“What are you talking about?”
He stood and extended his hand. I let him yank me to my feet, and he slapped my shoulder. “You’re new at this relationship game. I get that. I know it seems a huge thing, but trust me—talk to Becca. She wants this as much as you do. Both of you have been driving me nuts all week.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re all emo and snippy. She looks as though someone kicked her puppy and she is going to cry any second.”
Becca looked as though she was going to cry? I thought she looked as though she didn’t care.
“Was she trying to make me jealous with the Craig thing?”
He chuckled. “Ding-ding. The boy finally gets it. She is interested. Now go get cleaned up. Tomorrow, grow a pair and talk to her. Be honest.”
“How honest?”
He met my eyes, his expression serious. “Tell her your story. If she’s interested, she needs to know it anyway. If she decides you have too much baggage, you’re better off knowing now. Or else, if you don’t want to risk it, you stay friends. It’s A or B. Your choice.”
He was right.
There were two possible scenarios that made me cringe, but if Becca chose to hear me out, it would be worth it.
I kept telling myself that all night.
* * *
I arrived the next morning at nine thirty as Becca requested. I didn’t stop for coffee, and I had no flowers for her. I avoided both places this morning, unsure if either was appropriate.
Music thumped from behind Becca’s door. Confused, I lifted my hand and knocked—then again, when she didn’t answer. The volume lessened, and Becca pulled open her door. Her face was glowing, the skin glistening with moisture. She had her hair pulled away from her face, showing off her elegant neck. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline of the shirt torn and ragged. She was breathing heavily, the rapid action drawing my eyes to her chest. She was braless, her nipples straining against the tight shirt. Her black leggings clung to her like a second skin. There was a towel flung over her shoulder, and she wiped her face.
“Oh hey, Reid. Come in. I’m running late.”
Disappointed at her casual greeting, I followed her down the hall. Her ass looked especially pert and full today. I wanted to cup it. To grab her and kiss her, and grind my erection into her so she knew what she was doing to me. To prove that I was feeling was anything but casual.
Instead, I set down my bag, trying to appear nonchalant. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, I’m taking my class. Do you need in this area?” She indicated the empty space behind her.
“No, um, I can start anywhere.”
She lifted a bottle of water, taking a long swallow. The action caused her throat to work, and I was fascinated watching the pull of her muscles. When a small river of water escaped the bottle, racing down her skin and disappearing into her neckline, I was certain I whimpered. Her expression never changed.
“How about I start at the door?”
“Sure. I’ll be here.” She pointed behind me. “I poured you water. I know you like ice.”
“Thanks.”
I opened my bag on the counter, making sure I had everything I needed. I carried the control panel to the door, along with the contact and other items I would need. The music started up again, and I glanced down the hall, freezing. My eyes widened when I realized what class she was taking. One, until this moment, I didn’t know existed.
Not yoga or one of the jazzer-whatever classes.
Pole dancing.
Becca was fucking pole dancing in front of me.
I stared as she went through some moves, seemingly forgetting I was even in the area. I knew my mouth hung open. I knew my dick lengthened.
I knew I was fucked.
She was elegant and graceful, a blur of movement as she twirled and arched.
Wicked and tempting as she wrapped her legs around the pole and bent backward. The bow of her back was mesmerizing as she hung upside down with only the strength of her legs holding her in position.
I had to turn away, fumbling with the items in my hands. I shut my eyes, counted to ten, and reached for the drill. I needed to concentrate.
Except my gaze drifted back to her and I stared for endless moments, caught up in her actions. She hung on the pole using only her hands, her legs split and wide, balancing. She transitioned into a spin and moved onto yet another seductive move.
I dropped the control unit, annihilating it when the drill landed on top. Cursing, I picked it up; grateful I always carried a spare. In the kitchen, I dug the other one from my bag, then desperate to cool off, grabbed the glass of water she had for me and drank it. I leaned against the back counter, watching Becca’s mesmerizing form.
She did a series of moves, ending with a one-legged spin, her arms controlling the motion. When she was done, she bent low, one leg around the pole, her arm locked in position. Her hair dragged on the floor, her other arm stretched back, highlighting her curves. Her face tilted in my direction, and our eyes locked across the room. Her chest heaved, mine matching her breathing without thought. A slow, sexy smirk split her mouth.
“You like that, Reid?” she asked, her voice a throaty purr.
The entire week crashed down on me. The worry, disappointment, and frustration made me react. I didn’t care about her father’s views, her ideas of convicts. I didn’t care we needed to talk. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was touching her. She knew what seeing her would do to me. She did this deliberately to provoke me.
It was my turn. The only thing standing in my way was the counter.
I was going over it.
I saw it all in my mind: vaulting the counter, grabbing her in my arms, and kissing her until she begged me to take her. Then, losing my virginity to the only woman I had ever wanted that way.
Reality was slightly different.
