by Miles, Ava
About as much as licking a spatula coated in warm chocolate ganache. She continued to undo the line of buttons, frowning when she reached his belt. “You want to take this off or shall I?”
“Ladies’ pleasure,” he murmured, reaching for the buttons on her blouse next.
His voice was making her crazy. “Oh, I do like that phrase. You Southerners have such a way with words.” She shivered as he caressed the creamy skin above her bra. “Put your hands on me, Rye.”
“Happy to oblige, ma’am.”
Her head fell back as he undid the front clasp of her bra. “Oh, that feels good, but Rye? Don’t call me ma’am.” She tugged his shirt up and ran her hands up his naked back.
“Then what do you want me to call you?”
“Just Tory.”
When he lowered his mouth to her breast, she moaned.
“Tory,” he murmured, the name like music on his lips. “Tory.”
When he kissed her nipple and took it into his mouth, he made her forget her name. And everything except having him inside her.
He pushed her skirt to the floor, and she reached down to slip out of her sandals and then ran her hands up his legs until she reached his belt and unclasped the buckle. When she tugged his shirt off, a sigh escaped her at the sight of his bare chest. Her fingers slid across his defined pectorals and the waterfall of abdominal muscles.
How had she gotten so lucky? “God, you have the most incredible body.” She pressed kisses against his heated skin.
He slid her underwear to the floor and stepped back, gazing at her, the longing in his face as obvious as his arousal. “You’re beautiful.”
Her smile was soft despite her heart thundering in her ears. “Glad you approve.”
He framed her face in his hands. “I’m going to take my time lovin’ you tonight.”
“Then you’d better take these off.” And, full of bravado, she tugged on his pants.
He slid his hand into the pocket and threw a couple of condoms on the bed before stepping out of his underwear and pants. Her gaze slid down his chest, stopping when it reached his arousal. She knew her eyes widened, but she couldn’t help it. He was large, and he wanted her badly.
“Come here.”
She shivered at his voice. It had gone shades lower and each syllable was drawn out. When their skin met, fire seemed to ignite between their bodies. He ran his hands down her back and settled them on her waist. Rocking against his hardness, she angled her head for a kiss, which he provided with slow, lazy passion.
He circled them until they stood at the edge of the four–poster bed. Then he leaned her against the post and proceeded to kiss his way down the front of her body. When he finished, he turned her around and started down her back. How had she never realized her back was one long erogenous zone? Tory gripped the post and pressed back against his mouth and hands. Her hands slipped as sweat broke out across her body, caused by a flash of heat so hot it could have melted steel.
“Rye,” she cried. Did he know what he was doing to her?
He scooped her onto the bed and covered her body with his. That was more like it. She delighted in his weight, and when he leaned over her and took her mouth in a drugging kiss, she ran her hands along his back, scraping her fingernails across the skin. He groaned into her mouth and slipped his hands between her thighs. She stilled as the fire spiked inside her and then let out a quiet, agonized moan when he pressed his palm down.
“Sweeter than honey,” he whispered and plied her with his fingers until her legs opened wider and her hips jerked against his hand.
“Rye,” she called. “Now.”
He kissed her stomach while continuing to caress her. “Not yet. I want you out of your mind with pleasure first.”
When his mouth lowered, he had his wish. She quaked and trembled with a violence that caused her muscles to knot and then shake.
Her hand fell across her eyes as he slid her legs open wider and settled between them. Panting, she lowered her arm and forced her eyes open, watching as he sheathed himself with a condom. Then he leaned over her on his elbows and, reaching a hand between their bodies to guide himself, pressed inside her. Taking her hands in his, he raised them above her head to the headboard.
His smile was wicked and desperate. “Better hang on.”
His first thrust made her moan long and loud. For a while, he kept the rhythm slow and easy, clenching his teeth. When he lowered his head to her breasts and took one in his mouth, Tory arched her back, moving her body in time with his, and released the headboard so she could grip his hair in a vice. His lips moved to her neck, and she grabbed his head and pulled his mouth to hers. God, she wanted that mouth. Their tongues pressed and dueled as he kept up a steady rhythm between them.
She moaned when Rye increased the pace. To brace herself, she gripped the thickly carved wood behind her again, the texture only making her hands tingle more. Rye came to his knees and laid his hands over hers, making the strokes harder and deeper. Their eyes locked, and she felt stripped all the way to her soul. Then he went deeper still, and she saw stars.
Her moans were like a chorus now as their flesh slid together. The rush started at her toes and slammed across her body. She arched and bucked against him, and when he pressed his mouth to her neck, it only enhanced her pleasure. Then he took her hips in his hands and lifted her for three deep, long strokes and followed her over the edge, calling out her name.
***
When the buzzing in his head stopped, Rye became aware of Tory stroking his back in lazy circles. He forced himself onto his elbows with shaking arms and looked down.
Her smile was lush and forbidden, like the Garden of Eden. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, and his mouth broke into an answering smile.
“Thought you were asleep.”
“Dead is more like it.”
She chuckled softly. “Well, hello again, Lazarus.”
