Even though she’d hated Daniel, her blood had burned. It still burned now, when she remembered the casual way Burne had hurt his only son.
At least the man had the grace to look ashamed. Slightly.
“Daniel came back to his room,” she said. “He knew I’d heard. I expected him to lash out at me, but he didn’t. He just… broke. It was awful. I hated him, but my heart ached for him. So when he kissed me, I allowed it.
“That was the first time he asked me out. Two years later, I finally said yes. But he told me that we had to be a secret, because of you—and I agreed, because I was a romantic fool. I hoped that eventually Daniel would stop trying to gain your approval. I thought that if I waited until he was older, until he was established in the world, things would change.
“I was wrong. Obviously, I was wrong. But somehow, seven years passed. Can you believe that?” She shrugged. “How does that even happen? You know, he bought me a house.”
Burne jolted, his shock a tangible thing, floating in the air between them.
Ruth nodded. “Oh, yes. He bought me a house, and a car. I wouldn’t take the house because my sister would ask questions. I took the car. I started writing a web comic, pretended it was my job to explain away all the money I had. My mother didn’t understand the concept and my sister wasn’t interested, so it worked.” Ruth felt herself smile. “It’s funny, really. I ended up publishing the comic. Now it is my job.
“I loved him the way people do in films. You know, when you’re watching and you think, That girl’s ridiculous. How could she do something so foolish? For love? You laugh at her. You think, correctly, that she threw her life away for nothing. Well, I was that girl.
“But Daniel’s hard to love. He’s not so good at it. I figured that out the day he told me about his engagement to Laura.”
For the first time, Burne spoke. He said, his voice wooden, “I don’t understand.”
“Well, Mr. Burne, it’s quite simple.” When she’d explained this, years ago, to Hannah, the words had burned her throat. The shame had burned her throat.
Now she felt only detachment as she explained.
“On Thursday night he came over. He told me all about your latest transgressions. We watched Modern Family, and then he took me to bed. The next morning, he kissed me goodbye and went to work. On his lunch break, he called to say that he wasn’t coming home, because it was he and Laura’s engagement party that night. But he’d be back Sunday at the latest, he said. He’d see me then, he said.”
Ruth almost found the story amusing. It was funny, how unsuspecting she’d been, how sure. How he’d caught her unawares and given her the information so blithely.
She gave Burne a smile. “You know the rest, I suppose. Up until a few weeks ago, when I bumped into Daniel and his new friend. I liked the friend, and Daniel didn’t like that. He was very rude, as he always is, and then he felt guilty, as he always does. Usually he saves the flowers for my birthday, saves the gifts for Christmas. But he appears to be throwing some kind of protracted, jealous tantrum.”
Burne stood on shaky legs. The usually robust man was pale, almost fragile-seeming. “My son is many things,” he said softly, “but he is not… he is not deranged. You are missing out crucial parts of the story, I am sure.”
Ruth shook her head. “If you think I’d give Daniel the time of day after what he did, you’re as delusional as your son. I’m sick of him, I’m sick of you, and I’m sick of every stuck-up gossip in this town who thinks Burne shit doesn’t stink. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
Mr. Burne stared at her for a moment, his face blank. Something about him seemed vacant, his jaw slightly slack, his eyes unfocused. He looked, for an instant, like a man who’d found hell at the end of a rainbow.
Then he visibly pulled himself together, clearing his throat, straightening his clothes. “I…” His voice was hoarse. “I wish you’d said all this earlier. I wish you’d explained this to me.”
“When?” Ruth asked. “When I was eighteen years old and in love with a man who told me you were the devil incarnate? When I was twenty-two and you called me a gold-digging slut? When I was twenty-five and you gave your police statement?”
He winced. “I believed… that is, Daniel led me to believe—”
“I don’t care.” She really didn’t. Ruth looked at Mr. Burne’s bewildered face and felt nothing but exhaustion.
