Red (Love in Color Series Book 1)

by SM West

  “So, where’s Tate and Tripp?” For dramatic effect, Coop rests his knife and fork on his plate, pauses, all the while staring at me.

  “They’re out for their weekly date.”

  “What the fuck? They were out together just the other night,” I growl.

  “They’ve a standing date every Thursday,” he responds. “And before you go and get your knickers in a twist, we have a weekly date too.”

  “What you and Tripp?” I can’t resist the jab. Something to take my mind off the possibilities of his statement. Coop emits a light, hearty laugh.

  “Cute.” He takes a pull of his beer. “TT and me. Every Sunday, we have dinner, then dancing or a movie, you name it.” His demeanor’s nonchalant and deliberately provoking.

  It’s the sly glint in his eyes that keeps my outburst in check. I trust him with my life. He’s no threat to me. He loves Tate like a sister and would never betray Leanne or me, for that matter.

  This is also true for Tripp. Even knowing this, I can’t shake this intense fire-red burn at the thought of her spending time with them. She should be with me. All of these months apart should have been spent with me.

  After dinner, we go in to watch a football game. It’s the end of the third quarter when their laughter filters from the front door. Coop’s chuckling, studying me with avid interest. With one minor glance his way to flip him off, I fix my gaze to the entry way.

  Tate enters with one arm around Tripp’s waist and his around her neck, both laughing hysterically. Even with the melodic sound of her laughter and her glowing face, I don’t find anything funny.

  Her eyes land on me, immediately, stopping her mid-step. On cue, Tripp’s laughing ceases as he looks to what’s got her attention.

  “Hey, Ry,” he cheers. Briefly, the tension leaves my body as he greets me. “Good to see you. I didn’t know you were coming. When did you get in?”

  “Today,” I reply, eyes never leaving Tate.

  The sight of her. The way she looks should be illegal. She’s wearing a dark indigo bohemian dress, flowy with barely-there straps, ending mid-thigh. Her skin’s sun-kissed and her hair’s blonder than ever.

  She’s divine, a fucking knockout. But it’s her eyes, the unmissable radiance, that are heart-stopping. I can’t take my eyes off her and her gaze hasn’t strayed since laying them on me.

  “Ry, it’s great to see you,” she says warmly, finally finding her voice. My tension lessens further at the sound of my name on her lips.

  “You too.”

  Patrick takes the armchair, oblivious or acting so, to the electricity buzzing through the air. Coop’s grinning like an idiot. There’s only one spot available, beside me. Coop offers his seat to her, she ignores him. Her long, sexy legs lead her to the love seat.

  Honey vanilla drifts through my senses, flooding me with desire and a sense of home or peace that I didn’t know I was missing. It’s a good thing I’m seated or I’d be on my knees.

  The seat’s not big, it’s cozy. Our thighs brush, my jeans against her golden skin, her nearness scorches me. Heaven and hell.

  I finally break through my Tate-induced fog to hear Tripp’s comments on the game. Tate’s quiet. Even though her gaze isn’t on me, she surreptitiously snatches glimpses from the corner of her eye.

  “I should get going,” she abruptly states, rising to embrace Tripp.

  Like a bolt of lightning, the vision of her back in that dress heats and freezes me at the same time. Holy Christ, fuck me. The dress is backless, dipping down to just above her hips, revealing her bronzed, silky skin.

  My body’s frozen, yet my insides are scorching. I’m stunned silent, mesmerized by the sleek curves of her shoulders, hips and spine as she eagerly folds into Coop’s arms. They hug for what seems like forever, it’s not sexual but tender. Even at that, it’s difficult to keep the green-eyed monster at bay.

  “Ry, walk me out?” she says unexpectedly. Her tone is nervous, almost uncertain.

  I hadn’t seen that coming. I’d been thinking about how to ditch the peanut gallery, to get her alone. Speechless, I nod, following her down the hallway toward the door.

  I’m utterly powerless to the sensual silhouette of her back, fine ass and long legs. With all my self-control, I quash the tempting compulsion to touch her silky, soft back. Not yet. My cock’s beyond hard, pure, unyielding steel.

