Eight Ways to Ecstasy

by Jeanette Grey

  “You sure?”

  Was she trying to torture him?

  “Look.” He grabbed his jacket, but instead of shrugging it on, he clenched it in his fist. He turned to face her. “You just all but said you didn’t want me to stay here.”

  “I…”

  She trailed off, and he wanted to throw his hands up in the air.

  Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Pushed those feelings of frustration down. She’d been hurt before him, and he had hurt her even more. It only made sense that she would still be afraid to let him in.

  He wasn’t being fair.

  Exhaling nice and slow, he dropped his hand and mustered a smile. “It’s fine. But if you want me to go, I’d rather go now.” Before he could press and make this even worse.

  She played with her fingers, still looking down. “I’m not saying I’ll never want you to stay.”

  “But you’re not ready.” Resignation made his footfalls heavy. But he returned to the bed. She leaned up and he bent forward, threading his fingers through her hair before pulling her into a kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be.” He hesitated before adding, “We’ll get there. Eventually.”

  He had to believe they would.

  Chapter NINE

  “And the grandchildren? What was it—Denise and Bobby?” Rylan let his attention drift a little, switching his phone to his other hand as one of their senior VPs started in on something about potty training that he did not need to know.

  Three short knocks sounded on his door, and he spun his chair around. He broke into a grin when he found Jordan of all people standing there.

  “Bad time?” Jordan mouthed.

  Rylan shook his head and held up a finger. He’d already covered everything he needed to on this call. They were more or less just down to pleasantries now. And besides, he’d been schmoozing all morning, connecting with more of the people on his and Lexie’s list of friendly execs, hearing their concerns. Turned out, the past year with McConnell at the helm had apparently given rise to a lot of concerns from a lot of people. It had Rylan itching. Seeing the company his father had built in this state chafed something deep inside.

  But that could wait, for now. It’d be a nice change of pace to spend some time with someone he actually wanted to talk to.

  It took a minute, but Rylan managed to exit the conversation without coming across as too much of an ass. He hung up the call and set his phone down, then rose to his feet, waving Jordan in.

  “You know”—Jordan glanced around as he skirted a stack of boxes to meet Rylan at the edge of his desk—“I’d just about given up on this office ever getting used again.”

  “It’s a work in progress.” The office and his occupancy of it both.

  He’d half expected someone else to have moved in while he was away, but apparently the place had sat empty all that time. He’d had to have his things brought up out of storage, but it’d still been his. If he wanted it.

  After a quick man-hug, Rylan drew back and gestured at the chair across the desk from his.

  “I can’t stay long,” Jordan warned, even as he was sitting down. “I hadn’t seen you since you put the fear of God back in McConnell last week, though.”

  “Fear of God, huh? Is that what they’re saying?”

  “The way his secretary tells it, he hasn’t stopped sweating since.”

  “Good.”

  “But those aren’t the only rumors floating around.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Jordan leveled him with a stare. “You show up out of nowhere after a year and start chatting up every senior exec in the company.”

  “Hardly.” He was barely halfway through.

  “Enough of them. So what is it? Hostile takeover?”

  “My name’s on the door. I don’t exactly have to take it over.”

  “But you’re back. For real.”

  Rylan eyed the door. “To be honest with you? I don’t know.”

  “If you didn’t come back for the company…”

  “I had my reasons.”

  At least Jordan could take a hint. “Okay, okay.” He held his hands up in front of his chest. “Keep your secrets. But I noticed you haven’t approached me yet to check in. You that confident about my support for the coup you may or may not be planning?”

  Rylan opened his mouth to quiet him about this coup talk, but he stopped himself. A muscle in Jordan’s upper lip gave the tiniest hint of a twitch, and Rylan hesitated. Jordan couldn’t really be that nervous about his place here. Which meant he was nervous about something else.

  When Lexie had omitted his name from the list, Rylan’d tried not to read too much into it. But now he was questioning that decision. Something was definitely up.

  He reached out and grabbed his pen and gave it a twirl. “I’ve always had a pretty good sense of who my friends were around here.” He’d long counted Jordan among them.

  Jordan’s expression smoothed out, relief subtle but unmistakable in the set of his brows. “Glad to hear it.”

  Curiosity apparently satisfied, Jordan shifted gears, and they spent a few minutes catching up. But it wasn’t long before Jordan uncrossed his legs and glanced at the door. “I hate to make this so brief, but, well. You know how it is.”

  That Rylan did. It was part of what he’d missed his year in Paris. The energy, the pace. “Not a problem.” They stood and clasped hands over the desk. “Don’t be a stranger, you hear.”

  “I won’t.” Jordan pulled back. “You still have that place up on Seventy-Third?”

  “Nah, got rid of it a while ago. Been staying at Lexie’s since I got back.”

  “My sympathies. She put you in the pink room?”

  Rylan paused. “You’ve been to Lexie’s place?”

  And there was that twitch again. “A couple of times.” It was too casual by far. “Anyway, she said that’s always where she puts houseguests she doesn’t want to stay too long.”