He nodded wearily. Despite his still-handsome face, his still-powerful body, he looked like a confused old man. Like the sort of person Evan would swoop in and rescue.
Evan, who was on his way home right now. Christ.
“I really need you to go,” Ruth said.
“Of—of course.” Her jaw nearly dropped at the hesitance in those words. And then he said, “I’m sorry.”
Her jaw did drop.
Mr. Burne’s did too, as if someone else had said that. His eyes widened. He wandered from the room as if in a dream, and she followed, shock lapping at her like waves against the shore. A tentative triumph coalesced in her chest, not because of those two little words—words he hadn’t meant to utter—but because she’d told him. She’d told him her truth, and she’d told him to leave her alone, and nothing terrible had happened.
Because allowing yourself to be manipulated by a man like Daniel wasn’t a crime, and you never deserved to be punished.
When she opened the door to let him out, she felt elated. When he looked over his shoulder and said, voice subdued, “I won’t bother you again,” Ruth felt like she was flying.
But then she heard him say to someone she couldn’t see, “Evening, lad. I hear you’ve been misbehaving.”
And then she heard Evan’s voice say, tightly controlled, “Mr. Burne.”
Oh, shit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Evan stood, frozen, as Mr. Burne emerged from Ruth’s flat.
The man was eerily similar to his son; they shared the same height and breadth, the same startling colouring. Only Mr. Burne’s body was slightly softer, his red hair streaked liberally with grey. A literal silver fox.
The man had interviewed Evan for his position, all those weeks ago—despite being so loaded, he still liked to oversee the minutiae of his business. He was that kind of guy. In fact, for a short while, Evan had liked Mr. Burne.
But getting to know Daniel had soured that somehow.
Their eyes met, and Evan set his jaw. What should be alarming him most, here? Probably the threat of losing his job, whether for attacking the boss’s kid earlier, or because he hadn’t left Ruth alone.
And yet, the only thing on Evan’s mind was what Burne had just said to Ruth. I won’t bother you again.
So he’d been bothering Ruth.
Evan was pissed.
“Evening, lad. I hear you’ve been misbehaving.”
Those words should’ve made him nervous, coming from the man who controlled his income. Evan was too angry to be nervous. He released his words slowly, because he was in the sort of mindset where he might easily be carried away. “Mr. Burne.” He paused, collected his thoughts, continued. “I must apologise for—”
Burne held up a hand. “Never mind that. My son is a grown man. If he had the spine of one, he wouldn’t come running to me over every conflict. So let’s pretend I don’t know, since I shouldn’t.”
Evan tried to hide the shock on his face, but probably failed.
With a nod, Mr. Burne walked past Evan and down the corridor. In seconds, he’d disappeared into the stairwell.
Leaving Evan to face Ruth.
Suddenly, the things he’d wanted to say—the careful words he’d planned on his way home, about how he knew everything, and he didn’t care, and he understood—were nowhere to be found.
Fucking Burnes. A scourge, the lot of them.
To his surprise, Ruth stepped out of her doorway and came towards him. She spoke first, without prompting. He almost collapsed in shock.
“Evan,” she said, her voice hesitant. “I�
��I don’t want you to think that—”
“It’s okay,” he said. She looked so worried, his heart contracted in his chest. In two strides, he closed the gap between them. He wrapped his arms around her and expected her to stiffen at first—even to pull away—but she didn’t. Not for a second. Her arms slid round his waist, and her head fell against his chest, and everything was perfect.
For a while, they stood there, breathing in synch, and Evan felt more peaceful than he ever had in his life. Then he felt Ruth’s hand slide beneath the hem of his T-shirt. She didn’t do anything, really. She just pressed her palm against his back, against his bare skin, and left it there.
But that, apparently, was enough to make Evan hard. Then again, it never did take much around Ruth.
She laughed, a husky chuckle whose vibrations he felt in his chest. Then, tilting her head back, she looked up at him. “I can feel that, you know.”