He dispensed with the condom and rolled them onto their sides, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. The earring winked at him, giving him a funny flutter. “You look good in pearls.”
Tory reached to take them off. “I should have been more careful with them.”
He brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. “No, leave them. They look about as luminous as you do right now.”
Cuddling against him, she said, “You’re so good with words, Rye.”
Not in this situation. Usually he didn’t say much after sex and the thought had him clearing his throat. “It’s my job.”
She rose on an elbow. “No, Rye. You have a gift.”
She would use that word. There was a beauty in the way she saw people for who they were, how she helped them. His finger traced her collarbone and the depression in the middle.
“I’m going to want you again tonight.” He couldn’t imagine tiring of their bodies coming together. All that heat, friction, with the underlying glimmer of deeper emotion, like the flickering of sunlight through a thicket of trees.
Settling back against him, she made a humming noise in her throat. “I’m glad we’re of the same mind. Do you happen to know if this room comes with one of those old, enormous claw–footed tubs?”
“I think it’s a good bet.”
Pressing a kiss to his mouth, she slid away. “Let’s go see.”
Venus in all her glory padded naked across the room and slipped through the bathroom door. When had he ever thought petite wasn’t perfect?
She peeked her head out, eyes twinkling. “Guess what?”
“Found a claw?”
Her hand made the shape. “Yep. Come on, cowboy. You got anything against a bubble bath?”
He’d never taken one, but tonight seemed to hold a lot of firsts. “Not if it comes with you inside it.”
When her finger made a crooking motion, he almost hauled her back to bed. “Funny,” she said, “that’s what I was going to say to you.”
He playfully stalked her into the bathroom, and she retreated ins
ide, giggling, the sound music to his heart. When he caged her against the counter in front of the mirror, he realized he looked sated—and happy—something he hadn’t been in a long time.
He turned away from his reflection and set his hands over her white skin all over again.
Being from the Midwest, my family cooked a lot of roasts for dinner. Obviously, the same old, same old, gets old. So, we’d make a Chinese pot roast every now and again. I’m not sure what made it Chinese. Perhaps the ginger and soy sauce. Heaven knows, we added potatoes to the mix, not rice. But it was always a winner. The meat’s flavor simply explodes in your mouth, and the broth makes the best juice for the potatoes. It’s a simple dish to make with some lead–time—one of those all–in meals that’s perfect for families or days when you’re on the run. My grandma was fond of fixing this before we’d go to church. We’d return to a splendid smelling house, set the table, and feast.
Chinese Pot Roast
1 chuck roast, about 4 lb.
2 garlic cloves, minced
A dash of nutmeg and cinnamon
2 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tbsp. sherry or red wine
¼ cup soy sauce
1¼ cup water
3 peeled and sliced carrots
3 potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 celery stalk, sliced
2 tbsp. cornstarch
Marinate the meat in the next six ingredients for at least 3 hours. Place the meat in a roasting pan at 325 degrees for 2 hours. Add the vegetables 45 minutes before cooking time ends. Voila!
Tory Simmons’ Simmering Family Cookbook
Chapter 14
Tory was putting a Chinese pot roast in the oven when she heard a car pull into the drive. She smiled, hoping it was Rye. She missed him. They’d awoken that morning in tangled sheets, feasted on each other again, and then had breakfast in their private garden before returning to Hollinswood. Since it was their last full day in Meade, he’d promptly gone to see his father.
They would be leaving the next morning.
She’d been daydreaming all day, and while knew she was in trouble, she cut herself some slack. Who wouldn’t be whimsical after such a romantic, steamy night?
When a knock sounded on the door, she headed to the front of the house to answer it. So, not Rye then… He wouldn’t have knocked.
“Yes?” she asked the older man on the doorstep. Dressed in a navy button–down shirt with tan slacks, he had thick white hair, bright blue eyes, and an aquiline nose. There was something immediately familiar about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Miss Simmons, I’m Hampton Hollins.”
Confusion reigned. “Mr. Hollins! I thought Rye was with you. Is everything all right?”
“We’re both fine. He’s running an errand that we both agreed was long overdue, so I decided to come down here and meet you.”
Well, this was a surprise. “Oh. Please come in.”
“Smells good in here. Rye tells me you’re an incredible cook. Let’s go into the kitchen, so you can watch what you’re cooking while we sit a spell.”
Good. She was always more comfortable in the kitchen. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asked. “We have decaf. I know you can’t have the real stuff with your heart.”
When they reached the kitchen, he settled back into one of the chairs around the table. “Now, how would you know that?”
The memories were still fresh enough to squeeze her chest. “I took care of my grandfather until he passed away a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s okay,” she said like she always did. “I know he’s in a better place.” At least, she prayed he was.
“So, I understand from Rye and Amelia Ann that you’re pursuing your doctorate.”
“Yes, at the University of Kansas in cultural anthropology,” she replied, getting the coffee set up.
“Amelia Ann tells me you’ve been a great help to everyone during your time with us.”
“I haven’t done much,” she immediately said, wondering what else his daughter had told him.
“I expect you’re modest to a fault. Amelia Ann told Rye part of the reason she finally found the courage to talk to Rye about law school was how proud he was of your studies.”