  The fact of the matter was, Lex did have Rylan in a room with an awful lot of pink in it. He hadn’t thought too much about it, until now.

  Kate’s words from the other night floated back to him.

  He’d reacted too harshly to her encouragements to get his own place. It’d been a message about her not being ready for him to spend the night, sure, but it had also been about her wanting him to find a home.

  His throat went rough. “Well, she won’t have to worry about me being in her hair for too much longer.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Was just about to call my Realtor now.”

  Jordan took his leave, and Rylan resumed his spot behind the bare old desk his father had picked out for him. Surrounded by boxes.

  Instinctively, he put his hand to his chest. But there was nothing there. No weight. No ring.

  He picked up the phone and dialed.

  When the buzzer rang this time, Kate was ready. She checked herself once more in the mirror. Her basic skirt and sweater and boots weren’t quite as flattering as a designer dress, but they didn’t suffocate her, either. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and nodded at her reflection.

  This was her night. Her life. And despite her reservations, she was inviting Rylan into it.

  Bracing herself for anything, she made her way down the stairs. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that the chauffeured town car would not be necessary for the evening she had planned, but after last time, who knew what he would try.

  Apparently, his first move was meeting her at the door.

  She’d barely made it through the vestibule before he was reaching out for the handle. The door was locked from the inside, but as soon as she gave enough of a tug for it to unlatch, he was there, pushing it wide and holding it open for her.

  Sweeping her up. This wasn’t any polite greeting, any restrained brush of knuckles against her cheek. All the air whooshed out of her as he pulled her ri
ght into his arms, attacking her mouth in a kiss that took her breath away, surrounding her with the warmth of his scent. Stumbling against him, she lifted a hand and put it to his chest, meeting soft wool and the firm layer of muscle underneath.

  And, God, it was so familiar. If it’d been a little warmer, if the night had smelled more of cigarettes and baking bread, she could’ve imagined them in Paris again.

  When he let her go, she was panting, cheeks warm despite the autumn chill. She staggered a step back and tried to take him in. Her throat went dry at the buttery black leather of his jacket, the cut of his jeans. The sweater that draped across his pectorals, hugging every hard angle and curve.

  A part of her had thought that nothing could top the sight of him in a suit. But this was better. More real.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, taking the words from her mouth.

  Shyness made her duck her head. “Thank you.” She collected herself enough to reply, “So do you.”

  He cocked a brow. “Beautiful?”

  What was she even saying? She mock-swatted at him. “You know what I mean.”

  Catching her hand, he brought it to his lips, a warm press against the back of her palm. He gazed at her over it, eyes hot and deep. “I do.”

  A rush of heat bloomed through her. The night she’d planned, finding dinner and hitting up a bunch of gallery openings—it all could wait. She could just take him upstairs instead. They worked upstairs.

  It was in the rest of the world that they seemed to have so many problems.

  She shook off the burn of temptation, mentally chastising herself and pulling back her hand, only for him to hold on, intertwining their fingers.

  He hadn’t tried to do that on their last, disastrous night out. She’d been aware of it at the time, but it was this, his tactility tonight, that threw his previous distance into sharp relief. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

  Clearing her throat, she squeezed his palm.

  “So,” she said, refocusing. “I was thinking we’d take the subway.”

  “No need.”

  He gestured toward the street. And how the hell had she missed that?

  “Um.” That being a sports car even she could recognize as gorgeous. Sleek and red and polished to a shine. In this neighborhood, it was screaming to be keyed up or broken into. “Is that yours?”

  “For the week, it is.” His tone twisted, like there was a story there, but before she could ask, he led her over to the passenger side. “So I’m taking it everywhere.”

  Good luck parking it, or finding it in one piece at the end of the night. But if he insisted…

  She got in, sinking into the low leather seat. He closed the door for her and went around to the other side. He looked perfectly at home with one hand on the gearshift and the other on the wheel. It wasn’t something she’d ever imagined doing it for her, but the confidence made her heart flutter, the image searing itself into her mind for later. Perfect composition, gorgeous contrast, the promise of motion in every line of his body.

  Smirking, he turned to her, drawing her attention back to his face. “I know it’s your night to pick, but do you mind if we make a quick stop first?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “A stop?”

  “I have something I want to show you.”

  They weren’t on much of a schedule, so she shrugged and buckled herself in. Then he peeled off from the curb, and she had to clutch at her seat.

  The man knew how to drive. That much was for sure.

  He sliced the car through traffic the same way he moved through the world, all assuredness and command, expectant that the people around him would yield. His biceps flexed with every turn and every cycle through the gears, muscles cording in his thighs, a look of concentration on his face and on his brow.

  And she’d never had sex in a car before. The idea of it had always struck her as cramped and uncomfortable, but as he braced his arm against the wheel and executed a sharp turn, she could suddenly picture it. All jammed together in the tiny backseat, his body pressing into hers, his hips between her thighs and that same expression on his face, intent as he drove fast and hard and sweaty and deep.