  At the front door, she turns back, smiles with her hand held out to me. My fingers intertwine with hers on instinct, without any conscious command from me. Upon contact, my knees buckle and I release a ragged breath. Her warm, soft touch has me almost blowing my load. Not even in my youth did an innocent hand holding make ejaculation so imminent.

  Sure, I haven’t been with anyone since her, living like a monk, but my reaction is more than that. It’s Tate. All her. Only she could make me lose my shit this effortlessly.

  We walk in silence to her car. There’s just enough lighting for us to see each other. I could let her lead, but I’m done with that. I’ve been taking her lead for months and look where that’s got us. It’s my turn. It could be my best move or my worst mistake.

  Holding her upper arms, I gently swing her back against the driver door. I cage her with my arms on either side. Her eyes are dark pools of need as she grabs my shirt and pulls me closer. Our heat’s combustible, our mutual want palpable.

  “I missed you,” she boldly whispers.

  “Missed you too,” I reply, bringing my lips a wisp away from hers. Tension and anticipation saturate the slip of space between us. Upon each exhale, her lush breasts skim my chest. Our silence screams with our desire.

  “I should’ve returned your calls, your texts,” she says remorsefully. Regret evident in her flawless features.

  “Yes, you should have,” I lightly chastise.

  Her hands attempt to clasp behind my neck, I lean away. I’m controlling this not her. My rebuff is mirrored in her dimmed, confused eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, I screwed this up,” she starts. “I owed you an explanation before leaving. Still do.” She tentatively places her hands back on my chest. Her tension eases when I accept her touch. “I was lost, didn’t even know who I was. For all intent and purpose, I’d been locked away for years. I needed to get away, find myself. I wasn’t sure of myself. Of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d been so caught up in that world, always ready for the worst. Then you came into my life. And you were right, I didn’t trust it. I worried, wondering if what I felt for you was just because you were an out. I’d been trapped for so long. I knew who I was in Chicago. I got lost along the way. I no longer knew what I wanted, what I needed. I worried that this connection to you was fleeting. Because you were the first person, the first man, I’d been able to connect to, to feel for.”

  “Ouch,” I say.

  My reply’s totally uncalled for. She’s finally opening up. Despite my raging turmoil, torn by the reality of her words and the way I feel, I understand. Although, I don’t think she’s being completely honest with herself. I think fear was a huge factor too. I just hope she’s figured it all out. Is she clear on how she feels for me?

  She’s right. Bloody hell. She’d been held captive. Starting a relationship would have been the last thing she needed. What kind of beginning would that have been for us?

  The warm-blooded man in me, the one crazy for her, is hurt and angry. How could she not trust what we are? What I feel? What she feels? It’s in her eyes, her body, her touch. How could she not trust the strength and depth of our dynamite-red passion? I want to hear she’s worked through that crap. I’m afraid to hear anything but.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want you to understand. I owe you that. I had all these intense feelings and I wasn’t sure if I could trust them.”

  “I get it. And me being around would have made it harder to figure things out.”

  “Yes,” she nods, encouraged by my understanding. “I had to go, figure things o
ut.”

  “I don’t like it, but I get it.”

  Relief invades in her eyes, she takes my understanding as an invitation, curling her arms around my neck, moving into kiss me. My hands immediately and abruptly latch onto her hips. Tight. My stronghold halts her lips in their path to mine. Her eyes widened in surprise, I loosen my grip slightly so as not to bruise or cause pain.

  “No,” I command, my restraint near its breaking point. “I’m not sure where your head’s at.” Before she can speak, I place one finger on her moist, red lips. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I came here to put it all out there. I’m done sitting around waiting for you.”

  She gasps, pulling away, misunderstanding my words. I draw her wrists against my chest, leaning into her, closing the little space between us. My hand skims down her side, stopping just below her dress. My fingers slowly snake up her silky thigh. Fuck, she feels like heaven.

  She gulps in air. Her face tips up to look at me, her eyes are wide and expressive. Curling my hand gently but firmly around her throat, my thumb vibrates to the quick pounding of her pulse. She’s as turned on and wired as I am. My mouth crashes down on hers, my need to taste her obliterating all other thought.

