Wild Embrace: A Single Dad Romance (Wilder Irish Book 11)

by Mari Carr

  He and Leo hadn’t been friends at the time. Hell, they’d barely been acquaintances, even though Ryder was Vince’s stepdad. Ryder was estranged from his parents. And he wasn’t close to any of his work colleagues, so he hadn’t had anyone else to turn to.

  “I can’t imagine how hard all of that must have been,” Darcy said.

  “The hardest part was telling Clint and Vince. Leo was there with me. He actually said the words. I couldn’t. Vince wanted his dad with him, so Leo spent the night. He and Vince shared the boys’ room, and I took Clint to my bedroom, held him until he cried himself to sleep in my bed.”

  “No little boy should lose his mom at seven years old.”

  Ryder agreed with that, but he couldn’t say it, couldn’t even nod. Because his throat was too tight. It was as if his body was rejecting telling the rest of the story.

  The secret.

  “I got up to…” Ryder tried to take a breath, but it was hard to get air to his lungs.

  Darcy must have noticed because she shifted closer, moving until she was sitting right next to him rather than across the elevator. She reached over and took his hand. He squeezed it, taking comfort from it.

  “I got up to get ready for bed and I saw…an envelope on the dresser with my name on it. In Denise’s handwriting.”

  Darcy turned toward him, her eyes locked on his profile, still holding his hand.

  “She’d left me a letter.”

  Darcy’s brows lowered in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “She was leaving me. In the letter, she said she’d met someone else. She’d been having an affair, and she wanted a divorce. I looked around the room then…and realized a lot of her stuff was missing.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Her car had been totaled, towed to a garage. A mechanic called a week or so after the accident. Said he’d take care of disposing of the vehicle, but that someone would need to come retrieve the luggage they’d found in the trunk.”

  “Ryder,” Darcy whispered, a tear rolling along her cheek.

  He felt the slightest trembling in her hand, so he tightened his grip, grateful to have something to hold on to and touched by her compassion.

  “I hired a private investigator a few months after her death to find out who the other man was. I kept telling myself I didn’t give a shit, but I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t stop thinking…”

  “Did you find out?”

  Ryder nodded. “I did. I thought as soon as I had the name, I’d confront the guy, but…once I knew, I realized I didn’t care anymore. It didn’t—it wouldn’t—change anything. I’ve never mentioned it to him, but I can tell from the way he looks at me…he knows that I know.”

  “You see the guy?”

  “Unfortunately, due to certain circumstances, we run into each other on occasion.”

  “Ryder. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  He lifted one shoulder. There really wasn’t anything to say. It was the one reason he’d always sworn never to talk about it. There was nothing anyone could do or say to take away the anger or the hurt.

  “It’s okay,” he said, both of them knowing those words were a lie.

  That was why he wasn’t getting married again. He’d long ago accepted that he simply didn’t have the strength to risk his heart or his pride again.

  As the saying went, been there, done that, burned the T-shirt.

  They sat there, holding hands, staring at the opposite wall of the elevator, neither of them speaking for several minutes. Through his peripheral vision, he caught sight of her trying to covertly wipe her eyes a couple of times.

  He appreciated her tears, even as he marveled he’d never managed to shed a single one. Not for Denise, not for himself, not even for his poor sons. Every drop of sadness had evaporated in the red-hot rage that had coursed through him for years.

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  Ryder turned to face her. He couldn’t begin to understand what had prompted him to open up to her, but he didn’t regret it. Perhaps that was the most surprising part. And in some strange way, he actually felt lighter, like the burden of that secret was no longer only his to carry.

  But now…he needed to forget again. “Your turn.”

  She tilted her head, confused. “What?”

  “A secret.”

  She smiled, though the expression was wobbly at best. “Oh. That’s easy. I’m extremely claustrophobic.”

  Ryder scowled, recalling the brief flashes of fear he’d seen in her face over the past few hours. “Darcy—” he started.

  “Yep,” she said, drawing his attention to how pale she was. “I’ve been silently screaming inside my head since the power went out.”

  Ryder reached out for her, tugging her into his embrace. “I didn’t know.”

  “That’s what made it a secret.” She was reaching for levity, trying to mask her feelings with lighthearted words. They were both guilty of trying to shield their true feelings through jokes and casual comments tonight.

  He held her tightly, trying not to acknowledge how good she felt in his arms. It was the first time he’d hugged her, and as he held her, he realized he wanted more than just a friendly embrace.

  Fuck. He wanted way more.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, forcing himself to release her.

  “As long as I don’t think about it too much.” Her eyes traveled around the elevator, and he heard her take in a shaky breath.

  “You’re thinking about it.”

  She closed her eyes tightly, once again appearing to struggle to breathe. “The game was helping me forget.”

  Ryder placed his hands on her cheeks. “Look at me, Darcy.”

  She slowly opened her beautiful blue eyes. They were framed by long, thick lashes.

  “Focus on your breathing. Watch me.” He took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it. “Do it with me.”

  Darcy followed his lead, the two of them taking several long, deep breaths.

  “In. And out. In. And out,” he coached.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can stand to be in here,” she confessed.

