In Too Deep

by Lexi Ryan

  I stay silent, and he backs away. It’s not even a full step. The retreat was mere inches, yet it’s still too far. He holds my gaze, but I don’t have the courage to speak.

  Reaching behind me, he opens the sliding glass door then steps around me to go inside.

  I pull up my panties and chase after him. I’m wound up. My body is full and tight. I feel so vulnerable and needy, but this ache has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with him. “Mason.” When he doesn’t face me, I grab his wrist.

  He spins, and his eyes scan my face, as they have so many times, looking for the secrets I can’t tell him, looking for the truth that would break his heart.

  “Touch me,” I say. Because I’m weak. Because unlike him, I’ll take something over nothing. I’m the starving stray cat who will gobble up the scraps of food when I know damn well it’ll only remind me how empty I am, when I know damn well it’ll only make me ache for more.

  He steps forward, so fast and so close, one hand returning between my legs, the other at the back of my neck, tilting my face to his. He presses his mouth to mine. No more gentle brush of lips, no more faintly caressing fingertips. If every touch before was a question, this is a declaration.

  His mouth is hot on mine, his kisses alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow, as if he wants more and wants it now, as if he’s greedy for it but is trying to slow himself down.

  After years of telling myself I can’t have this, that I can’t have him, after years of him pushing me away every time we got close, the faintest touch of his hand could push me over the edge.

  His fingers slip under my panties, and his groan tangles with mine when he slides a finger along my wet heat and then inside. “Jesus, Bailey.” I gasp as he adds a second finger and drives into me, fucking me with his hand. “So good,” he murmurs. “You feel so good.”

  He’s claiming me, claiming my mouth as he slides his tongue inside and kisses me as he hasn’t kissed me for years. Claiming my body as he teases my clit with his thumb. Claiming my neck as he trails his lips down lower and sucks on the sensitive skin across my collarbone.

  He’s branding me. Mine. Mine. Mine. And I wish it could be true. I wish I could be his, not just for this moment, but for always.

  I shouldn’t be touching her. I shouldn’t be tasting her lips or coaxing those sweet little moans from her mouth. I’d be a fucking liar if I said I wasn’t hoping we’d get here, but I didn’t want it to happen like this. Not with her lies still hanging in the air like burnt plastic, and her nowhere closer to opening up to me than she was four years ago.

  I break the kiss and lean my forehead against hers, my hand still working between her legs, because I’m helpless. I want her too much, and after years of forcing myself to keep my distance, I’ve become powerless when she’s too close.

  “Tell me to stop,” I whisper, and I know I sound like a broken record. I sound like some traumatized kid who needs to test his own limitations.

  “I don’t want you to.” She slides her hand behind my neck and brings my lips down to hers. I don’t know if it’s her mouth or mine that’s so unyielding, if it’s her moan or mine that echoes off the walls. “Mason, take what I can give you. My body is yours.”

  My thoughts snap back together like a spring. I didn’t think I could stop without her asking me to, but her reminder that this is where she draws the line is better than a cold shower and a kick to the balls.

  I pull away and swallow hard. “We need to go or we’ll be late.”

  I’m in over my head.

  I thought I could handle four months as Mason’s wife, but four days in, and he’s already too close to my secrets. It’s like he’s nosing around in the dark and has found them, but he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. And what’s worse is that I just want to tell him everything. Every. Damn. Thing. Maybe I would if it were just about the promises I’ve made, but I’m so afraid of losing him. I don’t think I have the courage to turn on the light.

  After he took our little make-out session from sixty to zero in two seconds flat, we returned to our scheduled evening of awkward with a side of awkward. I smoothed out my dress and he got his keys, and here we are—pulling up to the party and ready to share our tension with the world.

  I think I preferred the angry kisses and desperate finger banging to Mason’s tense silence, but nobody asked me.

  A man in a pressed black suit opens my door, and the valet takes Mason’s keys. Yes, this is a party with a freaking valet.

