popcorn into two bowls, she could hear Liam and Roman arguing about the high-tech movie system as they jockeyed for who got control of the remote. Boys and their toys.
Roman commandeered the first row of recliners and told them to sit behind him so he wouldn’t be distracted when they started making out.
Rhiann teased, “Honey—we need to find Roman a girl.”
At Roman’s unamused snort, Rhi chided him unmercifully. “No? How about a boy, then? Some hairless wonder with a tight ass?”
“Can’t you do something about her mouth?” Roman asked with a growl.
“I’ll see what I can do, man” Liam chortled as he pulled Rhi across his legs and pushed her into the recliner next to his. “Be quiet, woman, or I’ll find something to keep that mouth occupied,” he whispered.
Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) Page 35