  She instantly yields, opening her lips, leaning into me in full surrender. My kiss is rough and punishing. It’s been too long. My tongue, teeth and lips are hard, demanding, taking. Like a dying man in the desert, I drink from her mouth like my life depends on it.

  Breaking our kiss, she burrows her face into my neck. Her warm breath tickles my skin. It’s fucking fantastic to have her in my arms again. I’d wondered countless times if I’d ever experience this again, the warmth of her body, her scent, the silky softness of her hair. The way her sinful body was made for me.

  With my hand still resting just below her ass, I lift her thigh, gliding my hand down behind her knee. She instinctually bends and curls her leg around my waist. Her calf hooks around my thigh.

  My hand teasingly coasts up her thigh to cup her sweet ass, sliding my fingers along the bottom of her ass past her forbidden spot, to the juncture of her thigh and pelvis.

  Exploring her sexy, silky skin is not only playing with her, it’s also maliciously taunting me. My resolve is barely intact. My fingers trail along the hem of her lacy panties, they’re soaked. Unable to control myself, I release a strangled groan. Tate’s head snaps up, her lustful eyes laser focused on me.

  “What I mean is I want you. Only you. I’ll always want you,” my voice is low and thick. My thumb flirts with the hem of her panties, deliberately rubbing back and forth at the edge of her sweet spot. Tate pulls in a shaky breath, a whimper on her lips as her fingers dig into my shoulders.

  “And if the feeling’s mutual, these fucking dates, end now,” I bitterly say, as my thumb slips inside her panties, parting her folds and flicking her clit. Tate moans, licking her lips in anticipation.

  “What da…” she begins to speak, her voice lush and needy. I cut her off with another torturous swirl and swipe of my finger, strong and steady along her hot, wet pussy. Another whimper passes her lips.

  “Before this goes any further, we need to talk. We need to be open and honest with each other. Trust. Each. Other.” I deliberately punctuate each word.

  “Ry, I trust you,” she sighs breathlessly, almost on a whine.

  Holding up my hand, her speech stalls. I release her and step back. She growls at my departure, ready to grab for me. Closing the gap, I bring her into my arms. Walking away right now is killing me. My control’s hanging by a thread, any more of this and I’ll be unzipped, balls deep in her warm, tight pussy. Can’t go there.

  “Tate, I’m not going to fuck you or make love to you, tonight. Sex would be easy, dammit, it’d be fucking unbelievable but before that you’re going to talk to me. You’ve got the night to think about it. Fuck, I’ll give you, however, many nights you need. The ball is in your court. I’m not sure if you’ve come to a decision. I have. Just so you know, I. Choose. You.”

  I abruptly let my arms fall and turn my back on her. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, walking away, yet it must be done.

  There’s no movement or sound from behind me. As I close in on the front door, our audience comes into view. Tripp and Coop stand at the door with arms crossed and stupid grins on their faces. Like teenage punks.

  The car door closes and the engine purrs to life. I’m glad Tate’s leaving, taking the time. I’m sure the presence of these two idiots also helped in her decision to leave.

  “Assholes,” I fire, glancing back to see her car is gone. Stalking past them into the house, I grab a beer and head to the patio. The two idiots I call friends join me.

  “Can’t believe you walked away from her,” Tripp admonishes.

  “Why? Does it make it easier for you now to move in on her? Your brother’s woman.” As the words fly out of my mouth in a jealous rage, they sound all kinds of wrong. I’m a fucking bastard.

  “Whoa, hold up. That’s rich coming from you,” Tripp seethes. “It’s not like that. Tate’s like a sister to me, like Carys.” He’s smart bringing my little sister into this. “We’ve helped each other move past Griffin’s death,” he says. His tone more resigned than angry.

  “Shit.”

  “Besides, her cheeks heat and her eyes dilate at the mention of your sorry ass. And fuck, tonight, if there was any doubt, there’s no missing she’s crazy for you. The woman needs her head examined,” Patrick states. “She’s yours. It’s written all over her face.”