  I’ll take, “How Do You Know You Have Too Much Money?” for a hundred, Alex!

  I thought Mason’s house was luxurious, but it’s nothing like the house in front of me now. As much as I’ve been dreading a party for the woman Mason’s parents approve of (i.e., my opposite), the upside of our fight is that, suddenly, I don’t care about my dress or my hair and makeup. I’m far too focused on the frustration rolling off Mason.

  This place makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. One look at this house—from its two-story windows to the dramatic, phallic fountain in the circle drive—and I want to run back to Blackhawk Valley and hide under the covers.

  Laughter rings out from the back of the house, and normally that sound would put me at ease, but I know nothing will make me relax here. The luxury of this place is so goddamned intimidating to a girl who grew up in a trailer park and took off her clothes for money.

  “You okay?” Mason asks. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since we left his place.

  I squeeze his hand, knowing his warmth will give me strength, pull back my shoulders, and nod. I am who I am. My past is my past. And while I don’t relish situations that make me question my worth, Mason was once my best friend. Being on his arm this summer is the least I can do if it’s going to save his career.

  We climb the steps and enter the house behind an older couple, and I realize the place is even more impressive on the inside. I’ve watched enough HGTV to know the value of marble floors and crystal chandeliers, even if they leave me wondering how anyone could actually relax in a house like this. The foyer opens into a wide-open entertainment area with a gleaming granite bar. The space boasts three separate seating areas with couches that look more ornamental than comfortable and a wall of accordion doors that open the inside space to the outside. Waiters wander through, handing out drinks and offering trays full of hors d’oeuvres.

  Out back, people mingle around the pool. The men wear suits, and the women wear every variety of little black dress. Emma called it on the wardrobe.

  “Mason,” a man calls from across the room. He has gray hair, rosy cheeks, and a round stomach. He waves a hand, motioning for Mason to join him by the polished bar in the corner of the living room.

  “Bill,” Mason calls back, lifting his chin.

  I grip Mason’s arm. “That’s the Gators’ owner?”

  He gives a subtle nod and pats my hand as he leads me through the room. “Relax,” he whispers. I can feel the tension from our earlier conversation melting away. “Everyone’s going to love you.”

  “He wants you to marry his daughter,” I whisper. “I seriously doubt beating her to it makes me his favorite person.”

  Mason grins. “But it makes you mine.”

  I don’t have time to respond before we’re stepping up to the bar. Bill McCombs is shoving his hand in my direction.

  “You must be Mason’s wife,” he says. I reluctantly release Mason’s arm and give Bill my hand. “He’s been keeping you a secret from everyone, you know.” He skims his eyes over me in appraisal. “But now I see why. He just wanted to keep you for himself.” His laugh is loud and forced. It makes me feel like everyone is staring at us.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCombs,” I say. He releases my hand, and I slide it under Mason’s arm. I feel safer there. “Your house is lovely.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind. So how are you liking Seaside? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? My wife and I only recently moved here when we started th
e Gators franchise. Such a quaint place. Reminds you how much joy there is to be found in the simple things.”

  He just used the words quaint and simple to describe a town where there are homes this opulent. Mind blown. I smile politely. “I’ve always loved the area along 30A. My sister lives nearby, so I’ve been here before.”

  “Oh, is that so? Where’s your sister located?”

  My stomach twists the way it did when I was a kid and people would ask where I lived. I wasn’t ashamed of living in the trailer park, but I hated the way people looked at me differently when they found out. I don’t want this man to judge Sarah because of where she lives. There’s nothing wrong with Sarah’s town, but it’s not part of this man’s world. “She’s over in Rock Hill.”

  He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Right.” He looks at Mason. “That’s the golf course community south of Rosemary Beach, right?”

  “You’re thinking of Rock Grove,” Mason says. His gaze holds mine for a beat. “Rock Hill is about half an hour north of here.”

