by Livia Grant
Her brain wrestled for control, determined to disappoint her tempted body. She wasn't going to give in so easily this time. Not when she begrudgingly admitted how much power he wielded over her happiness.
They rode less than five minutes before entering a clearing in the trees. A large cabin with a wrap around porch came into view courtesy of the moon, landscape lighting and a bright overhead lamp.
They were plunged into silence when he released her hand to cut the engine. They sat in the quiet stillness looking at the house so long, she wondered if something was wrong. Ryder eventually got off the bike, helping her to climb down without ripping her designer gown.
She couldn't resist asking, “Whose place is this anyway?"
He threw the strap of the duffle over his shoulder before grabbing her hand while guiding their walk up the dark path to the house with his light from his smartphone. They were half way to the porch when he answered her.
"Mine."
His answer shocked her. She'd always assumed Ryder lived in D.C. She didn't know what he did for a living, but she'd always pictured him doing something larger than life. Maybe that was because he'd become the center of her universe in the matter of minutes. Not once since they'd said good-bye had she pictured him as a southern California cabin kinda guy.
He wrestled with the lock and key until the front door finally opened. She followed him into the dark cabin, grateful when he flipped the switch, blanketing the large open interior in warm lighting.
White sheets were dropped over every piece of furniture in the space, their brightness in direct conflict with the rich browns of the wood paneling and floor. From the dust that stirred on the uncovered front table where he threw the keys, she guessed it had been a long time since he'd been there.
"I love what you've done with the place," she deadpanned.
He released her hand, barking orders, sounding more like the Ryder she remembered. "Take off the sheets. Pile them in the corner there," he said, pointing. "Ginny will send someone to collect and wash them tomorrow."
The silence was awkward and she was grateful for something to do. Feeling vulnerable in his presence, she purposefully moved to the far side of the open space to give herself a chance to regain her composure.
The first set of sheets she removed uncovered a plush brown leather sofa and loveseat. Near exhaustion made it look like the perfect place to collapse to take a twelve-hour nap, but she pressed on, removing smaller drop cloths from end tables full of books, some even open as if the home's occupant had gotten up one day and simply walked out of their life.
The next treasure she uncovered was two tall built-in bookshelves. As the sheets fell away, hundreds of books came into view filling every shelf, some stacked two deep.
I never would have pegged Ryder as a bookworm.
Khloe started reading the spines of books, trying to make sense of what made Ryder Helms tick, but the more titles she read, the less she understood him. Classic stories like George Orwell's 1984 and The Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas were piled with Woodward and Bernstein's All the President's Men, a biography of Nelson Mandela, and titles like Good Hunting, The Polish Officer and The Circle of Treason. Stephen King and James Clancy shared a shelf with Hemingway and Truman Capote.
When she got to the next bookshelf, the selection got even more interesting. Titles in multiple languages mingled together. She recognized Polish and Spanish, but there were others she couldn't make out.
Who the hell is this guy?
Finally moving on, she felt like she hit the jackpot uncovering a credenza full of picture frames filled with dozens of photos, giving her a glimpse into the man across the room unpacking supplies in the kitchen. She fought down the urge to pick up each frame, wanting to examine each closely in hopes of unearthing clues of what made Ryder Helms tick. Khloe settled with quickly perusing them. Most had motorcycles in them with groups of men looking like they had come from the set of Sons of Anarchy. There were fewer shots of Ryder in a military uniform surrounded by equally fierce looking men.
One particular photo caught her eye of a twenty-something Ryder, shirtless with his tanned six-pack on display, his dog-tags shining in the desert sun. There was no grey yet in the short, cropped hair. Even through the photo his ice-blue eyes pierced her, as if he'd been looking at her as the photo had been shot many years before.
It unnerved her.
She almost missed the one picture of a teenaged Ryder. She picked up the smallest frame, pushed to the edge of the display. Its size wasn't the only remarkable attribute of this treasure. It was also the only candid shot that contained a woman. A beautiful woman... with piercing blue eyes exactly like the teenager she hugged as she smiled for the photographer. They both looked so happy that a feeling of regret came over her that she hadn't been there to share that moment with him.
"That's my mom." His quiet voice behind her made her jump. She'd been so enthralled with unwrapping the hints of his past that she'd forgotten to keep tabs on his presence. He stepped close enough to brush against her. She glanced sideways to see a sadness in his eyes.
Khloe had to ask, even though it wasn't really any of her business. "What happened to her?" she whispered.
He stood frozen, and she was sure he wouldn't answer, but she was wrong.
"She died just over a year after that photo was taken." He sighed before adding, "Fucking cancer."
"I'm sorry." And she meant it.
"Yeah, well it was a long time ago."
That may be true, but she felt a chink in her protective armor melt away as she watched a man she'd have sworn yesterday had a heart of nails grieve for a woman he clearly had loved. A drop of jealousy fell into her empty stomach, realizing he shared something with the dead woman in the photograph she'd longed to have with her own distant parent who still lived, but couldn't care less about her actress daughter's life.
"I'm gonna make us a late dinner. We need to get some calories into you while you fill me in on the investigation."
