Get You Back: Part One: Revenge Page 10

  I stole a glance at Rye. He was staring at me with an arrested look. "Turn around."

  "No. Why?"

  "Because I want you to. Because you said you'd do what I want. That's all I want you to do. Turn around."

  Reluctantly, I did. But I didn't look at myself. I kept my eyes lowered. I knew what my naked body looked like. I didn't need to see it.

  As if he'd read my mind, Rye said, "You've never seen yourself like this. Just humor me. One quick glance. Then you don't have to look again. I promise."

  I dragged my gaze to the mirror. And froze. The woman I saw before me looked nothing like the composed, confident, controlled person I expected. A pink flush of passion colored the skin of her—my—chest. Deeply engorged nipples provided an erotic punctuation mark. Rye had risen to stand behind me and the contrast of my nudity with his black suit was stunning.

  "You know what I see when I look at you?" His hands came around me to rest on my hipbones.

  I shook my head, hypnotized.

  "Passion. Sensuality. Heart. You keep it all hidden away. But sometimes it peeks out. In your smile, or in your moans." One hand slid lower and toyed with my curls. The skin of my stomach rippled in reaction. I had no control over my body when Rye touched me. Or spoke to me. Or looked at me. And right now he was doing all of those. He was hypnotizing me with that deep voice and those compelling eyes.

  "I could watch you all day, just waiting for those moments when you let down your guard."

  His long index finger parted my folds and found my clit. I leaned against his chest, surrendering to his command over me. His knee came between my thighs and gently nudged. I obeyed the unspoken order and opened my legs. Liquid glimmered in the notch between my thighs. He dipped his finger into my juices and slowly circled my clit.

  "That's the real reason I love to make you come," he murmured in my ear. With his free hand, he plucked at my left nipple. I cried out at the sharp sensation. It felt as if a wire cable ran from nipple to clit, bringing electrical impulses at the speed of light. "That's when I know you're not hiding from me."

  Feeling hot and somehow restless, I swung my head from side to side. How could I possibly hide? With so much pressure building inside me, revved up by his slow, deliberate fondling, it was a wonder I didn't throw myself at his feet.

  "You're not, are you?"

  He covered my entire mound with his palm, still keeping close contact with my clit.

  "No." I gasped. "I'm not hiding."

  "You want me, don't you?"

  "Oh my God, yes."

  "Bend over. Put your hands on the counter."

  He stepped back so I could obey him. In a way it was a relief, because I no longer had to watch myself in the mirror. Once I was in position, my breath coming fast and excited, I glanced up and got the full picture. Rye, in that sexy black suit, stood between my spread legs, unbuttoning his trousers. I was splayed before him, my breasts trembling and heavy with arousal. My lips looked swollen. Had I been biting them from sheer anticipation? The two of us looked absolutely decadent.

  "Arch your back," he muttered, his voice deepened with desire. "Show me that ass."

  "You're not …"

  "Of course not. Yesterday you were a virgin. Though how a passionate woman like you managed to avoid sex, I have no idea."

  I knew. Because Rye hadn't been around. I'd been too wary, too afraid of making a mistake or letting down my guard. Somehow, all those facts of my life went away around Rye.

  I arched my pelvis, feeling uncomfortably exposed. The awkwardness went away as he caressed me lightly. The appreciation in his touch made me relax. I felt I'd do anything for him. Anything to keep his attention on me. I drifted into a sort of fugue state while he stroked my ass, my thighs, my dripping sex. I intensified the arch in my back. I imagined how I must look from his perspective. Balanced on my high heels, legs apart, sex swollen and waiting for him. An eager woman at his mercy.

  I was so ready, so very ready, that when he dug his fingers into my hips and held me still for his invasion, I experienced a sort of pre-orgasm, a flutter of hot tingles that took the needy edge off my arousal.

  He launched into an intense, cork-screwing pace that got my nerve endings clamoring all over again. I tried to answer his thrusts, but his grip on my hips kept him in control of the rhythm. I fought it at first, trying to push back when he surged inside me. Trying to get him deeper. But he knew what he wanted. He wanted to stoke the fire inside me, keep me right on that edge.