  “That is if you want her, it was kinda hard to tell back there with all the teasing you were doing and then leaving her hot and bothered like that,” Coop adds, not impressed.

  “Fuck, I want her. She’s mine,” my tone is imposing. “And Tripp, I’m an asshole. I know she’s like a sister to you.”

  Tripp just waves me off, all is forgotten. Best friends are simply the best. No grudges, no heartache. We fight, we get it off our chests and we move on.

  “So, what the fuck was that back there?” Coop asks. “You make an effort to fly across the country to claim your woman and then you walk away? Boy, didn’t I teach you anything?”

  “Fuck off, Coop. Since you obviously missed it, I did claim her. You’ll see,” I confidently reply. I’d have to be all kinds of stupid to have misread her cues. This time tomorrow, I’ll have Tate in my bed.

  My phone rings, glancing down at the number, it’s New York.

  “Wolfe,” I answer, listening. “Fuck my life.”

  “HELLO,” I CALL OUT, ENTERING Coop’s house.

  Riled up and sexually frustrated, I spent most of the night tossing and turning. Once home, I had a hot bath and tried taking the edge off by giving myself the pleasure Ry so easily denied me. While I climaxed, my orgasm paled in comparison to the promise of Ry’s mouth, fingers or cock.

  While I hated his tactics, I understood. We’d been on the sidelines for too long. He was done waiting. I knew the feeling. Despite being left high and dry, it’s just what I needed. I’d been frozen for months. Even Dr. Elliott was done with it.

  And while at the moment, I wanted to protest, he was right, I did need the night. I spent last night exploring my feelings for Ry. Again. I knew what I felt for him. I’d spent many therapy sessions talking about him.

  The reality of him forced me to shut out all the noise and really listen to my heart. Even months and miles apart, Ry knew this. The night was exactly what I needed and I’m now here to talk to him. No one is here. Talk about ruining my grand plans.

  Nearing the bedrooms, the front door opens. Spinning on my heels, I head in that direction, finding Coop.

  “Hey Coop, where’s Ry?” I ask breathless and anxious.

  “He’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “He went back to New York, I just came from dropping him at LAX,” he casually replies.

  “What do you mean? He just got here.”

  Coop studies me intently, silent and thoughtful bef
ore speaking, “TT, what do you want?” Shit, not him too.

  “Ry,” I groan. Like Ry, I’m done with this. He’s supposed to be here, waiting for me to make my move. Shit, I saw him less than ten hours ago. He couldn’t even wait twenty-four hours? He told me he’d wait.

  “He had to go back. A work emergency. One of his cases.”

  “And?” I impatiently urge.

  “And what?”

  “Is he coming back? Did he say anything about me?”

  “No and yes,” Coop responds. His lack of communication is so unlike him, obviously deliberate and seriously ticking me off.

  “Coop, stop this right now. Talk to me,” I demand.

  “Look, my boy came all the way across the country for you. His plans got screwed, one of the drawbacks of the job, and now he’s got to focus on that. TT, I love you something fierce, but you could drive a man crazy. I know you had a raw deal and you’ve done a shit load to work through it, but you need to decide. You say you want Ry. If true, and I hope to high heaven it is, then prove it.”

  He doesn’t hold back. His loyalty to Ry is clear and I love and respect that.

  “I’m going home,” I declare, garnering one of his winning smiles.

  “About fucking time.” He holds me close and tight.

  He gives me Ry’s address and the location of The Waters, his family bar. He also reminds me that Ry won’t answer if undercover. I take the day to plan for my trip home. I’m apprehensive, hopeful and if I’m really honest, scared to return to New York.

  I love the city; it’s my home. There are many bad memories and so many good reasons to go back. This time will be different. Better.

  I text Ry upon arrival, asking to meet. I didn’t try sooner because I wasn’t sure about the timing. I wanted to be here, knowing I could see him the minute my feet hit the ground.

  Hours go by without a word. I’ve visited the Gallery, had lunch with Julia and nothing from Ry. Another day goes by and still nothing. Trying not to think the worst, I strategize my next move. Like Coop said, he’s likely undercover. God, I hope it’s not too late.