  “I’m right here. You’re going to be fine. I promise. Want more vodka?”

  She grinned and shook her head. “No. I’m going to have to take a cab home as it is.”

  Ryder agreed. “Yeah. Me too. We’ll split one. I want to make sure you get home okay. Considering it’s a city-wide blackout in Baltimore on Halloween, the truth of the matter is, we’re probably both safer in here.”

  Darcy giggled. “That’s a good point. God only knows what my poor dad has had to deal with tonight.”

  She could have called her father. Ryder knew Aaron Young well enough to know he would have made his daughter his top priority. She didn’t. Instead, she rode it out, put on a brave face.

  She was incredible.

  He still held her face in his hands. He should drop them, should let go.

  But…he couldn’t.

  To make matters worse, Darcy didn’t seem to mind the touch. Her hands rested lightly on his wrists, and he got the sense she was trying to hold them in place.

  She took in another deep breath, drawing his gaze to her lips. Her full, pink, soft lips. Her tongue darted out to lick the lower one, and Ryder couldn’t resist what he recognized as an invitation.

  “Darcy,” he murmured softly.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “This has to stay here too.”

  She frowned, confused, until he leaned forward and placed his lips on hers, kissing her.

  He’d expected her to be shocked, to perhaps pull away…but Darcy did neither of those things.

  Instead, she tilted her head, parted her lips, and allowed him to deepen the kiss, their tongues touching. He tasted the vodka they’d shared, felt the heat from her breath.

  Her hands left his wrists, moving to rest on his shoulders, while he retained his grip on her face, capturing her low moan, the
sound one of pure desire. Before he knew it, he was moaning as well, hungry for more.

  Ryder felt as if he could devour her completely and still not have his fill.

  It was a kiss.

  Just a kiss.

  Yet, it was so much more.

  For several long, heated minutes, they explored each other’s mouths, tasted, touched, took.

  Ryder had kissed countless women in his past, but it had never affected him like this.

  Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he’d held a woman. Or because he’d sworn women off entirely, never expecting to kiss someone like this again.

  Or because it was Darcy.

  He dismissed that last thought immediately.

  This couldn’t—shouldn’t—be happening.

  “Darcy. We have to stop,” he breathed against her cheek, dragging his lips along the soft skin of her face to her ear. He’d released her lips, intent on pulling away, but he hadn’t managed to move an inch away before he was back, seeking, taking more.

  “Don’t stop.” Darcy’s arm tightened around his neck, using her own mouth to explore him, placing kisses on his cheek, his neck.

  Don’t stop.

  Her words niggled at the back of his brain. A foggy memory? A dream?

  An image of Darcy unbuttoning his shirt flashed in his mind. Of him saying, “Don’t stop.”

  It never happened, so he pushed the thought aside and bit her earlobe, producing the cutest little squeak from her before he licked away the tiny spark of pain. He kept playing her words over and over in his brain.

  Tied up. Held down. Spanked. Taken.

  Ryder hadn’t been with a woman since Denise died. He’d genuinely believed her betrayal had killed that part of him. Because the honest-to-God truth was, he hadn’t had a hard-on in four years. Not once.

  About two years after Denise’s death, a woman he knew through mutual acquaintances began making advances, letting him know in no uncertain terms she was interested in a casual affair. Ryder had thought the offer ideal. Sex with no strings, no emotions, no commitment.

  They’d decided to meet at a hotel. However, it soon became evident that his heart and his dick weren’t into it. He’d made a lame excuse to leave, said an awkward goodbye, and never saw her again.

  After that, he’d tried to discover if his problem had just been a lack of attraction to the woman, but countless experiments had proven the problem was his. He’d watched hours and hours of porn. Gone to a strip club for a work colleague’s bachelor party. Read erotica. His body responded to none of it.

  And he’d found another reason for rage.

  Impotence.

  Or so he’d thought.

  “Darcy,” he whispered when she pulled the hem of his dress shirt from his pants, her hands slipping beneath to touch his bare chest.

  His dick had never been this hard, this thick. It was pulsing, aching. He was two minutes away from pushing Darcy to the floor of this elevator, pulling up her skirt, and pounding his way inside her.

  Ryder fought for control, but Darcy kept stripping it away, piece by piece. She ran her fingernails over his chest, tangling her fingers in the light smattering of hair there, then she let them drift lower.

  He gripped her wrists, pulling her hands away just before she could cup his dick through his dress pants.

  “Bad girl,” he murmured, wishing his words hadn’t put such a sexy, wicked grin on her face.

  Too much vodka.

  It had to be the alcohol.

  Ryder tried to reconcile what was happening, searching for an excuse that made sense. Because he didn’t act out of character.

  Ever.

  And this…this man wasn’t him.

  Not even close.

  Ryder ignored the tiny voice that said it might not be him, but damn if it wasn’t who he wanted to be.

  “I wanna be bad. Very bad,” Darcy whispered. “With you.”

  “Fuck.” And then, because he was weak and completely out of control, he kissed her again, though there was no softness behind it. It was a hard, rough, brutal kiss that was likely to leave bruises.

