by Measha Stone
She scrunched her eyebrows together. She didn’t have to answer to him. She didn’t answer to anyone.
Anymore.
And probably never again.
“I was hoping to pass a store on the way there to get some, but there wasn’t one,” she answered, keeping her tone firm.
“You should have asked. I have a bottle in the bathroom under the sink.” His brows furrowed.
“Okay, well, now I know. Thanks.” She pushed open the bedroom door, trying to end the conversation, but he followed to the doorway, taking up all the space. She was trapped.
“What are your plans for tonight?” he asked. A strong undercurrent of authority laced his tone.
“I’m going to shower, then figure something out. Probably find a grocery store to get some stuff.” The idea of going out was too much. She was tired—bone tired—and wanted a quiet evening. She needed to come down from all the anxiety rides the day had taken her on. The beach had helped, but not enough.
“I have food here. Help yourself to whatever you want.” He glanced at the window. “It’s going to be dark soon, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”
She heaved a sigh and dropped her beach bag on the bed. “Thanks.” She stepped toward him, trying to get him to retreat a few steps so she could close the door.
“I’m leaving for the club in half an hour, but I can take you if you really—”
“Ryder,” she cut him off with a hand on the door. “Thanks for everything, really. I’m a big girl and I’ve lived all on my own before. I can handle a few groceries. Go to the club. George is expecting you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small tick appeared in his jaw while he seemed to deliberate what to do or say next.
“I’ll leave my cell number on the fridge if you need me.” He grabbed the handle and pulled it from her grasp. “I usually get home pretty late, around two in the morning.”
“Fine.” She raised her chin a fraction.
He eyed her silently, sending a dark shiver through her body.
“Have a good night then.” He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut.
She glowered at the door for a full minute before getting herself collected. He was bossy, that was certain, but she couldn’t blame him for it. This was his apartment, and he was doing his friend a favor by letting her stay there. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to make sure she was safe. And he hadn’t really crossed any lines.
Just because he gave her the tingling sensations in her belly—and lower—when he got that authoritative look in his eyes didn’t mean he was acting unacceptably. Her response was what should have worried her. Just a look from him, and swirly sensations filled her to the brim. She needed to get a better grip on herself.
She had a plan.
There wasn’t time for anything more than finding a good job, a nice place to live, and setting herself up for her new life. One that didn’t require second chances, and twisted lies, and hiding. And in order to do that, she needed to keep her mind focused.
A shower.
Fresh clothes.
Trip to the grocery store for important snacks.
Rent a movie on her laptop.
A quiet evening alone, giving into her needs. She would be ready to face the day in the morning. She had an interview on Monday, and she would need to be on top of her game to get the position, moving another space forward toward her future.
Chapter 5
Ryder walked through the purple playroom, watching the scenes around him. He’d grown used to the sounds of leather smacking flesh and barely heard it anymore. It was safewords he listened for, making sure everyone stayed safe in their play. The club would be closing down soon, so only a few players remained in the room.
“Hey, Ryder.” George popped into the room, settling beside him against the far wall. It made it easier to watch the whole room.
“Hey.”
“Sam get settled in?” he asked.
Samantha. Ryder had been trying to keep her locked up in the far corner of his mind, but it hadn’t worked. Too many times when he’d watch a woman being spanked, pulled over a knee, or bent over the spanking bench, he’d envision Samantha in that position.
No sunscreen while sitting in the sun for hours? A nice red ass to match the sunburn she sported might teach her a solid lesson.
“Yeah. I think so. She unpacked and went to the beach right away.”
“Sounds like her.” George laughed. “She’s headstrong. Gets an idea in her head and won’t let go.”
Ryder clenched his jaw. “She didn’t ask about the club. Does she know what you do?”
“Oh, yeah.” George nodded. “She’s in the scene. She probably won’t come here, though. She’s uncomfortable around me in this setting. Since I’m friends with her older brother.”
She’s in the scene. Ryder tried to hide the surprise and hope bubbling up inside him.
“How do you know she’s in the scene?”
“We bumped into each other at a club in Indianapolis when I was visiting Paul. It was awkward, but she’s a great girl. We talked and ended up spending most of the night with each other in the lounge instead of playing. That’s when I told her about this place.”
“And her brother?”
“He knows. He and his wife don’t go to the clubs anymore, but they have more of a domestic discipline thing going.”
Ryder nodded along, his mind already wandering to Samantha. What sort of play did she like? Was she as timid in a scene as she was outside? Or did a wild cat come out to play?
“Is she a top?” Ryder asked, forcing his tone to remain casual.
George could see through it a mile away. “Why?”
“Just curious. Don’t want to assume she’s a sub just ’cause she’s a girl.”
“Right.” He squared off with Ryder. “She is a submissive.”
Ryder swept his gaze around the room again. Two more scenes to finish up, then he’d close the room down.
“You aren’t looking for a woman,” George pointed out.
“Still true,” Ryder agreed. “I was just curious, George. She’s a guest. And she’s your friend. I’m not going to overstep.”