Bossy Ryder was back. She didn't know what bothered her more; that he was gonna try to make her eat or that, short of the kiss they'd shared in the parking lot, the man in front of her was acting like they barely knew each other.
We do barely know each other.
The thought of eating nauseated her. "I'm exhausted and not hungry. All I want is to take a hot shower and sleep for a day or two. I don't suppose you picked up a change of clothes back when we stopped."
The bastard had the nerve to grin. "Sorry, they were fresh out of designer casuals at Mac's. You'll have to settle for the robe on the back of the bathroom door. Go in, take a shower and change. I'll have food ready when you get out."
"I told you..."
His hand squeezed her bare bicep, cutting her off. "You're gonna eat tonight. And again in the morning, and every chance I get until you've put on ten pounds." The asshole dared bark at her as if he had the right.
"Fuck you," she said yanking away from his grasp. "You can't tell me what or when to eat. Ten pounds would be a death sentence to my career."
This time he latched onto both her arms and yanked her against his chest to lecture her. "Bullshit. You're too thin. Any director who can't see that is a moron."
Before she could find a proper retort, he was pulling her behind him in the direction of a hallway that shot off from the main living space. More pictures lined the walls, distracting her until they arrived in what had to be his master suite. More sheets were draped over most furniture, but the king-sized four-poster bed was the focal point of the masculine room. He didn't release her until they got into the connected master bath. With the flip of a switch, warm lighting illuminated the surprisingly modern bathroom.
She eyed the whirlpool tub, longingly.
He'd loosened his grip, caressing where he'd gripped moments before leaning closer, talking softer in her ear. "That's fine. Take a long soak."
She caught a whiff of his cologne, the same scent on the handkerchief that she'
d been masturbating to since Valentine's Day. It acted as a sexual trigger, and the temptation to kiss him was strong. She closed her eyes, trying to hide her conflicted attraction to him and getting angry at her disappointment when he released her and started rummaging through drawers and cabinets, coming out with the supplies she'd need for a bath.
He was all the way to the door when she called out to him, "Ryder!" When he turned, he'd masked all emotion, leaving her more confused than ever. "Can you..." She hated to ask. "I need your help unzipping my dress."
A wolfish glee she hadn't seen since Black Light adorned his handsome face as her stomach flip-flopped with sexual tension. His long, slow strides back to her reminded her of a predator stalking his prey. The final gap was closed as he lunged at her, pouncing, roughly twirling her in a one-eighty to face the huge mirror that had been at her back.
Gone was the stranger. The blue-eyes that devoured her in the mirror as he yanked her back to his chest and held her immobile were as familiar to her as they were frightening. Her breath hitched as Ryder's right hand found her zipper, slowly opening the back of her gown as if he were opening a present. Their eyes never broke their connection as she felt hands on her shoulders, pulling the slinky fabric outward until the weight of the flowing gown and gravity pooled the bodice at her waist. Only then did Ryder's gaze drop lower, taking in the sexy strapless bra perfectly showcasing her breasts.
Khloe trembled when Ryder's lips latched onto the crook of her neck–where her nape met her shoulder. What started as a soft kiss escalated to a nibble and finally she cried out in pain as the bastard dared bite her.
"Ouch," she complained.
Her complaint only made him wrap his left arm around her waist, squeezing her harder as he sucked his way up and down her shoulder until she was a jumbled ball of confusion. Her brain might be screaming for him to stop, but every other body part felt like it was just waking up from a long winter's rest.
His body tensed before yanking his lips from her skin. In the reflection, she could see him internally struggling for control just as she was.
Trying to push him away emotionally, she blurted a question her gut already knew the truth of. "Tell me again, how do I know you aren't my stalker?”
"Baby, I take what I want. If I'd wanted you, I'd already have you."
His words hurt. He'd left which meant he hadn't wanted her. She lashed back, "You mean like tonight."
He didn't like her analogy, but barked back. "Exactly like tonight."
"So I have two stalkers," she reasoned, trying to stay calm.
The grasp on her hair tightened, hurting her so good. "Princess, I'm not a stalker. I'm the Big Bad Wolf who's gonna keep you safe."
At her core, she recognized his words as the truth, but had to press. "And who will protect me from you?" When he didn't answer, she asked the question she wanted the answer to more than anything. "Why now? Where the hell have you been?"
Her vulnerable question of, 'Why did you leave me?' hung silently in the air between them. His face softened slightly.
"It's not important where I've been. I'm here because I was at Black Light. Davidson told me you were in trouble. That someone was trying to hurt you." He paused before adding vehemently, "I'm not going to let that happen."
Her body almost collapsed with relief, recognizing the truth in his words. As fucked up as things were, she knew deep down he spoke the truth.
Awareness of her near nakedness made her blush as the room filled with a sexual electricity she only felt in his presence. From the expression in his eyes, he felt it too. She tried not to be disappointed when he stepped away from her, moving to the tub to start the water, liberally pouring in bath oils as she forced herself to brush her teeth one-handed, pulling the bodice of her gown higher to hide as much of her torso as possible with her other hand.
He was at the door when she finished brushing her teeth.