  Ryder twisted her away from the wall at her back and pressed her to the floor, coming over her, his lips never leaving hers.

  He caged her beneath him, his weight held only by his elbows as the rest of their bodies were connected everywhere.

  Darcy opened her legs, and he accepted her silent invitation, grinding his covered cock against her center.

  She gasped, then groaned, her eyes drifting closed as she lifted her hips, searching for more.

  He thrust downward again, his own eyes shut as he lost himself in the sensations of mimicking sex.

  Sex with Darcy.

  His eyes flew open, and once again, he felt that brief determination to pull away. Until he saw her gaze on his face and felt her fingers working to free the buttons of his shirt.

  “I want to see you,” she said. “Want to lick every part of you.”

  Mother. Fucker.

  Four years was a long goddamned time. Ryder had been far from a saint in his younger years, and shades of his former self reemerged, parts he’d thought he had outgrown or managed to snuff out.

  Darcy, with her sweet smile and unending questions, had dragged more than just a long-buried secret from him.

  She’d reached even deeper and unleashed a beast.

  Her gaze drifted lower once she’d unbuttoned his shirt, studying what she’d unwrapped. He hissed when she drew a single fingernail down the center of his chest, not stopping until she reached the buckle of his belt.

  Once again, he got a sense of familiarity…like they’d done this before.

  Ryder pushed himself away from her, kneeling between her outstretched legs.

  Darcy frowned at the sudden loss of his weight on top of her, and she started to complain.

  “No,” he said, his tone harsher, harder than normal. “Sit up, Darcy. Take off your shirt and bra.”

  Her cheeks, which had already been flushed pink from her arousal, deepened to a dark red. His first thought was that she was embarrassed, but that was washed away when Darcy did exactly as he asked, sitting in front of him as she tugged her lightweight sweater over her head in one confident pull.

  Her bra was dark blue and lacy, one of those push-up types that showed off a woman’s cleavage. Somehow even more blood managed to make its way to his already rock-hard dick.

  Darcy looked at him, her eyes betraying a sudden shyness he hadn’t felt from her before now.

  It didn’t help. If anything…it provoked the alpha male inside, the one who needed to be obeyed.

  “Take off your bra,” he said again.

  She reached behind her back, unsnapping her bra. Then, once again, with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth, she slipped the straps off her shoulders and pulled the lace away.

  Ryder was a tit man—and Darcy’s were fucking perfect. Full, firm, with light pink areolas and large, tight nipples.

  One second, he was looking, the next, he was holding them. Ryder cupped her breasts in his large palms, loving the way she filled his hands. Then he lowered his mouth and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. Hard.

  Darcy gasped, her hands flying to his hair.

  He increased the suction, expecting her to push him away.

  Again, she surprised him, pulling him closer as she threw her head back. “More. God, harder.”

  He shifted his head, taking her other nipple between his lips—and teeth—as he pinched the one he’d just released, hot and wet from his mouth. Darcy held him close, filling the silence in the elevator with gasps and sighs and quiet moans.

  Ryder could have played with her tits all night and never—never—gotten tired of it.

  “Ryder,” Darcy said at last. “I need…God…”

  He lifted his head and took in her glazed, unfocused eyes. She was on the verge of coming and he’d yet to touch her below the waist.

  Flipping her sweater out, he p
ut it down like a blanket, guiding her to her back on top of it.

  Ryder lifted her skirt, grinning when Darcy lifted her hips so he could pull her panties down. He slipped them off.

  God help them if the power came back on now.

  He was slightly surprised when Darcy—who was clearly all in—tried to close her legs. He pressed them apart with his hands on her thighs.

  “Let me look at you.”

  She blushed even more, something he hadn’t thought possible.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, just before he lowered his head and ran his tongue along her slit.

  It had been so long since he’d tasted a woman, felt the heat from a woman’s pussy. Darcy was soaking wet. He’d noticed that the second he’d pulled down her damp panties.

  Ryder used to love sex, used to love being with women. He’d had a reputation in high school and college as being a player, a playboy. A past girlfriend had called him a bad boy, even though he’d rolled his eyes and dismissed the words out of hand. Her comment had been fueled by his sexual tastes, his desire for dominance, for rough sex.

  His younger self had actually enjoyed the nicknames, considered them a badge of honor, and he’d cut a swath through cheerleaders and sorority girls. He was more than capable of giving Darcy everything she wanted from a man in the bedroom because he was experienced in all of it—bondage, spankings, control. It was as if her words had been pulled from the Ryder Hagen sex manual.

  Or at least, the Ryder Hagen he’d been before marriage.

  “Ryder. Oh God,” Darcy breathed, lifting her hips toward his mouth. He stroked her with his tongue once more, then turned his attention to her clit.

  Darcy started to writhe beneath him, tossing her head from side to side, drawing his attention to her long, dark, oh-so-pullable hair.

  He wasn’t sure how he’d failed to notice all of this before.

  Darcy was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “More,” she demanded again. “Please.”

  Ryder stroked her clit with his thumb, increasing the speed, the friction. She was close. And he knew exactly how to push her over the edge.