by Lexi Ryan
“I’m fine,” I mumble. It’s all I can do not to run, but I make my feet move slowly until I’m hidden around the corner. Then I bite my lip against the tears. I want to vomit. I want my body to reject what Della fed me. I picture her words sitting like poison in the bottom of my stomach, eating away at the lining and working its way toward my aching chest.
I don’t know if my heart can survive this.
I gasp when I see Sam. I shouldn’t have come this way. There’s no bathroom to hide in. But by the time I’d realized that, the tears had already started and I couldn’t go back out there.
“Hey,” he whispers. “What’s wrong?” He steps close and cups my face in his hand, running his thumb along my cheek. I love it when he does that.
I sniff and swallow back more tears. Stupid tears.
“Did Della say something to you? Liz?” he murmurs against my neck. God, he has such a great voice. It’s a low, deep rumble that I register right in my solar plexus before it shimmies its way through my limbs and his words finally register in my brain. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He draws back so his eyes connect with mine.
“Nothing’s wrong. No expectations, right?”
“Nothing is as it seems with you, Liz.” His eyes are this brown-flecked gold. Tiger eyes that always keep their guard up. I wish I could read them, but Sam’s always been a mystery to me, and I’m left relying on his words. He’s like me. Too much like me. Hiding behind bravado and outrageous suggestion. “Do you want expectations? Tell me.”
I part my lips to tell him exactly what I want, but images of homes and babies and snuggling in bed on Saturday mornings fill my brain so completely that I have to step back. I want something real, and I can’t have that with a man who’s using me to further his family’s political future. I want to rage at myself for letting it get this far, for telling myself I didn’t want anything other than sex with Sam, when I wanted so much more.
I take another step back. “You want to know what I want?”
His lips curve, hopeful but cautious. “I’m here to serve.”
“I want you to tell me about Asia.”
He stiffens. “What?”
I lift my chin and take a step forward. “Asia,” I repeat. “I want you to tell me about her.”
If I thought he was guarded before, I was wrong. So wrong. His shields are completely up now and he’s gone entirely unreadable. He’s not even tense anymore, just . . . blank. “I don’t talk about her. Ask me for anything else.”
“Anything as long as it’s just about sex, right?” I know I’m not being fair, but that doesn’t change how much Della’s words hurt me. “That’s what this is about, right? So come on, let’s fuck. There’s a closet right there. Come on, Sam. You’re using me for your image and I’m using you for sex. Della told me everything.”
If I’d hoped Della was lying, that hope dissolves when he flinches. “Della doesn’t know how I feel about you. Does it matter why we started this? Does it make any difference how we got here?”
“It matters.”
“The only thing that matters to me is that I had an excuse to forgive you for last summer. I finally had an excuse to get over my stupid pride.”
“I saw you,” I say. “I saw you kissing her.”
“What? Who?”
“Two years ago. I saw you kissing Asia and you’d made me no promises, so I wasn’t allowed to be angry.”
His face softens, as if maybe some of those defenses are coming down. “You saw me kissing her.” He steps closer and skims his thumb along my jaw. “That’s why you shut me out.”
“I have to protect my heart.” I close my eyes when the words register in my own ears. I’m revealing too much. “Can we not do this?”
“Do what?”
“This thing where you act like you don’t despise me for what happened last summer, and I pretend I’m okay with this being just about sex or your image, or whatever the hell this is about for you.”
“I told you I couldn’t hate you. Regardless of how I feel about last summer, I don’t hate you or despise you or loathe you, or any other verb shy of want and crave and kind of dig you.” He gives a shaky smile. “This isn’t just about sex, Rowdy. It never has been. Not for me. I like you. I like being with you and making you smile, and, yes—” He steps even closer until my body is pressed against his and I can feel his heat. He lowers his voice. “It’s true. I like fucking you. But this is about more than that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. How long have I wished to hear those words from him? And I get them now, after learning what I have about River, about Connor.
“I’ve seen you go on all these dates. I’ve watched you share meals and conversation with these men who are so unworthy of you, all for the chance that maybe something could happen with one of them. I wanted to punch them when they touched you. You gambled on them, why not me? I don’t know what’s going to happen here. All I’m asking is that you give it a chance. Give me a chance.”
“You said you don’t do strings, and I—” I study my hands and take a breath. My pride wants to get in the way of saying what I need to say. “You don’t do strings, and I want strings.”
“Strings are overrated.” He tilts my face up until I meet his eyes. “I’ve never been any good with strings, but I’m damn good with ropes.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sam
Liz came home with me. Despite Della’s best efforts to sabotage our night, she came home with me, and tomorrow morning, I get to wake up with her in my bed. What a lucky bastard am I?
The truth is, I’m grateful Della decided to pull out the claws tonight. Since that night I went to Liz’s house to tell her about the baby and Asia, I’ve believed she shut me out because she didn’t want me. But that wasn’t it at all.
“I have to protect my heart.”
