by PE Kavanagh
It was all so strange. She’d been running away from Lucas Winston for most of her adult life. Now, for the second time that day, she couldn’t get back to him fast enough. They had tried to stay friends after she moved across the country, but every time she heard his voice, it hurt more. It was too hard to watch his life grow and blossom while hers, with her isolationist mother, grew smaller and tighter. Her mother’s demands to cut all ties eventually overpowered any desire she had to stay connected.
The part of her life with Lucas in it had been the scariest, with her father’s drinking and her grandfather’s rage, but also the sweetest. The part of her life without him was lonelier, but she’d learned to be strong and independent. Just as her mother had taught her.
The car merged back onto the main road, bringing the bright sign for Winston’s into view. Maybe it wasn’t too late to ask the driver to turn back and take her home. What was she thinking? Tempting fate, that’s what.
Ramona stepped into the bustling restaurant and scanned the expansive seating area. All of the noise and activity emerged from the bar, teeming with men in black. She stood, moving her gaze slowly from one young, handsome face to another, allowing herself a chuckle at the preponderance of hot guys and the absence of any women.
She’d spent her whole life around men grasping for power or already in possession of it. She could navigate this scene with one hand tied behind her back, and for that moment, while she smiled to herself, she nearly forgot about the one man who could effortlessly crumble all her confidence.
As if they could sense her presence, the heads turned one by one to watch as she walked toward them. Eyes landed on cleavage, which she might not have chosen to feature so prominently, on her legs, elongated by stiletto boots, and on her face, framed by ebony waves.
Lucas was one of the last to notice her, but gave her the least subtle reaction. He did nothing to hide both his surprise and his delight at her appearance.
“You came,” he said through a wide smile.
“Yup. Crashing the all-male chef party, I see.”
Someone had taken her hand. “Allo, Ramona. I ‘ave heard so much about you,” an enticing French accent was attached to the warm hand that held hers. “My name is Henri.” He touched his lips to her knuckles.
Lucas scowled. Openly. “Let me introduce you around.” He raised his arm, which silenced the group. “Gentlemen, this is Ramona Barrett. My childhood best friend.”
Rounds of greetings, including a few hugs and kisses, kept her occupied for several minutes while Lucas stepped back. His gaze never left her, even as her body was jostled by the boisterous attention.
She addressed the small, rapt audience. “So, what happened to all the women?”
Henri tilted his head. “What women?”
“All the women chefs. Were they not invited to this gathering?”
Mumbles filled the space.
A different man, with a long, blond ponytail, answered. “Oh, they’re invited.” His southern twang made her smile. “They’re just not comin’.”
“I don’t see why not,” she said, allowing a hint of sarcasm to flavor her words.
A grip she recognized tugged at her arm, pulling her from the cluster of men. “Have a seat, Mo.” Lucas brought her to an open bar chair. “What would you like to drink?”
She scanned the impressive collection behind the bar. “Belvedere martini. Olives. Thanks.” The young man behind the bar nodded his approval and got to work. She wondered if Lucas knew or employed anyone who wasn’t ridiculously attractive.
His arm cupped her shoulder as he bent to whisper in her ear. “I’m so glad you came. You had me wondering…”
He lingered there, up against her ear, for much longer than it took to speak those few words.
Heat rose from her chest to her cheeks. She pulled away when her drink arrived, grateful for the ice-cold glass. “What are you drinking?”
“Nothing.” Lucas shook his head. “I’m driving.”
“Oh…”
She stared blankly at the meticulously organized bottles and the sparking lights behind the bar, being careful to avoid the patch of mirror that would reflect her discomfort. Within two sips of her perfect martini, Lucas had been pulled away for a discussion on cheese.
Henri wasted no time taking his place much too close to her. “Lovely Ramona. Tell me… ‘ow long will you stay here?”
“Only until Sunday. I came to town for a death in the family.”
“Ah, tes, of course, I know your grandfazer has died. I am so sorry.” He took her hands and looked down, frowning.
“Thank you.” It wasn’t even a burden anymore to hold her tongue about what a raging bastard he’d been.
“You must come dine wiss me. I will make myself available whenever you are free.”
Well, that was direct. “I appreciate the offer, Henri, but I’m afraid I am completely booked with family obligations for the rest of the week.”
“No, it cannot be! You must allow me ze pleasure of your company. Zere must be a time-”
“I think I heard her say no.” The booming voice resounded behind her, as if from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. She did not turn around. Didn’t need to.
The Frenchman laughed too hard. “Ha! Are you keeping her calendar now?”
Ramona stood up. “No. He’s not. But Luc is concerned about the benefit gala we are throwing for the foundation we run.” She glanced back, but not long enough to catch his eye. “Don’t worry. I’ll get everything done.”
Lucas responded. “I’m not worried-”
“Good!” Henri’s whole face lit up. “It is settled. When would you like to meet?”