Evan smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Ignore it.” Even as he spoke, his fingers trailed over the back of her neck. Her skin was softer than silk.
She exhaled, the kind of long, heavy breath that spoke volumes. Then she said, “I don’t want to ignore it.”
He looked down at her for a moment, his mind scrambling. Then finally, thankfully, he scraped together enough wits to choke out, “We should go inside.”
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”
Ruth hadn’t felt powerful in a while. Years, actually. It was exhilarating. It was fantastic. It was also, somehow arousing.
Or maybe that was just Evan.
She dragged him into her flat by his T-shirt, hoping she wouldn’t bang into the door or fall over or something equally embarrassing when she was trying her best to be sexy. She was capable of being sexy. As long as she avoided unfortunate incidents.
Clearly, God was on her side, because they made it over the threshold without issue. Maybe He thought she deserved some dick. Probably.
Evan slammed the door shut without a backward glance. His eyes never left her. In fact, they devoured her, hungry and insistent, and Ruth realised that the way he usually looked at her was nothing. It was restrained, controlled.
This was something else entirely.
The knowledge that he wanted her, and badly, was enough to send liquid heat pooling between her legs. And she wanted to give him that same feeling, that heady drunkenness of being desired, even if it went against her every instinct.
So Ruth swallowed down her nerves and put her hands on his chest, pushing him back against the door. Even though she wasn’t strong enough to move him, he pretended as if she was, falling back against the polished wood with a sharp exhalation.
Licking her lips, Ruth looked down at the growing bulge in his jeans.
“Ruth,” he murmured, drawing her eyes back to his face. “I need you to say something.”
She nodded. “Something like, I want to suck your cock?”
He blinked. “Um... I… I meant something like, This is fine. But that’s great. That’s fantastic. Please, continue.”
Despite Ruth’s commitment to sexiness, laughter burst from her lips. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. Now, before you get too distracted…” He reached out, catching her hand in his, and tugged her forward. Closer, closer, until she was forced to slide her hands around his neck, until he could wrap an arm around her waist. “We were interrupted,” he murmured. “The other day. But—remind me—did you say that I could kiss you?”
Ruth took a breath and rose up onto her toes, sliding her body against his. Everything about him was hard, strong, perfect. He brought up a hand to cup her face, the pad of his thumb rubbing her lower lip.
“Talk,” he said gently. “Remember?”
She nodded. “Kiss me.”
His eyes darkened. The arm around her waist tightened. He pushed his thumb slightly into her mouth, parting her lips, and she bit down. When he let out a tight little breath, Ruth’s confidence grew—or rather, she forgot to think about confidence or nerves or anything at all. She sucked where she’d just bitten, and Evan actually moaned.
It was a quiet sound, deep in the back of his throat, but she heard it and she wanted more. Ruth sucked his thumb harder, and he flashed a dark smile. “You like things in your mouth, kitten?”
She released his thumb with a pop. “Some things more than others.”
With a low growl, he bent his head and kissed her.
The tip of his still-wet thumb dragged down Ruth’s lower lip, nudging her mouth open as he tasted her. Evan licked at Ruth’s tongue, somehow gentle despite the pressure of his hand on her face, the way he held her still and devoured her. His lips were so soft against hers, his beard tickling her cheek, and she felt caution in the way his arm cradled her waist.
But when it came down to it, his mouth was demanding. He was demanding. Ruth was finding that she very much enjoyed being obviously wanted. It wasn’t exactly something she’d experienced before.
When he pulled away, he didn’t really pull away at all. He still held her body against his own, still cradled her face with one hand, and let his brow rest against hers. But their lips finally parted, and he dragged in breaths as if he’d been submerged under water. She did too. For a moment, all that existed of the world was the shadowed little space between them, where air was shared and bodies were connected.
“That,” Evan finally rasped, “was worth the wait.”
