by Juniper Bell
Or did she? I didn't know anymore.
Then all thoughts went away as she took hold of my shaft with her soft hands and drew me into her mouth.
"Oh fuck." God, it felt good. The buildup, or the fancy hotel room, or the "arrangement" or the fact that it was Lauren. I didn't know what it was, but my eyes rolled back in my head when she circled her tongue around the head of my cock. I tried to hold back. I didn't want this freaking ecstasy to end. But I was so damn hard there was nothing I could do. She had all the power in those eager little hands. In the hot cave of her mouth.
When I started to come against the back of her throat, I nearly blacked out from the pleasure. I held on to my senses enough to shift my position so I didn't make her gag. I even tried to pull out, but she clamped her hands on my hips and I wasn't going anywhere. Except straight to the sky in a goddamn rocket ship.
6
Lauren
Well, it was official. I'd hit a new low. I'd offered myself to a man who despised me. And I loved it.
What did that say about me? I didn't care to analyze it. I needed to get home, away from Rye's smoldering presence. When I was near him, I couldn't think. All my usual cool logic flew out the window and all I could do was respond. Impulsively. Primitively. Disastrously.
I hadn't planned any of this. It had been a spur-of-the-moment inspiration. Now I had to deal with the aftermath.
I pulled my bra back over my breasts, wincing a little at how sensitized they still felt. That hotel armchair had just provided me with the single best sexual experience of my life—not that I have much to compare it to. Those hot moments would be burned into my memory forever. Especially the feel of his iron-velvet cock in my mouth. As soon as I'd tasted that salty flavor, I'd gone into a sort of post-orgasmic trance. Rye did something to me on a molecular, chemical level. I craved him. Even now that we'd both come, I wanted more.
It was quite possible that going to that hotel room with my half-assed crazy plan was the worst mistake I'd ever made.
But it was done now.
I reached for my jeans, then decided to clean up before I went home. Rye was sprawled on the couch, bare-ass naked, one arm slung over his eyes. Full-on recovery mode. I knew exactly how he felt, but I didn't have time to indulge in my afterglow. Jeans in hand, I tiptoed to the bathroom. I gingerly cleaned myself off. The bathroom was so clean and white it seemed to glow.
And I was a dirty girl who'd thrown herself at a man to further her own agenda.
Or maybe it wasn't that. Maybe I just had to have Rye, one way or another. Maybe I'd felt that way since he stalked toward me across the ballroom. Maybe I'd felt that way since the moment his impatient silver eyes flicked over me at that first "meet the family" dinner in Chicago. Rye had always stalked my fantasies.
And the reality was even more mind-blowing than anything I'd imagined.
When I felt adequately refreshed, I bent down to pull on my jeans.
"What are you doing?" Rye's deep voice startled me so much I nearly fell over.
"Secret female ritual," I tossed back over my shoulder. "It's called dressing and it's often performed in private."
"Is that so? Well, I love secrets. And females. But there's no sense in you putting that on when you're coming to bed with me."
I straightened up and met his eyes in the mirror. Their silver gleam made my heart flutter, as did the sight of his magnificent nude body filling the bathroom doorway. You didn't see muscles like that in Washington. Sure, men worked out, earbuds and all. But Rye's muscles were in a whole different category. The "ride hard, work hard" category.
"I need to get home," I told him.
"I'm sorry. I seem to have this strange memory of a beautiful girl coming to my hotel and offering to do anything I want."
"Yes, and I did. And will. I mean, we didn't really set a timeframe on this arrangement."
"See? So many details to work out. You can't leave yet. Negotiations are ongoing. Come here." He held out his hand to me. It was big and capable and I'd already had a taste of what it could do to my body. How could I resist?
Forcing my shaky legs to obey, I stepped toward him and put my hand in his. It enveloped mine in an almost friendly way. A sudden memory surfaced from our shared past.
Volleyball on the McAllisters' back lawn. Because I was tall for my age, people thought I'd be good at games like that. But I was painfully awkward because my body kept growing practically overnight. It seemed I was always getting used to another added inch.