Ramona reached into the purse hanging from her shoulder and pulled out a business card. “Why don’t you give me a call? Maybe we can find a time.”
As she turned to walk away, Henri held firmly onto her hand. Too firmly. Then, with the grace of an old-fashioned charmer, he brought her knuckles to his lips.
Unsure what to say or do, Ramona slid her hand out of his, more concerned about the dark eyes watching her from a few feet away, then the man in front of her. “I’ll be right back.”
It wasn’t a long walk to the ladies’ room, but each step felt like more eyes were burning into her back.
Sure, it might not have been the coolest thing to give another man her number while the man who’d been in her bed days before stood and watched. She reminded herself that he was engaged to another woman. He had no right to feel slighted. Unfortunately, this did not help the bad feeling in her stomach one bit.
She was glad to see the two men were on opposite ends of the bar when she returned from the bathroom. Instead of picking one side or the other, she headed toward the group in the middle, and effortlessly slid into their conversation.
Despite the absence of women, Ramona found very little pickup action among the group. Conversation flowed easily about her infamous family, about Lucas’ childhood, and even occasionally about food. The final martini - she’d lost count of how many had been handed to her - hit hard enough that she knew heading home would be a good idea. She had the tolerance of a giant truck driver, but having yet to get a good night’s sleep was making her more susceptible. She pulled out her phone and opened a ride-sharing app.
“Lovely, Ramona.” Smooth French cream was pouring into her ear. “How eez your night going?”
“It’s been great. You all are a very fun bunch.” Her fingers kept hitting the wrong keys.
“Why don’t we sit and ‘ave one last drink togezer?”
“Oh, Henri, I’m actually heading home now. Thank you, though.” Why wasn’t the locator on the app showing up with the correct address?
“Oh, even better. Let me take you ‘ome. Zen we can fuck in ze car.”
She paused the tapping on her phone to look up at him, disbelieving what she’d just heard. “Excuse me?”
“I will drive you home. Zen we can talk.”
Right. Talk. Not
fuck. She exhaled a laugh.
“That’s very nice of you, Henri. But I wouldn’t want to pull you away from the festivities. I think the party has just begun.” The area was even more crowded than when she arrived, chefs showing up after their restaurants closed. Or so she assumed. Regardless, it was much later than she was used to being out.
“It is no party here wissout you. I see zees ugly faces all ze time. Yours, ‘oweverrr, eez a very special experience.”
Wow. This guy could charm a statue into a date. She smiled at him. Maybe dinner with a fine, charming Frenchman wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“I’ll take her home.”
That voice again. How was it that he was always hovering nearby but never in her sight?
“Oh, Luc. Ce n’est pas nécessaire! Zis is your party. You cannot leave!”
“Watch me.”
He took her arm and, leaving no room for discussion, strode out of his own restaurant.
There had been fewer than a handful of occasions in Ramona’s life where she had felt so overpowered that it left her speechless. Most of them involved her grandfather.
She pulled her arm out of Lucas’ grip but continued to follow him through the dining room, kitchen, offices, and out to his car.
“What the hell was that?”
As if he were reporting the weather, he answered, “I heard you needed a ride home. I’m glad to take you.”
She sat a bit too heavily, slammed the car door a bit too loudly, and exhaled with a huff, but said not a single word. She wished she hadn’t had that last martini, which she blamed for the absence of a coherent response. Anger mingled with confusion in a swirling mess.
They wove through the same neighborhood she’d passed earlier, now completely desolate. Not even a street light or house light was on. They arrived at the stop sign on the other side, where Lucas stopped for too long. There were no cars coming in any direction, and he could have easily merged into traffic.
Finally, he turned right. But her father’s house was to the left.
“You went the wrong way,” she muttered.
“What?” he snapped.
“To get to my dad’s, you were supposed to turn left.”
He veered to the small shoulder on the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. “Oh, now you choose to say something?”
Much too slowly, she understood where he was heading. “I don’t know what’s going on, Lucas.”
He stared straight out the windshield. “Do you want me to turn around?”
All her wooziness snapped into unwelcome sobriety. This was her chance to make a different choice. The right choice.
“Please answer me, Ramona.” Something created a tremble in his voice, but she didn’t know if it was anger or sadness.
“No.”
He pulled smoothly out onto the main road and drove the remaining miles to his house.
* * *
Not a single look or word was exchanged until they had both entered the house. He disappeared into the dark kitchen and re-emerged with a tall glass of water.
“Please drink this.”
“It’s just water, right?”
“With vitamin C. To counter all those martinis.”
Within the first few sips, she understood the depth of her thirst and wiped out the whole glass. Her head was crystal clear. Now, if only she could rationalize the folly of that evening.
“What you did tonight…” She shook her head, unable to continue.
“Which part, exactly? Saving you from Henri, who’s fucked everything in a skirt? Or maybe safely getting you home?”
“I’m not home.” That should have been obvious.
He nodded, but the disgust never left his expression. “Yes, of course. You’re at my house.”