  “Oh, right, right,” Bill says, but he obviously doesn’t know the area or give two shits where it is, and I’m glad. With everything else I’m carrying tonight, I’m not interested in carrying the weight of his judgments. “So sorry your parents couldn’t make it tonight,” he says to Mason.

  “They had a previous engagement,” Mason says. “But they send their regrets and said they’ll join you in the box for Sunday’s game.”

  “Wonderful.” Bill turns to me. “Will you be joining us in the box this weekend?”

  Mason already gave me my tickets for Sunday’s preseason game. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I promised Emma, Keegan’s fiancée, that we’d sit together.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, probably better that way. A carefree thing like you wouldn’t want to hang around a bunch of old people like us anyway.” I’m not sure what that means or that I should read anything into it at all, but I don’t get a chance to respond before he smacks Mason on the back—harder than necessary, if you ask me—and grabs his drink off the bar. “Lindy’s out back. I know she’s anxious to meet your bride.”

  “You look terrified,” I say in Bailey’s ear as we head out back.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Just nervous.”

  I’m more than a little grateful to have her on my arm tonight. It’s not like I can’t hold my own with Lindy, but she’s upped her crazy game lately. Maybe if she sees me and Bailey together it’ll finally sink in that it’s over between us.

  As we walk to the back, Bailey looks around the party with wide eyes. I try to imagine it from her perspective. I know she sees money and a place she doesn’t belong, but I just see a bunch of assholes trying to one-up each other. Just because I grew up with money doesn’t mean I value it more than I value people. The opposite is true. Growing up with money taught me that it causes more problems than it fixes.

  Case in point: Lindy McCombs.

  Lindy’s red dress has a long slit up the front, and the sides float around her when she saunters over to us. Her eyes land on Bailey, and her jaw goes hard as she sweeps her gaze down her body and back up. “Is this the lucky girl?”

  “Lindy, this is Bailey . . .” Fuck. Is she Bailey Green? Bailey Dahl? I guess to be Dahl, she’d have to file some paperwork to get her name legally changed, and that’s obviously not happening. Better to not tackle the last name. “Bailey, this is Lindy, Bill’s daughter and an old friend.”

  Lindy chuckles and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Well, we were certainly more than friends, Mason.” She looks at Bailey and says, “For years, we were everything to each other. But I guess that’s all irrelevant now.” She offers Bailey her hand. “It’s nice to meet the woman who’s held Mason’s attention for so long.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Bailey says. I slide my arm around her waist, and I feel how tense she is.

  “Are you settling in okay?” Lindy asks. “I just moved here myself, but if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “I’m fine.” She leans into me, and I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it. “I’ve spent most of the week job hunting.”

  Lindy looks to me. “She’s still working? Is that necessary?”

  Bailey shifts uncomfortably. “I want to. I like to stay busy.”

  “Girl, I can hook you up.” Lindy waves to another woman standing nearby. “Jackie! Didn’t you say that place by your husband’s office is hiring? Mason’s wife is looking for work.”

  The woman excuses herself from her group and joins our awkward little circle. “Sorry, who’s looking for a job?”

  Lindy points at Bailey. “This is Bailey, Mason’s wife. She’s looking for work, and I thought you told me the place by your husband’s office was hiring.”

  “Seventh Heaven?” Jackie says with a laugh. She looks at Bailey and shakes her head. “You don’t want to work there. It’s a nasty strip club.”

  “But Bailey’s a stripper,” Lindy says. She puts her hand on Bailey’s arm and cocks her head in mock thoughtfulness. “Or do girls like you prefer the word dancer?”

  “Lindy,” I growl. “Jesus Christ.”

  Every passing moment of this conversation, Bailey was inching closer to me, but now she steps away. “Excuse me,” she says, her smile tight. “I’m going to find myself a drink.”

  She disappears into the house, and Lindy beams.

  “Is she really a stripper?” Jackie asks, snapping her gum.

  I turn on Lindy. “You’re despicable. If only you were as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside, you might look in the mirror and understand why I don’t want to be with you.”