“She had a rough time there at the end in Indiana. I doubt she’d even be looking for anything more than a friendship right now anyway,” George said, pushing off the wall.
“Bad breakup?” Ryder asked, his insides twisting at the idea. He’d only just met her, but she had such a softness, such an open, honest air, he could imagine the wrong people taking advantage of it.
George shook his head. “Ask her. It’s her story to tell.”
“George, if some crazy ex-boyfriend is going to show up on my doorstep, I’d like to know about it beforehand.” Ryder straightened his spine. He’d still let her stay with him, he’d keep her safe, but he needed to know from what.
“Nothing like that. No one’s coming looking for her. I wouldn’t have let her stay with you if that were the case,” George assured him.
Ryder let it drop. He’d ask her. If it wasn’t anything horrible, she’d tell him. And if she was hiding something, he’d draw it out. Somehow.
“Why don’t you head home? They’re done here. Wesley can close down the room. He’s in no hurry tonight. His girlfriend is away with friends.” George patted his shoulder.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ryder declined. He signed up for the shift, he’d finish it. It was nearing one in the morning, and Samantha should be asleep by now.
George left him to it, and Ryder got to work. Even though the members wiped down the equipment when they were done, he went over each piece once more with the cleaning formula. When he was satisfied with the room, he said his goodbyes and made his way down to his car.
The humidity made the air thick and hot. The summer was only beginning; there would be no escaping the heat until fall. If Chicago was granted a fall.
Ryder parked his truck next to Samantha’s green Beetle. He wondered what s
he’d done all night. Had she rented a movie and opened a bottle of wine? Read a book? Taken a long hot bath with bubbles covering the generous swell of her breasts?
He needed to stop, but every time he started down an innocent train of thought, it derailed right into the dirt. He’d only met her; she shouldn’t be having such a powerful impact on him. But there it was. The entire elevator ride up to his apartment, he wondered what she wore to sleep, if she slept on the right or left side of the bed.
By the time he’d gotten his key in the lock, she’d consumed every thought that popped into his head.
The apartment was lit up. He bolted the door and dropped his bag at the closet.
“Samantha?” he called.
He silenced his steps as he made his way down the hall toward the living room. Music played.
He paused.
He’d heard it before, playful and fun—nothing he would think a twenty-five-year-old would be listening to on a Saturday night.
He found her on the couch, asleep. Her thick brown hair had been pulled into pigtails and her makeup had been washed off. She wore a pink night gown with Eeyore painted on the front. On the floor, where her arm had slid off the couch, was a bowl of popcorn half spilled onto the carpet. A bottle of orange soda sat on the coffee table, mostly drank.
Ryder took in the image in front of him. The soft curve of her ass peeking out of the nightgown with her leg pulled up, exposing the gentle flesh. He found the remote for the television and clicked off the DVD player. The case for Inside Out sat on the table beside her soda. She’d most likely fallen asleep during the movie and the DVD looped back to the menu, replaying the theme song over and over again.
He sighed.
Popcorn was all over the floor. Crayons were strewn all over the coffee table next to an adult stress relief coloring book. Several drops of her orange soda had seeped into the page she’d been coloring.
He flipped off the TV and cleaned up the mess on the carpet, scooping the kernels into the bowl. After he brought the bowl and pop into the kitchen, he went back to the living room to rouse the sleeping beauty and get her to her own bed. The couch was comfortable enough, but an overnight stay would lead to a stiff neck.
He stared down at Samantha for a long moment. She was a friend, a houseguest, nothing more. She stirred a bit, jolting him into movement. Waking up to find him gawking at her would probably seem creepy.
With a light shake of her shoulder, he tried to rouse her
“Samantha…Samantha…Samantha?” He couldn’t help but grin when her lips scrunched up and she waved him away.
“I’m sleeping.”
He chuckled. “I know. I thought you’d be more comfortable doing that in your bed.”
She sniffled and burrowed herself deeper into the pillows she’d arranged around herself. He shook his head.
“You can’t sleep here, sweetheart. You’re going to get a kink in your neck.”
She blew out a breath. “I’m sleepy.”
“I know.” He tried to rouse her again, but she let out a contented sigh, stilling him.
His jaw tensed, and he scrubbed his hand over his face.
Fuck it.
He slid his arms beneath her and scooped her up from the couch. Her hands wove around his neck, and she nuzzled into the crook.
He looked down at her sleeping face. With his jaw set, he carried her to the guest bedroom and nudged the door open with his boot.
She’d unpacked. Or, rather, the suitcases had exploded all over the room. She hadn’t hung up most of her clothes but left them in piles on the floor and on top of the dresser. He stepped over a short pile of socks and placed her on the bed. She rolled to her side, facing him, pulled the pillow out from beneath her, and snuggled it.
He shook his head with a smile. Being as gentle as he could, he tugged the blanket from beneath her and managed to get her tucked in without her waking up. Although, he was pretty sure at that point nothing short of a detonation would get her up.