  What was I fighting for? An orgasm? "You'd better make me come, you bastard," I said, my teeth clenched.

  "Trust me, I will. If you let me."

  I surrendered. No one had ever made me feel the things Rye did. My body did trust him. I gave myself over to him. Let him manipulate my lower half exactly how he wanted. Ram me. Stroke me from the inside out. Finger my clit until I lost it completely. I came with the force of a runaway freight train. I buried my face in my elbow to stifle my carnal cry of orgasmic bliss.

  He kept rocking his hips into me in a propulsive rhythm. I kept coming and coming. His cock kept finding new spots to ignite, new sensations to provoke. Tremors kept racing up my spine and into my lower belly. When he came, long and hard, braced over me like an animal, I felt as if my soul shattered into a thousand pieces that only he could put back together.

  13

  Rye

  I'd wanted answers. I got at least one—my hunger for Lauren would never be satisfied. As soon as I'd detonated inside her, I wanted more.

  But I could only buy us so much time, according to the attendant. She was directing the ladies to a private bathroom, but eventually someone would catch on.

  "We need to go," I murmured in her ear. When I stood up, my legs protested. It felt as if I'd run a marathon. Lauren started to rise too, but I pressed a hand to her lower back. "Hang on. Let me clean us up."

  I pulled my condom off my dick and wondered what to do with the evidence of our dirty deed. Finally I tossed it in the toilet and flushed it down. I plucked a tissue from a handy box on the counter and cleaned the thick cream off her sex. Her legs were trembling and she was still trying to catch her breath.

  "Jesus, Rye. What am I going to do with you?" She asked the question in a mystified way.

  "More of the same?" I suggested.

  She laughed. I gave her a little swat on the rear as I finished. She set about finding her clothes while I struggled to understand what was happening between us. Face it, I had no clue.

  I sorted through the information I'd learned in the past half hour. Lauren's dig about my rental tux had reassured me that she wasn't intending to blackmail me somehow. She didn't think I had any money to speak of. She wasn't in love with Brian. Brian wasn't in love with her. And she'd scoffed at the suggestion that she'd lured him into proposing.

  But she had been engaged before. Her non-answer confirmed that.

  And then it clicked. "You're getting paid."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Not by me. By Brian. Or the Clayton family. The senator. That's why you told him it wouldn't happen again."

  She hunched her shoulders as if to shut me out.

  I laughed, practically giddy. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Strangely enough, relief was flooding through me. A straight-up business deal, payment for services rendered, was another matter. "I thought you were conning him."

  Lauren narrowed her eyes at me. "Sure, why not think the worst of me?"

  "Come on. You can't blame me for thinking that. Remember who your mother is."

  "She's not—!" She interrupted herself by spinning around, her back to me. Her hands trembled as she pulled on her jacket.

  Not what? Not a con woman? If only Lauren would be open with me.

  "Brian Clayton's one of the most eligible men in the country. Why is he paying someone to pose as his fiancée?"

  "Stop it, Rye! Why does it matter what I'm doing with Brian? What difference does it make to you? You obviously have your mind made up.
Just go away! Go home and leave me alone!"

  But I was onto something here and I wasn't backing down. "Holy hell. Was Bliss paid to marry my father?"

  "I didn't think so. But now I don't know anymore," she said desperately.

  A bossy female voice carried from the hallway outside the ladies' room. "Nonsense, I used it not more than an hour ago."

  Lauren whirled to face the mirror. All the passion drained from her face as she drew a curtain of control over herself. She scanned her reflection with a businesslike efficiency that gave me chills. Then she whipped her hair out of its knot and ran her fingers through the loose strands. Lightning-fast, she crammed it back into a twist that somehow stayed in place.

  She spun to face me. "I'll go distract her. Slip out the second you can."

  I nodded, mesmerized by what I'd just witnessed. I wondered if tricky situations were par for the course in her life. Most likely, they were.