I cleared the counter easily, my height and frame giving me the advantage. Her eyes widened at the sight of me hurtling toward her. She twisted so her feet hit the floor, but she clutched the pole with her hands, watching me advance. My foot caught my bag, though, sending tools and screws everywhere. Instead of lunging and grabbing her in my arms, I stumbled on the contents, crashing into her. I gripped at her arms, yanking her up, somehow wrapping her hair around the pole instead of my fist, making her gasp in pain. She slid from the pole to the floor with me on top of her, hitting her squarely in the chest, driving the air from her lungs in a painful-sounding whoosh. Her leg jerked, kneeing me in the groin, causing an agonizing groan to escape my mouth.
“My hair,” she gasped.
“My dick,” I squeaked.
We started laughing. The sound drowned out the loud, thumping music. Carefully, I untangled her hair, reached for the remote, and turned down the volume. I brushed back the damp tendrils from her face and lifted myself off her, hovering over her torso.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She wrapped her leg around me, pulling me into the cradle of her body. “Okay?”
The heat of her shot through me. “Oh God, yes.”
Our eyes locked. She licked her lips. I gazed at the plump flesh, then met her gaze again.
“I want to kiss you.”
“You do?”
“You’re so fucking sexy.” I tilted my hips. “That show was for me, right?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to kiss you again? Like last week?”
“Please, Reid.”
“I need you to know something.”
“What now?” she demanded. “For someone who wants to kiss me, you talk a lot.” She pushed against me, her mouth so close I could almost taste her. “You need to shut up.”
God, I wanted to taste her. She was my obsession. But I had to tell her.
My mouth hovered over hers, desperate to connect. “We should talk.”
“Kiss first, talk later.”
“I’m serious.”
Her arm snaked around my neck,
pulling me close. “So am I.”
I tightened my grip on her, frantically trying to control myself.
“I’m a virgin, Becca.”
She froze. “What?” she breathed out. Her hand gripped my ass, her body pressed tight to mine. The feel of her launched me into another orbit like a rocket and scrambled my already addled brain.
“I’m a virgin, and I want you to punch me,” I burst out.
“Punch you?”
She looked startled, and I realized what I said. “My card. I want you to punch my V-card.”
Her eyes became round and huge in her face. “Reid . . .”
“You. I want it to be you.”
I crashed my mouth to hers. As I slid my tongue along her bottom lip, she opened for me. She tasted salty, sweet, and all Becca.
Kissing her felt like coming home, to the only home I wanted.
I only hoped she felt the same.
Reid
I had no idea how long we stayed on the floor. Our mouths never separated, our bodies tightly melded. She was warm, supple, and wrapped around me. Her mouth was heaven. I would never know how I had existed before kissing Becca. Going forward, I only knew it was going to happen daily, multiple times.
She was pure opium, and I was hooked.
She slipped her hands under my shirt, skimming along my back, and under the waistband of my sweats. I bucked into her with a groan, shifting, sliding as our bodies moved across the floor. Her answering groan was different from the other noise she had been making—the low, passion-filled whimpers that turned me on. This was more guttural, almost painful. Somehow, in my lust-filled haze, I realized her hands were no longer tugging me closer, but pushing on my shoulders.
I lifted my head, my breathing hard. “Becca?” I pleaded.
Don’t ask me to stop, please don’t say it.
“I think-I think you’re screwing me.”
I chuckled, dragging my mouth along her cheek. “I don’t know much, but I do know we haven’t gotten there yet, baby.”
“No, Reid. I think I’m lying on one of your screwdrivers. It hurts.”
I sat up, pulling her with me. Sure enough, not only was she lying on a screwdriver, there was an assortment of anchors and screws under her. I rubbed her back in contrition.
“I’m sorry. I guess we got carried away.”
She snuggled into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I don’t mind getting carried away with you.”
“Are you okay?”
She tilted her head, meeting my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She traced my lips with her finger. “More than fine.”
I captured her hand, kissing her fingertips. “Me too.”
“Are you really?” she whispered.
“Really what?”
“A virgin.”
“I am.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I guess we actually need to talk.”
“We should,” she agreed.
“I would rather keep kissing you.”
She smiled, pushing my hair off my forehead. “Why don’t I have a shower while you work on the system? After, we can talk and figure out the rest of the day.”
“The kissing sounds so much better.”
She leaned forward, brushing her lips to mine. “We will kiss more.”
“Yeah?”
“Promise.”
“But you have plans. You told me you were going out.”
She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I may have fibbed a little.”
I recalled Aiden’s words. She’s good.
“You were setting me up?”
She met my gaze. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Did you fake the password thing yesterday too?”
“Yes.”
I gripped her hips tight. “Did you really want Craig here?”
“No. I wanted you. But you were so distant.” She lifted her hand, running a finger over my jaw. “I . . . ah, I know, Reid.”
“Know what?”
“That you’ve been to prison.”
I jerked as if she had slapped me. “You know that, and you still want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Did Aiden . . . ?” I found it difficult to believe he would have said anything.