The mugs she’d taken down hung limply in her hands. “I had no idea.”
“Well, I expect you understand the importance of social and cultural cues from your studies. You know, I couldn’t be happier that she’s planning to go to law school at Vanderbilt. One of my children will be following in my footsteps, and although they won’t be close to home, it will comfort me to know they’re together.” The look he sent her was pure mischief. “And it will keep my son involved in this family. We need him more than he knows.”
It was exactly what she’d hoped for him, but there were still a lot of issues to work through, particularly with Rye’s mother.
“I thought that the Vanderbilt tradition was dead when Rye dropped out,” he continued, “but it seems I will get my wish after all. The first female lawyer in the family. Pop Crenshaw would have been delighted.”
Setting the mugs down seemed like a good idea, since she was about to drop them. “Excuse me, sir, but did you say Rye dropped out of law school?”
“So, he hasn’t told you yet. Well, he doesn’t like to talk about it. He and his record label buried it as best as they could.” He stroked his chin. “It doesn’t exactly fit with his anti–establishment persona.”
Oh, that big faker—giving her a hard time about too much education. Tory poured the coffee with shaking hands and brought the mugs over. “May I offer you something else?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m on a restricted diet now. The coffee is perfect. So, tell me how you met Rye.”
Hampton knew how to get people to talk. He had her at ease in ten minutes, her fingers loosening their death grip on the cup. Tory found herself confiding in him, and he had her laughing at an old story about Rye when the man himself stalked into the kitchen.
“Daddy? What are you doing here? Are you okay?” He strode forward and put a hand on Hampton’s shoulder.
“I’m fine. I decided to come down and meet the lovely Miss Simmons, whom I’ve been hearing so much about.” He gave her a wink. “And all the good things I’ve heard about her are true.”
Rye only grunted.
“Please call me Tory, Mr. Hollins. There’s decaf coffee,” she said to Rye. “Do you want some?”
He pressed her back into her chair, his hands gentle. “I’ll get it. So, what have you two been talking about?”
“About you going to Vanderbilt law school.”
Rye’s jaw clenched as he poured himself coffee. “That’s old news.”
Not to her. Of course, she’d guessed long ago that he was smarter than he liked to admit, but still, it wasn’t easy to be admitted into Vanderbilt. “To some, I guess.”
Hampton picked up his coffee. “How did the errand go, Rye?”
Rye’s face darkened as he sat down and raised his own mug to his lips. “Fine.”
Her eyes zeroed in on his scraped knuckles. “What happened to your hands?” When she made a move for them, he pulled back.
“It’s nothing.”
Nothing? “Have you been fighting?”
Rye cleared his throat and looked away from her. “Well, it wasn’t much of a fight. He crumpled into a ball after taking one punch.”
Wonderful. And just when she’d thought he’d put The Incident behind him.
“I’m not surprised. Good job, son.” Hampton toasted Rye with his mug before taking another sip.
So his genteel father had been in on this? “Who did you hit?”
His sigh was deep and long–suffering. “Sterling Morrison.”
Oh no. This was not good. If the media got hold of this… “Tammy’s husband?”
“You haven’t met Sterling yet, or you wouldn’t be surprised.”
Hampton patted her arm. “
I take full responsibility. I should have had a conversation with Sterling some time ago. Unfortunately, I was plagued with a certain problem before my heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What was it?” she asked.
He started laughing and looked at Rye. “I was a horse’s ass. Wasn’t I, son?”
Rye grinned. “I guess we both were, sir.”
The men were still chuckling when someone gave a hard rap to the door. Tory was out of the chair before the men could move. Another visitor. Great.
Maybe Mama Terminator had come to pay a call.
***
Tammy straightened her shoulders, pain radiating through her muscles with every movement. She could handle this. Didn’t they understand? She couldn’t take any more interference.
They wanted to help, but they were only making things worse. Sterling’s angry words over the phone still echoed in her mind. Annabelle and Rory stood beside her, clearly sensing something was wrong. She straightened her daughter’s collar, reminding herself what was important here. Her children. She had to accept her life for them. Make them a stable home. How dare Rye interfere with that?
When Tory opened the door, Tammy nodded at her and then bent down to address her kids. “You go play in the backyard, but keep clear of the horses, do you hear? I have to talk to your Uncle Rye. Is he here?” she asked, turning toward Tory.
Tory nodded. “Hi guys,” she said as the kids gave her a muted greeting and reluctantly shuffled off.
Tammy followed the voices to the kitchen. The cozy scene between father and son had her clenching her hands into fists at her sides.
“Daddy? I thought that was your car. What are you doing here? Mama will throw a fit when she discovers you’ve left the house.”
Hampton ran a finger around the rim of his mug. “Don’t be dramatic, Tammy. You make it sound like I orchestrated a jail break. Besides, your mama’s still at the beauty parlor.”
Rye just looked at her, saying nothing.
Well, with Daddy here, at least she’d have an ally against Rye. He would never approve of what his son had done, even with this reconciliation in the air. “Daddy, you won’t believe what Rye’s done.”