Anyway, picture awkward me, terrified of the ball, stumbling around the grass, just praying I wouldn't embarrass myself or make our team lose. I lunged for the ball and somehow managed to land on top of it. Then it rolled, and I rolled with it, and Rye tried to help, and when it was all said and done, there I was in a tangled, mortified heap with the ball lodged somewhere between my hip and Rye's foot. I wanted to die.
Rye reached out his hand to help me up. I didn't want to take it because he liked to tease me, and this seemed like a prime teasing opportunity. But for once, he didn't make some mocking remark. He didn't even really smile. (Probably because if he had smiled, he'd have laughed.) But his eyes were kind and he played the whole thing off as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Man down," he called to the other players, and then, after he helped me back onto my feet, "Man back up. Whose serve?"
Since everyone tended to follow Rye's lead, the game resumed and my agonizing moment in the spotlight ended.
Maybe that was the moment I fell in love with Rye.
Now he was holding my hand again, leading me toward his shadowed bedroom. And I was in big, big trouble. I hadn't expected this to happen right away. In an actual bed, he might find out the full extent of what I was offering him.
"So." All business, he motioned for me to lift my arms. I did so, and he stripped off my top and unfastened my bra. "I don't know about you, but I like to negotiate naked."
I laughed nervously. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"Ha. We had our fun, now I have a few questions for this mysterious stranger in my hotel room." He drew back the duvet, with its subtle ivory stripes. His bed looked divinely inviting. "Come on in. And no objections. You said you'd do what I want, and I want to feel your skin against mine tonight."
Definitely should have thought this plan through a little more. I'd panicked, and now look where I was. Facing a night in an outrageously luxurious bed with an outrageously sexy man. Completely out of my depth. Oh well. Nothing to it but to do it, as Bliss used to say.
I slid under the covers. The softness of the cotton relaxed me, as if nothing too bad could happen. "Nice."
"And yet naughty."
The bed shifted as Rye added his weight. And then a warm, hard body cradled mine. Oh sigh. Was there a better feeling in the entire world? I didn't think so.
"Don't go to sleep yet, beautiful. I have a few questions. First of all, let's talk about that time frame you mentioned. I assume you're not planning on spending your entire future doing whatever I want."
That sounded dangerously tempting. "Of course not. I was thinking maybe … two weeks." That wasn't a random suggestion. But there was no need for him to know the details.
He raised himself on one elbow to give me a penetrating stare. "Two weeks. Hmm. There's something about the next two weeks. What is it? Oh, right. Senator Clayton's campaign. The vote is what, two weeks from today?"
"Yes," I admitted.
He narrowed his eyes, but apparently decided not to pursue it. "Okay then. Two weeks it is. Next question. Are you going to tell your fiancé about our arrangement?"
I bit the inside of my cheek. Of course Brian wouldn't care. But how could I explain that to Rye without breaking my confidentiality agreement? "We have a 'don't ask, don't tell' agreement. Until the wedding, I'm a free agent."
That was sort of true, although I hadn't really been a free agent since the day Bliss claimed me.
"Really." Rye sounded skeptical
. "He doesn't mind you going to bed with other men?"
I had to suppress a giggle. Brian was probably in bed with another man at this very moment.
"That's our agreement. No harm, no foul, as long as nothing hits the gossip columns."
"I guess that's how they do things in Washington, huh?"
I decided to turn the tables on him. I rolled to face him. "What about you? Do you have someone who might object to our business arrangement? I don't see a wedding ring."
"If I was married, believe me, I wouldn't be in this bed. McAllisters are known for falling hard and never looking back." He stated that with one hundred percent conviction, and I believed him. If Rye got married—when he got married—he would be completely committed. That thought made me sad, jealous, furious, all in a crazy mixture. I wondered what kind of woman would be lucky enough to marry Rye.
I hated that hypothetical woman.