  She flung open the door, covered her nose with one hand, and marched out. "Good heavens, why didn't anyone warn me about that restroom? My God, the stench! Oh, hello, Mrs. Wheaton. You aren't thinking about going in there, are you?"

  "What's the problem? It was fine an hour ago."

  "I'm no plumbing expert, so I really can't say. But I nearly stepped in something dreadful. And these are my favorite shoes! Please, miss, isn't there another bathroom people can use?"

  I heard the attendant's voice. "Yes, I'm so sorry, I don't know how I didn't see you go in there. Everyone's supposed to use the other one for now. It's not far, just right down the hall."

  "Someone should really put up a sign, don't you think, Mrs. Wheaton? Good grief, I'm still shaking. I might need one of your special drinks."

  Their voices faded. I opened the door a crack and saw the two women facing away from me, proceeding down the hallway. I slipped out and headed the other direction. I predicted much confusion among the cleaning staff. But at least I'd kept my promise to Lauren to protect her privacy.

  Close fucking call, though. We'd had over-the-top sex in the ladies' room at one of the most exclusive private clubs in Washington and gotten away with it.

  I let out a long exhale and wandered back through the chattering crowd toward the exit. An atmosphere of power pulsed through the room. No doubt deals were being made here that affected lives around the globe. I caught a quick glimpse of Brian Clayton ordering a drink at the bar. I didn't know his story, or why he had to hire a fake fiancée. But I felt sorry for him. If you had to present such a false front to the world, you weren't truly in charge of your life.

  As I slipped out the door of the Redwood Club, a deep sense of gratitude filled me. If I hadn't run away to Texas, I would have gone to law school or business school. By the strange workings of fate, I didn't have to live this life. I belonged out west in the open air. Not in this power-mad, high-pressure world.

  But this was Lauren's world. She chose this life, or maybe she was doing it for her mother. Maybe Bliss forced her into it with bruises and slaps and hours in front of the mirror. I didn't know how much was Lauren and how much was Bliss.

  One thing was certain, though. She'd risked a hell of a lot to get naked with me in the bathroom. If we'd gotten caught, she would have paid the price, not me. I'd gone there full of anger and misconceptions, ruled by my temper. I could have gotten her in serious trouble.

  This was stupid. I was putting Lauren at risk, alienating her, getting nowhere in my search for revenge, or answers, or whatever I was after. And there was more that Lauren wasn't sharing. So much more. That was obvious. But how could I get her to trust me enough to tell me?

  By my first sip of coffee the next morning, everything had changed. I flung my feet on the coffee table and flipped on the TV, then nearly spewed my first mouthful all over my sweat pants.

  This time, Lauren wasn't the only one on the news. I was right there with her, laughing and touching her hip. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a glorious curtain. For a moment I clung to the hope that her face was never visible. But then she threw her head back in a laugh and there was no mistaking that it was her. We looked like intimate, carefree lovers.

  The chemistry between us jumped off the screen. It seriously looked like we were about to fuck right there on the grass.

  How? Had someone followed us? Had someone happened to spot "America's answer to Kate Middleton" and whipped out their freaking iPhone?

  I turned up the volume.

  "This video, provided to NewsCenter Six by a reliable source, shows Lauren Gallatin with a man who is clearly not her fiancé, the son of Senator Adam Clayton. In recent weeks, the glamorous young couple has provided a boost to the embattled senator's campaign. But in light of this video, that may be about to change. When asked for comment, a spokesman for the senator said this: "Don't believe everything that you see in a video. There could be many possible interpretations of this image, which is of a private nature. Brian and Lauren are very much in love. That's all that should concern the public."

  A reporter shouted from the crowd surrounding the spokesperson.

  "Is the wedding still on?"

  "Absolutely. In fact, we'll have an announcement later in the day that you won't want to miss."

  "Who's the man in the video?"