A couple of years ago, I would have agreed that she did need to protect her heart from me, but now I don’t want her to. I want her to let down her defenses and take a chance. I want her to hold my hand and fall with me.
“Your family seems perfect.” She shrugs in my arms.
I take her shoulders and turn her to face me. There’s something strange about the way she’s looking at me—as if she knows more than she’s telling. “We’re not perfect, Rowdy. No family is perfect.”
“Well, yeah, I guess they do have you.”
I poke her side, right where she’s ticklish, and she curls into herself and squeals. “What was that?” I ask.
“You’re clearly the black sheep,” she manages between giggles.
I go after her sides again and she tries to scoot away from me, but I hold her fast, pinning her arms and rolling on top of her, my knees on either side of her hips. God, she’s beautiful. Something in my chest teeters, like my heart is off balance from just looking at her.
“Your father is obviously proud of you, Sam,” she says, her face serious now. “You’re so much like him.”
I close my eyes and roll off her. “I don’t want to be like my father.” Is that really my voice? That weak, small, croaking sound? It came from my mouth, but God. It doesn’t feel like mine.
“Hey.” She curls into me, propping herself up on one elbow, the other hand on my bare chest, her fingers splayed as if they’re trying to find my heart. “I mean that in a good way. Your father is an amazing man. I wouldn’t be working for him if I didn’t believe that.”
An amazing man. How many times in my life have I heard those words used to describe my father? How many times have I shaken the hand of a potential voter and used those words myself? I was starting to believe them too. It had been years since the ordeal with Jacqueline, and my parents worked hard—both of them—to fortify any weakness my father’s infidelity caused in their marriage.
Liz is studying my face, her lower lip drawn between her teeth, and she’s stroking my chest with her thumb, right between my pecs, right over my heart.
“You are an amazing man too,” she whispers.
“My father and I have a difficult relationship,” I say. I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted as much to anyone. Della knows, of course, but it’s not something I ever had to tell her. She gets it because she was there. She lived it.
“I noticed. Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her breath warm against my chest.
“No one has ever been able to read me like you do. Did you know that?” I slide a hand into her hair, toying with the soft strands and reminding myself to breathe. “He had an affair when I was in elementary school—cheated on my mother with one of the tellers at the bank.” She tries to pull back, but I hold her tight, keeping her still. “Jacqueline.” Saying her name out loud feels like a betrayal to my family. We agreed never to share what had happened, and even as a kid, I understood how important that promise was.
“I’m sorry,” Liz says. “I didn’t know.”
“It was . . . ugly. Very Fatal Attraction. Dad tried to break it off, and she wouldn’t have it. She was new to town, but we’d met her at the bank and a couple other events, and one day she came to school and got Della and me out of our classrooms, said Dad needed us. No one at the office questioned her, though I’m sure that would never happen today.”
She tenses in my arms. “Where did she take you?”
“She took us to her apartment and tried to act like everything was normal.” I close my eyes, remembering the smell of banana bread in the oven, the sound of Christmas music playing in the background. She’d bought me a new Transformer and a Barbie for Della. On the outside, everything seemed great, but I could see that something was off about the way she looked at us, the way she moved around the apartment, a flurry of nervous energy. “Ryann and Ian weren’t in school yet, or she probably would have taken them too. They were with Mom at the preschool where she volunteered.”
“What did she do?” She’s holding me now, one hand behind my neck, the other wrapped around my bicep. Her touch grounds me, and her scent brings me back from the memories of the Transformer and sickeningly sweet banana bread.
“She called my dad and told him not to be late for dinner because we were going to celebrate. I remember thinking that Dad rarely made it home for dinner. He certainly wasn’t going to make it here to have dinner with this woman.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize she was the reason he was home late every night. So much of what was said, I didn’t put together until much, much later. I was naive.”
“You were a child.”
“When my dad pulled into the driveway, she put us in the basement with the new toys and closed the door. Della and I could hear them fighting. We didn’t understand, but we knew it was bad. Della started crying, and I held her until Dad came down to get us and take us home. Even though she was younger than me, Della seemed to understand. She wouldn’t talk to our father. It was as if she hated him, and I didn’t get that, not until later.”
“That must have been very scary for you both. What happened to Jacqueline? Did she leave your family alone?”
“She committed suicide, overdosed on sleeping pills, and Della and I were told never to talk about that day at her house. It would be bad for the family and for the business. So, we didn’t.” I take a long, shuddering breath, surprised at how tight my chest feels at telling this old story. “Della wasn’t the same after. She was sullen and quiet. She snapped at everyone and had trouble in school. Eventually, she forgave my father, but it took her a long time. He hadn’t just cheated on our mother. He’d cheated on all of us.”
“I’m so sorry.” Turning her face into my chest, she presses a soft kiss over my heart.
“That’s why I didn’t want her to marry Connor,” I admit. “She has enough trouble with trust, and when Connor cheated on her with you . . .”
She stiffens in my arms and slowly pushes herself up. She sits rigid on the edge of the bed, her back to me.
My heart—that soft, mushy place that was in the center of my chest just moments ago—cools and hardens.