But for now, I occupied his bed, and I allowed myself a moment to revel in that fact. Every in-breath brought me the fresh, outdoorsy scent of his skin. The warmth radiating from his body relaxed me and my eyes drifted shut.
"Where is Bliss?"
The sudden question jerked me back awake. "Right now?"
"Yes, right now. Does she know you're here?"
"No, she doesn't. But last night when I got home I asked her about what happened with your father, and Rye, I think you have it all wrong. Bliss didn't ruin your lives."
I had to get Rye off our backs, but at the same time, Rye's accusations didn't make sense to me. They didn't match up to my memories from Chicago.
Rye was frowning at me. "Explain." You could cut the skepticism with a knife.
"Well, first of all, Bliss didn't leave Ian. He's the one who kicked her out."
Rye sat straight up, the covers sliding off his body. Moonlight delineated his muscles in marble-like perfection. "Bullshit. He loved her. He was crushed when she left."
It was my turn to sit up. "Rye, that makes no sense. Marrying Ian McAllister was like a miracle for her. Why would she walk away from someone she loved, who married her, who gave her a home in a Lake Shore mansion? Not to mention stability for me." Not that she ever worried much about me. But I'd heard her mention that motivation when she married Ian.
Rye ran his hands through his thick dark scruff of hair. "So that's what she told you? That he kicked her out?"
"Yes. Someone lied to him and told him Bliss was cheating with one of his friends. He deposited some money in an account for us and told her to never come back." The entire event had been so traumatic for me that some of the details were a little fuzzy.
Rye, obviously, didn't buy it for a second. "And you believed this story?"
"Of course. What else was I supposed to believe? That Bliss would just walk away from the best situation we'd ever had?"
"So that's what we were to you. A situation."
"Oh come on. You know what I mean. Living with you guys, being a step-McAllister, was the best time of my life. Why would Bliss ruin that?"
"Maybe she wanted all the money all to herself."
I laughed incredulously. "What money?"
"What money? Are you fucking kidding me? The McAllister trust was decimated after she left. And she took my mother's jewels."
I rose onto my knees and wrapped the duvet around me. I poured every ounce of conviction I could summon into my next statement. "Rye, that didn't happen. We have no money. Not McAllister-level money."
"I don't believe you. I don't believe any of that story Bliss told. My father wouldn't kick his wife and step-daughter out, no matter what," Rye said flatly. "You knew him. Do you really believe he'd do that? I saw him after she left. He was destroyed."
A worm of doubt snuck into my mind. I knew truth was slippery for Bliss, something she twisted to her benefit. But still—why would she leave the lap of luxury? That didn't make sense either. None of this added up.
"She won't talk more about it." I finally said. "She doesn't like to talk about the past. Ever. She believes in moving forward no matter what. When we left Chicago …"
"Yeah? Tell me." Rye was looming over me, impatient and urgent, and I started feeling trapped.
"Well, I was crying. She'd woken me up in the middle of the night and I was half-asleep. I thought there was a fire or something and that's why we were leaving. There was a car waiting."
"A car? What kind of car? A taxi?"
The shadowy events of that night reformed themselves in my mind. "An expensive car. Like a Mercedes. I assumed it was one of your family's cars. You had so many."
"Wasn't ours. None of our cars were missing. I know because we sold them to pay for my father's care."
"His care?"
"He had a stroke right after she left, after that huge fight they had. You remember that, right?"
"Yes, of course. But I didn't know about the stroke." I was sad to hear about that, but just as confused as ever. "If your finances were ruined, it wasn't because of Bliss. I never saw any jewels or big windfalls."
"So it was all just a coincidence? Bliss leaves, money gone? I don't think so."
He had a point. I puzzled over it, trying to put the pieces together. I knew what Bliss was. She was a con artist who cared only about herself. She didn't even care about me, even though she'd raised me. I was a puppet, a means to an end. Based on the way she was still controlling and threatening me, I wouldn't put anything past her. But if she'd profited from her dealings with Ian, wouldn't I know?