  "That's irrelevant. What's important is that Brian and Lauren, or BriLo, as some are calling them, are blissfully happy together. What's even more important is the senator's new plan to create jobs in the state of …"

  I zoned out as the topic segued into political bullshit. This was a freaking disaster. What did this mean for Lauren? And what about me? Would every reporter in town now be trying to figure out who I was?

  I pushed that worry to the back of my mind. This crisis was about Lauren, not me. Last night I'd decided I needed to win her trust, and now I was on TV putting her in the proverbial compromising position. Fuck.

  Phone in hand, I debated my next move. Was it safe to contact Lauren? Would that make things worse if someone got ahold of our texts?

  Before I could decide what to do, my phone buzzed with a text from her.

  Did you do this?

  No. I texted back. I promise. Not my style.

  She didn't answer. Fuck, did she really think I would do something so low-down?

  Can I help?

  No.

  Her one-word answer didn't give me much hope. My phone beeped again.

  Yes.

  What do you need? Name it. You got it.

  Her answer came right away. Disappear.

  Shit. I hadn't expected that. I wanted to do something. I wanted to make this right. Be there for her. There had to be some other way to help.

  Can we talk?

  No. Please. Just go.

  Fuck. I tossed my phone onto the couch and strode to the balcony that surveyed the merciless streets of Washington, DC, now flooded with deceptively cheerful sunshine. Disappear.

  I forced myself to think it over. The video wasn't all that sensational. No skin showing, no kissing or anything else inappropriate. Just an intimate moment open to interpretation. If I left right now, the story would die out due to lack of new fuel. It would be a flash in the pan, quickly forgotten when some new sex scandal broke out.

  Yes. I should leave. Lauren was right.

  But the thought of walking away from her made my gut clench. I was too wrapped up in her. She'd gotten under my skin. I wanted her. I wanted to unravel her mysteries. I wanted to know she was okay. How could I leave her here with the sharks of Washington? With the press on her trail? With her callous, scheming mother?

  I could think of one obvious solution. I picked up my phone from the couch then hesitated for a long, long time.

  Come with me. I finally typed.

  What do you mean?

  Home with me. Away from here.

  I imagined driving my rented Maserati across the heartland with Lauren in the passenger seat. Her bare feet on the dashboard, her hair flying in the wind, relaxed and happy. I imagined all the m
otels we could make trouble in along the way. Yeah, I liked this plan. I didn't know where it would lead, but that didn't matter. We'd figure it out. Me and Lauren, together.

  Very funny, came her response.

  I'm serious. Can I see you? I'll prove it.

  Are you insane? Not possible right now.

  Of course it wasn't. Damn, this was completely fucked up. There had to be a way for us to get together with no one spotting us.

  I can impersonate a pizza guy. Will you be home tonight?

  Go away. Please.

  I tossed my phone aside and buried my head in my hands. I'd fucked up royally. My original mission—revenge—was coming true. My arrival in Lauren's life had created a huge mess. I'd wanted the Blakewells to pay, and now it was happening.

  But that wasn't what I wanted anymore. Now I wanted … her. And because I'd brought all this scandal into her life, I couldn't have her. Couldn't even see her.

  I was paying too. With pain and fury and regret and shame. I'd hurt someone I cared about. Something I couldn't stop thinking about.

  Lauren was right. The best thing I could do for her right now was to vanish.

  I pictured myself back in Houston, drinking beers at the Tex Mex. Fixing fence lines with Ben Parker. Analyzing the stock market. Screwing Sunny. Taking my occasional trip to Vegas to commune with the ghost of my dad. Going back to life before I'd spotted Lauren on TV.

  Fuck. I didn't want that. I wanted Lauren. But for Lauren's sake, I had to do what she asked. I had to take a page from the Blakewell playbook and disappear.

  But first—--I had to make one last gesture.

  14

  Lauren

  On a good day, I hated being in the spotlight. This new level of press frenzy was a special form of torture. All that day, everywhere I went, a camera seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Questions came at me like bullets. Ram kept sending me new and increasingly angry messages about what to say and do.