  “Are you planning on ever speaking to me again?” I ask.

  Bailey’s in the bathroom in her pajamas, her makeup washed off her face, her toothbrush in her hand.

  It’s the question I’ve been thinking all night. I have to give her credit. After Lindy’s low blow, Bailey went through the motions of meeting everyone at the party. No one else mentioned her past or looked at her as if they might know, but I could tell it hung over her head with every person she greeted.

  I was planning to stay most of the party, but I made excuses to get us out of there as fast as I could. Bailey didn’t say a word the whole ride home, and now she’s acting as if she’s going to get into bed without acknowledging my existence.

  I lean against the doorjamb and watch as she brushes her teeth. When she’s done, she rinses out her mouth, wipes down the sink, and breezes right past me into the bedroom.

  I feel helpless. I can’t undo the embarrassment that Lindy caused. And I feel like a dick for even putting Bailey in that position to begin with. “If you’re angry, I wish you’d at least say so.”

  “I’m angry.” She doesn’t look at me. She pulls back the covers, climbs into bed, clicks on the bedside lamp, and grabs her book. She grips it so tightly her knuckles go white.

  I sit beside her on the edge of the bed. “Talk to me.”

  She closes her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice shakes, and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole for asking her to do this, for taking her to the party, for putting her in this situation. “I just need a good night’s sleep. When I wake in the morning, I’ll have some perspective. This is temporary.” She swallows. “It’s not like I have to face those women for the rest of my life. Come January, I’m out of here, right? So, it shouldn’t matter.”

  If things go my way, that’s not how this will end, but she doesn’t need to know that yet, and even if she did, this wouldn’t be the smartest time to bring it up. “Don’t minimize what happened.” I touch her bare shoulder, and she flinches. “Holy shit, Bailey, just let it out.”

  “Fine.” She tosses her book down, jumps out of bed, and folds her arms across her chest. “I’m angry and I’m hurt. You made me bleed and then threw me in the shark tank.” She shakes her head. “I cannot believe you told her what I used to do. And you said you two slept t
ogether, not that you had a long-term relationship. I would have liked a little heads-up about that.”

  This is such a fucking shitstorm, and now Bailey’s stuck in the middle of it. I should have seen it coming. If Lindy was ballsy enough to show up naked in my bed when she knew I was married, why wouldn’t she do something to embarrass Bailey? I thought seeing my wife in person would make Lindy back off, but I underestimated her. “She was a high school girlfriend; that’s why my parents are so obsessed with us getting back together.”

  “How did your high school girlfriend know I was a stripper?”

  I meet her unsteady gaze. There are so many emotions swimming in her eyes, from anger to hurt to fear, and I hate that I’m partially responsible for them. “My parents told her years ago. They looked you up when we were dating, and they tell Lindy everything about my life. At the time, they were using the information in an attempt to convince her to break up with the loser she was dating and try to mend fences with me. I never would have imagined she’d bring it up tonight.”

  “Do you have any idea how that made me feel? I’m already so self-conscious with those people, and then to have her throw that out there like it was normal conversation.” She presses her hand against her chest and squeezes her eyes shut. “I could handle people treating me like a whore at the Pretty Kitty, but there? In that dress?”

  “You looked amazing. You were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  Her eyes blaze. Okay, obviously not the time to talk about her appearance. “I looked like I was trying to be someone I’m not.”

  “Lindy is awful, and I’m sorry that she directed that nastiness at you, but don’t let yourself think that everyone else there is like her.” I stand and loosen my tie. “I’m sorry I put you in that position at all.”

  She bites her bottom lip, and her chin quivers. I step forward and skim my thumb over her mouth. “I hate seeing you this upset.” I shake my head. “You’re the strongest person I know. You do whatever you have to do to get by when the rest of us wouldn’t have the courage. It’s almost intimidating. Then sometimes I catch sight of these tender spots that make you so damn vulnerable that I . . .”