Ian McAllister … he was a good man. It hurt to think that Bliss might have done so much damage to him.
"I was terribly sorry to hear about your father's passing," I told Rye. "I loved him. He was always kind to me."
I sensed that Rye was struggling with his answer. He probably wanted to say something cutting. But he didn't. "Thanks. How did you find out that he died?"
"A few years ago I looked him up online. I saw his obituary."
Rye's silvery eyes glittered in the moonlight. "Did you look up anyone else?"
"Of course I did. But I could never find any of you. You dropped off the face of the earth, as far as I could tell."
"We stayed off the radar." He dropped that topic before I could bombard him with my curious questions. "So a car picked you up in the middle of the night. And took you somewhere?"
"Yes. To a train. It had a sleeping car, really fancy. The driver helped us with our bags then took off. Never said a word. As soon as he was gone, Bliss turned to me and slapped me. Not hard, just enough to shock me out of my tears."
"What the fuck?" The shock in Rye's voice made me regret mentioning that. I didn't want to tell Rye all about my life with Bliss with Rye. He probably wouldn't believe the half of it. He still thought she was my real mother. To explain everything would take all night. All week.
"It was just a thing she did to get my attention."
"Did she say anything else?"
"Yes. I remember it very well. She said, 'You get this one night to be upset. Then you let it go. Chicago is over for us. Looking out for the future is my job, so don't you worry about it. Bigger and brighter, hon, bigger and brighter. When you wake up in the morning, we'll be in a new place and we'll never mention Chicago or the McAllisters again.' I asked her if something had happened, and she told me the story about the cheating accusations. And that was it. We never, ever talked about it again, until last night. Bliss doesn't talk about the past."
"Wow." Rye shook his head, ran his hand across the back of his neck. "That's almost … pathological. How can you not talk about the past?"
"Do you and Elijah and Annabelle talk about the past?"
"We don't avoid it, but we've been busy surviving."
Things seemed so much more relaxed between us that I dared ask one more question. "Did you ever talk about … me?"
Rye laughed. "As a matter of fact, right before I left, Annabelle said that you were always so pretty that she wasn't surprised you were engaged."
I felt heat flo
od my cheeks from sheer pleasure. I'd adored Annabelle. I'd thought of her often over the years—though I never mentioned that to Bliss.
"Will you tell her I said 'hi'?"
But apparently I'd crossed a line. The McAllister family line. Rye rolled over and shot me a hard look. "I'm not here for some sweet little reunion. Let's leave my sister out of this."
The sudden rejection—while we were naked in bed—hurt more than any slap I'd ever gotten from Bliss. I flung myself out of that bed. "Screw you, Rye."
"Lauren. Wait." He was trying to untangle himself from the sheets. I threw my clothes on so fast it could have been an Olympic event.
"Nope. We're done for the night. Text me when you need more." I rattled off my number and fled for the bathroom, where I'd left my jeans. Then I snagged my bag and sandals off the living room floor. I dashed out the door, still barefoot.
In the elevator, I put on my sandals and combed my fingers through my hair. I couldn't do anything about my flushed cheeks or the anger in my eyes. I dug through my bag for my sunglasses and jammed them on. Sure, I'd look kind of shady leaving an expensive hotel after midnight wearing sunglasses and a sex-flush.
Too bad. I had to get out of there. I'd revealed too much to Rye McAllister. Those silvery eyes and magic hands had lulled me into thinking he wouldn't hurt me. But he could. And he had. At the very first opportunity.
I'd learned my lesson. Don't let Rye McAllister anywhere near my heart.
7
Rye
God, I was an asshole. After the elevator whisked Lauren away, I had to figure out my next move. I went onto the little balcony. The humidity assaulted my skin. I felt dirty. I shouldn't have been so harsh to her. Whatever Bliss did back then—and I wasn't sure of anything any more—Lauren wasn't to blame.
Before I forgot the number Lauren had rattled off, I logged it into my phone. I should text her. Apologize. No, I should wait until she cooled off.