And Ruth, who must have been possessed by some sex-crazed demon murmured, “This will be too.” Then she reached between them and tugged at his jeans.
Because he knew her well, Evan gently moved her hands and deftly undid the button. Then he put her hands back, as if she needed encouragement.
Ruth yanked the fabric down, and he sucked in a breath and leant back against the door, watching as if hypnotised.
Ruth was impatient, she realised. Had been for a while, and hadn’t even known it. For a moment, as she hooked her thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers, she wondered: could she really need him this desperately?
Then she dragged the boxers down his muscular thighs, and saw the thick, dark length of his cock, and decided that yes, she fucking could.
She wrapped a hand around him, hummed a moan at the velvet feel of him, then squeezed. He was iron-hard. She could smell his skin, raw and natural and warm. She felt dizzy.
He slid a hand over her neck and said, almost absently, “You’re perfect.”
She scowled. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
A reluctant smile curving her lips, she leaned up and kissed him again. His cock in her hand, his tongue in her mouth, Ruth kissed and stroked and moaned and felt. From the energy pulsing in her clit, in her nipples, to the empty ache between her legs, to the scorching heat of his flesh against her palm.
He was vulnerable because of her. He was standing there with his jeans around his ankles, with his cock in her hand, ready to do whatever she wanted—to take whatever she wanted—and the thought tipped Ruth well past patience. She broke the kiss, ignoring his wistful moan, and sank to her knees.
Evan watched with lust in his eyes, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips. She’d expected him to offer token protests, to pretend she couldn’t want to swallow his cock whole, but of course he didn’t. Because he knew this was exactly what she wanted. He’d made sure.
She wondered if he also knew that she was embarrassingly aroused, her nipples tight and her pussy slick, just at the sight of him half-dressed before her.
Probably, she decided. A man couldn’t look like him and suffer from a lack of knowing.
She’d wanted to take her time. She’d wanted to trace her thumb over the fine veins mapping his rigid length, play with the pearlescent drop forming at its tip, feel the impossible velvet hardness against her cheek.
But then he pressed a hand to her face. He looked down at her with something far too soft in his eyes, and held her far too gently, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
So she had to lean in, had to run the flat of her tongue along his length, from root to tip. And it worked. His hand slid back to her neck, and he groaned, and his head fell back and his eyes screwed shut. “Ruth,” he panted, his hips jerking. “Yes. God, yes.”
The sound of her name on his lips was easier to handle than the adoration in his eyes. She’d have to get used to the latter, she thought. But she was kind of looking forward to doing so.
I want to take everything you have to give, and I want to think that I deserve it.
She licked him again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Evan had intended to come home and have a talk with Ruth. A mature, serious talk that culminated in him asking some schoolkid shit like, Will you be my girlfriend? And her laughing in his face but saying yes.
What good intentions he’d had. And now here he was, trying not to disgrace himself while she lapped pre-come from the swollen head of his cock.
He couldn’t quite feel bad about it.
Evan snatched in a breath as Ruth’s lips wrapped around his length, hot and soft and wet. Her tongue slid out to massage the underside of his erection, and then she sucked him slowly into her mouth. He forced his eyes open, even though sheer ecstasy made his lids heavy. She was too beautiful to miss.
Her hands were squeezing his thighs, her short nails digging into him. He didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. Evan watched as his cock disappeared into her mouth, inch by inch, and felt the pull of her lips at the same time, and could have passed out from the pleasure. When he felt the impossible pressure of her throat, he almost choked.
Something drove him to press a hand to her neck, beneath her chin. He felt her muscles relax, expand as she swallowed him.
“Fuck,” he gritted out. “Holy shit, Ruth.”
She made a sound he couldn’t decipher, but when she looked up at him with dancing eyes, he knew she was laughing. Or trying to. She couldn’t quite manage it with his cock filling her mouth.
A Girl Like Her (Ravenswood Book 1) Page 14