"Have a nice soak. When you're done, throw on the robe on the back of the door and come back out to the kitchen." Their eyes met in the mirror before he finished. "We have a lot to talk about."
He was gone then, leaving her truly alone for the first time she could remember. It might be for the first time since she'd been alone at her apartment back in NYC the week before. She welcomed the unexpected solitude, desperate to have time to mull over all of the events of the last few weeks.
Khloe stripped naked, flipping the switch to turn on the many jets in the now full tub before stepping in. She let the water run until it grew almost too hot, refusing to douse the fire that had started burning between her legs at the sudden appearance of her long-lost lover.
Lover. That felt like the wrong word. They'd been intimate to be sure, but she reminded herself it had only been a twisted game to him. The debauched medical examination–the time in the medieval torture chamber, the intimate blowjob on her knees in the shower. He'd probably played the same game with a dozen women in the months they'd been apart. The thought that she was jealous of even that possibility was sobering.
It was hard to stay focused on anything for long, though. Weeks of sleep depravation closed in fast as her body relaxed in the knowledge that she was safe, at least for now. She fought to keep her eyes open, eventually giving in to the temptation to close them. She'd take a short nap to help fortify her for the certain argument ahead with the bossy man she could hear rummaging around out in the cabin's kitchen.
Chapter 12
The feel of fingers massaging her calf felt heavenly, easing her slowly from the haze of sleep. She'd been having a wonderful dream, but her mind was clouded, unable to recall the details. Snippets of a sexy Ryder dressed in leather refused to be pushed down by her exhaustion, and intensified when the fingers moved higher to her thigh, massaging what felt like slippery soap across her skin. She heard the distant sigh, not immediately recognizing she'd made the soft sound.
It wasn't until the mystery fingers of her dream moved higher still, grazing against her pussy before applying swirling pressure to her hooded gem that slumber was pushed out by sexual hunger. The reality of the last few hours poured in until she shot upright, moving the now cool water so hard a wave sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing the grinning man still touching her intimately.
Unperturbed by the water, Ryder released her long enough to pull his now drenched T-shirt over his head, flashing her with a muscular chest covered with a smattering of chest hair. Like the salt and pepper hair on his head, shades of silver woven with dark hair, reminding her he was all man. Her mouth felt dry and her heart hammered in her chest as she gawked at his perfection.
For the first time, she wondered how old he was, begrudgingly acknowledging she was secretively happy he was older than her. She was sick and tired of being pursued by boys like Dean who were too self-absorbed to know the first thing about how to treat a woman.
"You should take a picture. It'll last longer." The sexy grin on his face made him look younger.
Despite the cool water, Khloe felt her body heat from embarrassment, caught red-handed gawking at Ryder's body. She grabbed for the bath sponge in his hand, needing to get busy doing something that would distract her from his proximity.
"Hand me that. I can wash myself," she quipped.
Releasing the sponge, he threw his wet hands up as if to surrender. "Little Miss Independent," he teased her.
"Yes, you can get lost now."
Reaching for something on the floor, he came up with a paddle hairbrush. For a split second, she saw a feral desire in his eyes before the icy blue cooled. "You'll have your hands full getting the tangles out of your hair. Let me help."
Her protest died on her lips as the brush made contact with her scalp, finding a growing nest of knots as he raked through her long locks. As gentle as he was, her hair pulled at her scalp, wrestling a moan of pain and pleasure from her lips.
"We'll put your hair up in the helmet next time we ride to avoid this."
She wanted to argue that she wouldn't be ri
ding with him again. Didn't he know? She rode in limos... chauffeured luxury SUVs... not on the back of motorcycles.
Her retort died before she spoke, recognizing the truth was she'd loved riding on the back of the powerful machine. It had made her feel alive. Less like a celebrity and more like plain Khloe, something that didn't happen often enough these days.
He worked silently on her hair as she closed her eyes, focused on keeping her breathing steady to hide the impact his touch was having on her body. Only when the cup-full of cool water fell over her head did her eyes pop open in surprise.
"Hey, that's cold," she complained.
"Maybe if you hadn't fallen asleep in here for over half an hour, it would still be hot," he retorted.
"So shoot me. I'm tired."
Their eyes met long enough to remind her of how much danger she was in. It dawned on her that she'd just traded in the danger of her stalker for the danger of falling deeper for a guy who had the power to destroy her emotionally when he left again.
And he would leave again. Of that she was certain.
He didn't help when he added, "I have a lot of things I want to do to this body, but shooting you is not one of them."
The words came out playful, but the heated gaze that devoured her naked body was dead serious. A full-body shiver shook her, and she was grateful he blamed it on the water temperature.
"Let's finish washing your hair before you catch a chill."
His hands were as gentle tonight as they'd been demanding and harsh in February. This new version of Ryder Helms confused her, contrasting with her memories of his stern dominance over her body... over her soul.
Only when he turned off the jets and pulled the stopper to the water did it really dawn on her that she'd been naked and on display. How long had he gawked at her while she slept before waking her? When he turned his back to put away the bath supplies, Khloe shot to her feet and lunged for the pile of towels on a stool next to the tub, anxious to wrap herself up as quickly as she could.