“Why Lucas? Why did you bring me here?” Why did you want me to come home with you?
He leaned against the archway separating the living room from the hallway and kitchen. “I thought you chose to come here.”
She put the glass down too hard, and the sound made both of them jump. “I see. You’re not going to answer, is that right?”
He stepped toward her. “Do you want me to say that it drove me crazy to see you flirting with Henri? That I couldn’t stand one more minute of sharing you? Would that adequately explain my behavior?”
He continued to step forward, and she stumbled back, both craving and unprepared for that level of honesty.
“You can’t…”
“You keep saying that, but you must realize that I can. And I do.”
She stepped behind the recliner, creating a physical barrier between his approaching body and her trembling one. The pull between her mind, her body, and her heart was threatening to tear her apart. “Dammit, Lucas. I thought we’d come to an understanding today. This morning. It was going so well.”
“Was it?”
“Okay, I’m sick and fucking tired of your responses. You’re clearly trying to make a point. But you have no standing here. You have no rights or claims as far as I’m concerned. None.”
He raised one arm as if to make a point, then let it drop by his side. “What if I was trying to protect you?”
“Well, that’s both unnecessary and presumptuous. Do I look like someone who needs protecting? And if I did, why would it be you?”
She didn’t move away as he stepped next to her and gently took her hand. “Because I want it to be.”
She wanted him to proclaim his love, to deny his engagement, to erase the reality of their situation. The right words would have sent her running into his arms. Instead, she made do with a sliver of honesty and the pull of her own desire.
As he walked her through the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom, she gave him no resistance. He sat her on the edge of the bed, kneeled in front of her and removed each of her shoes. Light kisses on each of her kneecaps preceded his standing and pulling her shirt over her head. Without being asked, she laid back on the bed, where he crawled and took off her jeans.
His fingers grazed over the top of her thong before sliding under the waistband and easing them down her thighs. Her breath caught as he slid an arm underneath her back and lifted her up just a few inches before putting her back down in the center of the bed.
He shifted forward, depositing a line of kisses from the top of her abdomen, down the center, and then burying his face between her legs.
Her first orgasm crashed into her like a freight train, pulling a howl that resonated throughout the empty house. The next ones rolled over her more gradually but no less intensely. There he stayed, with his mouth and his hands between her legs, giving her only just enough time to recover before returning.
It was only after he’d placed her exhausted body under the covers, taken off all the clothes she’d forgotten he was still wearing, and lay down next to her that she had a moment to process what had just happened. Ramona was no stranger to fantastic claims of power and ownership, but in those hours, in that bed, transpired the clearest act of possession she’d ever witnessed.
Chapter Seven
Ramona awoke to light brightening the dark beneath her lids and the sound of rushing water. She rolled away from the direction of the annoying brightness and was immediately reminded of the previous night’s activities. It felt as if she’d had an overly vigorous workout - abdomen, back, and thighs aching. She curled into a ball and pulled the covers around her. Was there such a thing as an orgasm hangover? Even her throat was sore.
A few blinks brought the room into view, including the line directly into the bathroom where Lucas stood immobile in a glass-enclosed shower. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, just to make sure she was not, in fact, dreaming. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath as he braced himself with a hand against the wall. He did not look real. More like something out of a highly photoshopped ad. And certainly not anything like the boy she had known so long ago.
The pull drew her out of bed, each step reinforcing how th
oroughly used her body had been. A flash of memory stopped her steps as she relived his fingers inside her, his lips pulling on her clit, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as her body heaved and pulsed. Before she had even caught her breath, he was on her again. And again. The whole night. Not once had she touched him. Or done anything but receive him. And come.
He lifted his head and smiled. But it was not a friendly smile. It was a smile of a man who’d accomplished what he’d intended. Who’d proven a point. Over and over again.
She stepped into the shower, the warm water electrifying her tender skin, and brought her mouth to his before he could say anything. Their bodies pressed together, heat and steam and desire everywhere.
She pulled away to look at him, then blinked to force her thoughts into line. She ran her finger across his collarbone, skimming the red finger-shaped marks that dotted his shoulder. “It’s you. But it’s not you.”
As if he knew what her cryptic words meant, he answered. “It’s only me. It’s always me.”
“You were the boy I loved.” Her hand skimmed across the hard muscles of his chest.
“And now?”
She spoke as if in a daze. “This man… I don’t know…”
“You do know. It’s still me. Don’t doubt what you feel.”
Her hand dropped down and wrapped around his raging erection. He groaned.
He’d probably had no release or relief after hours and hours of pleasing her.
She dropped down to her knees. His body began to shake and she feared he might come before she had a chance to put his glorious cock in her mouth.
He proved to be much stronger than she expected. The warm water showered the back of her body, keeping her warm, while she enjoyed every inch of him. Whenever she would sense his approach to release, she would loosen her grip, move him away from the back of her throat, pause.