  The car jerked to a stop at a light, and he turned his head, catching her by surprise. It didn’t give her time to school her expression, and his gaze darkened as he took her in. He released his grip on the gearshift to settle a hot palm on her knee, trailing upward. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and now he was thinking it, too. Like a promise for later.

  Then the light changed and they were off again.

  Once they were over the bridge into Manhattan and on the highway heading uptown, he pressed a button on the dash to make a call. Through the brief exchange of words wherein he told someone he was on his way, Kate frowned. When he hung up, she raised a brow, but he shook his head, leaving her in suspense.

  In the end, their destination was an unassuming brownstone in a quiet pocket on the Upper East Side. They parked in an alley, her confusion growing as they walked a tree-lined street. A woman in a smart suit and a trench coat stepped out from behind a scrolled iron gate to greet them.

  “It’s all ready for you, Mr. Bellamy.”

  Rylan thanked her and tightened his hold on Kate’s hand. He led her through the gate and up the short walk toward an open door. The lights within were all ablaze.

  As they passed over the threshold, she leaned in to whisper, “What are we doing here?”

  “I followed your advice,” he said, letting go to settle his palm at the base of her spine, ushering her in.

  The brownstone was vacant inside.

  Confused, but with suspicion starting to dawn, she took in the polished wood floors. Peeked through a doorway into a kitchen done up in granite and brushed chrome.

  “I’m making an offer on it tomorrow.”

  She whipped around. “Wait. You’re buying a house?”

  “That is something people do when they decide they need their own place. Is it not?”

  “Sure. Of course.” Established people, people who had families and who knew what they’d be doing with their lives in thirty years. Hell, in three. “It just…It’s kind of a big step, isn’t it?”

  A smile flickered across his lips. He gestured with his head toward a set of stairs.

  And it was like her eyes had been opened. Now that he’d said he was planning to buy it, the little details stuck out. The polished, silent floorboards and the quality of the fixtures. Even the light switch plates were nice.

  He showed her a set of bedrooms on the second floor, and then on the third…

  “Okay.” Kate spun around in a slow circle. It was one big room, every wall set with windows. In the morning, the sun would stream right in. “I think this is my favorite part.”

  “You approve?”

  “It’s beautiful.” She walked over to the side of the building that faced the street. In the orange glow of the streetlamps, the leaves were changing colors, the whole world awash in autumn. She turned back to him. “What would you use it for?”

  One corner of his lips turned down. “I have some ideas.”

  He stood there, unmoving. No further details seemed to be forthcoming, so she gazed away again.

  “Well, it’s really nice. I can see why you picked it.” It wasn’t quite what she would’ve imagined for him. Not the sleek bachelor pad or the high-rise condo. It was better. Much better than…She smiled weakly. “Though if you change your mind, I know a guy who can get you a great deal on a studio in Brooklyn. The roaches are even free.”

  If anything, his eyes went sadder at her crappy attempt at a joke. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Then he held out his arms. “Come here.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she made her way over to him. Let him draw her in against his chest, her back to his front. His chin set on top of her head.

  “You really like it?”

  Something squirmed low in her belly. “I already said I did.”

&n
bsp; “Just wanted to make sure.” He nuzzled her temple. His next inhalation stuttered. “It’s important to me. That it be someplace you’ll want to visit.”

  The squirming deepened, and she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. She’d promised him seven nights, and already they were on number three.

  He wasn’t talking about the other four. Of that, she was sure.

  He was talking about a whole lot more.

  Chapter TEN

  “Well, damn if I didn’t pull the lucky table tonight.”

  Rylan’s eyebrows already felt like they were about to hit his hairline, but all it took was a single glance up and they threatened to defect from his face altogether.

  The thing was that he liked little hole-in-the-wall restaurants. He hadn’t had a lot of time to seek them out in his fast-paced corporate life, but he’d cultivated an entire roster of them when he’d been at his leisure in Paris. Little places where people remembered you and asked you how you were. Anchors to make a guy feel less alone.

  This place she’d picked for them tonight, though? Hole in the wall? More like a hole in the ground. They were in the bowels of the Lower East Side, at a place with dishes named after punk bands whose names he barely recognized. The tables were shoved together so tightly he was practically in the next person’s lap, and the black walls displayed the kind of “art” his mother would’ve thrown her wineglass at. Obscene and ugly and incomprehensible by turns.

  The moment they’d stepped in, he’d given the place one look and been ready to turn right back around.

  Except Kate had tightened her grip on his arm and set her jaw, and he’d remembered. He was the one who’d asked her to pick, to show him her slice of life. Maybe she was trying to scare him off and maybe she really did want to eat surrounded by all this hipster bullshit. Either way, it was her call.

  He still hadn’t quite been ready to be served by a six-foot-tall black…person. With a full beard. In a dress.

  “My name’s George, and I’ll be taking such good care of you tonight.” The…guy?—introducing himself as George, he was probably a guy—batted his eyelashes at Rylan and smirked. “What’ll you have, beautiful?”