“It’s always going to come back to that, isn’t it?” She isn’t looking at me. “It was a mistake, but I am not like your father’s mistress.” She goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I press my palms against my eyelids, then I climb out of bed and go after her.
She’s standing at the sink, splashing water on her face.
“You’re nothing like Jacqueline,” I whisper. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like there was a comparison to be made.”
She turns off the water and hangs her head, and I stand behind her and take her shoulders in my hands.
“I’m just saying that my family’s not perfect. We’re as screwed up as the next family. The only difference is that we have to pretend we’re faultless.” I press a kiss to the side of her neck, then her shoulder. “Take a bath with me?”
Without waiting for her answer, I turn on the tap and set it to fill with warm water. When I offer her my hand, she follows me into the tub, but her body is still tense, her face still guarded.
“Come here, Rowdy.” I open my arms for her, and she surprises me by climbing into them, straddling me, and wrapping her arms behind my neck.
“I would take that night back if I could,” she says. “I hate that it’s between us—that it’ll always keep us apart.”
“Hey.” I take her chin in my hand. “Look at me. You feel this?” I wrap my other arm tightly behind her back. “We’re not apart. We’re together. Right where we should be.”
She kisses me, and there’s so much in that kiss I know she’s not saying. I feel it. Something more than frustration, and even more than regret. It’s long and hungry and terrified—so much like everything I feel for her.
When the kiss turns greedier and she’s rubbing herself against my cock, I bring my hands to her hips to still her movement. “I need you to stop, Rowdy. Much more of that, and I’ll find myself inside you without a condom.”
She lifts her head, finding my eyes. “Would that be so bad?” Then she lifts her hips until the head of my cock is cradled against her entrance.
“I always use protection,” I say on a choppy breath. But the protest is weakened as I lift my hips a fraction, let the head of my cock slide into her. “Are you . . .” God. I need more. I can’t breathe or think. The only thing my body cares about is getting inside her.
“On the pill,” she finishes. “Since I was a teenager.”
“I’m healthy,” I tell her. “I’ve been tested.”
“Me too.” She closes her eyes and parts her lips as she slides herself down my shaft.
“Holy shit.” I hold her hips, keeping her still for a moment as she adjusts to my size and I adjust to the sensations threatening to make me come before I’m ready. “You feel amazing.”
She nuzzles her face in the crook of my neck, and I loosen my grip on her as she slowly starts to rock her hips. I let her ride me like that for a long time, touching her everywhere I can, kissing her everywhere my mouth can reach.
The water swirls around us and the snow falls outside. The only thing that matters is Liz in my arms.
* * *
Liz
I turn in his arms so I can look at his face, but I’m surprised to see he hasn’t fallen asleep. He’s watching me, and he smiles when I look at him—a soft, gentle smile for a man who just used my body.
“When did you lose your virginity?” I ask. We’re in bed in our room upstairs from the gala, still nude, the sheets tangled around our legs and the pillows scattered around us. I’m not ready to think about going back to the real world.
He groans. “You’re not going to do that woman thing, are you?”
I prop myself up on an elbow. “What woman thing?”
“The one where you ask the guy a question and he gives you an honest answer and then you g
et mad at him for it?”
Giggling, I straddle him so I can watch his face. I rub my hands over his chest as I talk because I really can’t touch this guy enough. “I know there were women before me. I’m just curious who the lucky first was.”
He watches me carefully. “I was seventeen.”
“And her?”
“She was an older woman, a family friend.”
I curl my nose. “Ew, as in the female equivalent of the creepy uncle?”
He runs his hands down my sides then settles them at my hips. “It wasn’t creepy.”
“There’s a not-creepy way to seduce your friends’ teenage son?”
He chuckles and takes my hands in his, lacing our fingers. “Trust me, it was consensual. I spent summers at her pool and she’d catch me watching her.” He shrugs. “Turns out she liked me watching as much as I liked doing it. And then it turned out that she liked to be tied up, and I didn’t mind that either.” He brushes his knuckles across my cheek. “I’m rather partial to women who get off on being bound.”
My whole body warms. No one knows that about me but Sam . . . And River, I suppose. But I wrinkle my nose to hide my reaction. “I still vote icky.”
“Okay, Judgy McJudgerson, we both know I don’t want to hear about your first, so tell me something else.”
“Like what?”
He brings our hands to his mouth and kisses each of my knuckles. “What about your first kiss?”
I give an exaggerated dreamy sigh. “Max Hallowell, behind his grandma’s house. He started to put his hand up my shirt, but I stopped him because I felt super guilty. Hanna liked him and I wasn’t supposed to.”
He growls, then rolls us so he’s on top of me and trapping my hands over my head. “I don’t like thinking of Max kissing you. And I especially don’t like thinking of your sister’s crush being the only reason he didn’t get to go further with you.”
I draw up my knees, groaning happily when the hard length of his arousal settles between my legs. This man is superhuman. It’s really quite remarkable. “You asked.”