After she was all tucked in, he flipped the light on the nightstand off, bent down, and brushed his fingertips along her forehead.
Forcing himself, he pulled his hand back and turned toward the door.
“G’night, Daddy,” she whispered, then flipped over to her other side.
He froze.
Hard stop.
When his heart thundered back to life, he strode out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him.
Daddy.
Fuck.
Chapter 6
Samantha’s phone interrupted her playlist. Putting down her brush and hot iron, she snagged her cell.
“Hey, Sam. Just wanted to make sure you got there okay. You didn’t call.” Paul didn’t even give her a chance to speak.
“Yeah, sorry. I was beat. I’m here, and I’m fine.” She leaned closer to the vanity mirror hanging over the dresser. Her hair was as tame as it could be given she’d slept with the hairbands in all night. She should have taken them out before she’d gone to bed. But she didn’t recall getting into bed. Exhaustion did that. Right?
“You met up with George?”
“Yes, Paul. You have to stop acting like I’m a kid.” She understood his overprotectiveness and had grown to accept it over the years since their dad died when they were young. Paul, being ten years older, had stepped up to fill their father’s shoes. Not an easy task at twenty, but he’d done a damn good job. So, she let him have his little overbearing moments here and there.
A heavy sigh signaled more was coming.
“Have you gotten any messages from Randall?” he asked.
She blinked and pulled back from the mirror. Just hearing the name sent chills down her spine.
“No. I changed my number, remember? He doesn’t have it.” Not that it would stop him. If Randall wanted to mess things up for her, he wouldn’t need to leave her a voicemail first. “Why?”
“It looks like he might be getting probation early.”
And there it was. The resounding echo of the boot dropping.
She backed away from the dresser and sank down onto the bed, gripping the phone harder. “How?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. Connections probably. There’s a hearing next month. You might have to come home, Sam. Just for the hearing, but I’ll ask Anderson about it.”
Their family friend, and pro bono attorney, who sat beside her at every deposition, every interview. She’d already used so much of his time and kindness…it was supposed to be over now. She wasn’t supposed to have to deal with Randall anymore. The system had him.
“Paul, hopefully I’ll have a job by then. Which means I can’t just take off and go back to Indiana.”
“Sam, if it means keeping him behind bars—”
“Behind bars or roaming the streets, doesn’t matter. If he wanted to get to me, he would or will. If I go back and testify against him again… I don’t think I can.” Hearing Randall’s name set her heart into a flurry.
“Okay…well, let’s not worry about it yet. We have time. I’ll see what I can find out.”
She bit down hard on her lower lip. “No. I’ll handle it. I’ll call Anderson about it. You just focus on Mom and Jerri. Okay?”
“I don’t mind—”
“I do,” she interrupted, pushing back to her feet. “I will handle this. Okay?”
After a long pause, he caved. “Sure. Okay, but you let me know what you find out. At least keep me in the loop.”
“I will. I have an interview tomorrow at the Harold Washington Library. I’m going to keep my focus there for now. After that, I’ll call Anderson.”
“That’s the big one, right?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, the big one. It’s the one I really want.” She had been hoping to get an internship there while she worked on her master’s degree, but there had only been two open slots. She’d lost out, but she still had her degree, plenty of experience, and desire.
“Well, good luck, kid.”
“T
hanks. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”
“Wait—George said you were staying with his friend. How’s that going?”
Samantha looked at the door, as though she could see through it and find Ryder walking around the apartment. She’d heard him moving around a little earlier but hadn’t bumped into him yet. He must have gotten in late. She hadn’t heard him come home, and she’d been up watching movies.
“It’s fine. He’s nice.” And handsome. And has a protective streak that could get on her nerves if he ramped it up some, but she wasn’t letting her brother know any of that.
“Okay, well, if he starts—”
“Not talking about this with you. I have to get some food, then I’m heading to the literature festival today. I’ll call you in a few days, Paul.”
Another heavy sigh. “Fine. If I don’t hear from you by Wednesday, I’m calling you—then George, and possibly the police.”
She laughed. “Goodbye.”
“Bye, kid.”
She hung up and pocketed the phone. Unplugging the hot iron, she made sure it was on her heat protected storage bag to cool, then finished applying her makeup. She’d put on a floral romper earlier but grabbed a light sweater in case the breeze picked up and her shoulders got cold while she wandered the festival.
Samantha left the safety of the guest room and went to the kitchen to get breakfast.
Ryder stood over the stove with a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other, plating up scrambled eggs.
“I made enough for two, you hungry?” he asked, giving her a quick glance.
“Uh…sure. Thanks.” She walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water she’d bought the day before.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to the kitchen table.
She draped her sweater over the back of the chair and sat down as he placed the plate of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast in front of her.
“I have strawberries if you’d like,” he said, pointing to the fridge.
“No thanks. This is perfect.” She pulled her phone out and put it on the table, swiping it to life. The festival was already starting.
“Have a good night last night?” he asked, taking the seat across from her.