“No one actually. I had lunch with Sandy. But she said nothing. She didn’t break your confidence.”
“Oh. She did one of her obvious, say-nothing-but-lead-you-in-the-right-direction moves . . . The slight bobbing or shaking of the head?”
“Yes.”
“She’s good at that. An expert, really. She could patent it, I swear.”
“Are you angry?”
I sighed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “No. I’m partially relieved, to be honest. Shocked you let me kiss you, though.”
She inched forward, so our bodies were tight together. “I know how much they all respect you at the office. I also know you wouldn’t be where you are if they didn’t trust you. That says a lot about the person you are now. I don’t know what happened in your past, but if you want to tell me, I will listen.”
“I have to tell you. You deserve to know, regardless of your decision.” I swallowed hard, feeling my nerves kicking in. “You should know about me.”
“Okay. Let me grab a shower.”
* * *
Becca
We sat on the sofa, facing each other, our legs crossed. Reid looked nervous, his gaze flitting around the room. Unsure how to help him, I scooted nearer so our knees touched. Reid looked down at our position and offered me a small smile. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.
“Whatever you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
He gazed over my shoulder absently as he gathered his thoughts.
“I was found in a bus station when I was about two weeks old. It was around the holidays, and the station was crazy with travelers and package pickups. A woman found me in the washroom with a note pinned to my blanket reading, ‘Please take care of me because my mother can’t.’”
I held his hand a little harder. “Oh, Reid.”
“The cops were called, and I was taken to the hospital. They tried to locate my mother, but they never found her. She could have boarded a bus or purposely come to the station to drop me off or brought me from somewhere else. It was too hectic, and no one noticed.” He lifted one shoulder. “Nowadays, there are cameras everywhere tracking people—twenty-five years ago, not so much. My mother picked the perfect spot to desert me. It was crowded and busy, and she was a faceless woman in a sea of people. Even carrying a baby, she didn’t stand out.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose I should be grateful she left me where I would be discovered easily.”
“What happened?”
“I was placed in foster care.”
“Babies are usually adopted, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “Unless they have what had been described as the ‘worst case of colic ever known.’ Apparently, I exhausted many prospective parents. All I did was cry and scream. I was too much for anyone long term, I guess. They passed me from place to place, and eventually, they gave up and I ended up back in the system in an orphanage. No one wanted me.”
My heart broke at his words. I couldn’t imagine a small child being passed around, never having a home or someone to love him. Unbidden, a tear ran down my cheek and, startled, Reid leaned over, wiping it from my skin. He stared at the wetness on his finger as if mystified by my emotion.
“Tell me more,” I whispered.
“I finally got over the colic, but I was still sickly and hard to deal with. I was sort of lost in the cracks. I went from place to place but never found the right fit since I required so much work. As I got older, I never seemed to connect to anyone. They described me as being dissociated. But no one had ever shown me how to love, so I had no idea how to show it back.”
“Of course not,” I murmured.
“When I was seven, I got into a foster home. The woman who took me in was Ellie Reid. She was older and kind. Like a grandmoth
er, I think. There were six of us and it was crowded, but she tried hard. It was the first time I ever felt as if someone cared. She wasn’t rich, in fact, she could barely scrape by, but she did her best. We shared a room with bunk beds, my clothes were hand-me-downs, but she was patient, made sure we had food and a place to sleep. She walked us to school every day, and she helped me with my homework. I was there for three years.” He ran a shaky hand over his face. “It was the closest thing to a home I ever knew.”
“What happened?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“She died. She didn’t show at school one day, and I walked home with the other kids. I wasn’t the youngest anymore, so I made sure they came with me. When we arrived, there was an ambulance at the house and police. I was taken away and put back into the system.” Reid stood and walked around restlessly, picking up things then setting them down. He stared out the window for a while, his throat working constantly. I knew he was trying to control his emotions.
I held out my hand, grateful when he took it. I tugged him down to the sofa. “Do you want to stop?”
“No. It’s always hard to talk about her. The rest—” he shrugged “—is simply history.”
“Okay.”
He turned to face me, moving until our knees touched again. I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck, keeping our lips joined. Neither of us deepened the kiss—it was a simple show of support, one I felt he needed.
He drew back, running his fingers over his mouth, pressing them into the flesh. I had noticed him do it every time we kissed. I wondered if it was a nervous habit, but I decided to ask him another time.
“What happened to you next?”
“I went back into the system. I was ten, and not a lot of people are looking to adopt a ten-year-old. They sent me to a group home. After that, there was a disastrous attempt with a foster family, then back to the group home, and finally, I ended up with another woman who took in foster kids.” Reid’s facial expression indicated disgust. “But unlike Ellie Reid, she was only in it for the money. There were nine of us, all between ten and fourteen, crowded into her basement. It was a fend-for-yourself type of place.”
Vested Interest Box Set Books 4-7 Page 7
