Get You Back: Part One: Revenge Page 8

  "Technically, I'm not a virgin any more," I pointed out. "I didn't think you were the kind of guy who would leave a job half-done."

  "Are you taunting me now?" He pushed my legs apart and thumbed my clit. Pleasure flooded into the pulsing nub. Whatever it takes to get you back inside me, I wanted to say. But I couldn't speak. The sensations he sparked left me temporarily speechless. I rode out the first wave of electric tingles, then found my teasing voice again.

  "You already did the hard part. The damage is done. I don't know why you're holding back now."

  "You don't, huh?" With one long finger, he explored deeper inside me, finding a spot that made me moan with pleasure. He watched me closely, as if hypnotized by the way I responded to his touch. "Maybe I stopped because I don't want to hurt you."

  "Really? That's not what you said when you first saw me. Is this an official change in policy?"

  His hand stilled. My eyes flew open to find Rye scowling at me. "How can you say a thing like that? I never said I wanted to hurt you."

  I'd been so swept away by his caresses that I hadn't been watching my words. I wanted to cry, or beat my fists against his chest. I couldn't bear it if I drove him away with my careless words. I put my hand over his and pressed his palm against my sex. "Don't stop. I'm sorry I said that. I know you never would hurt a woman like that."

  He might break a woman's heart, he might love-spank her until her juices ran down her thighs … but he would never be physically abusive.

  "You'd better be sure, or we're done here."

  Done? I should have wanted us to be done. I should have leaped at the opportunity. But I didn't. I wanted him. My body cried out for him.

  I scanned his handsome, scarred, riveting face. I saw the man who guided their little family to safety. Who'd provided for them. I knew it to the bottom of my soul. Rye might have come here looking for revenge. But he wouldn't hurt me. Not in bed. Not like this.

  "I'm sure," I whispered. "Rye, I want this. I want it to be you."

  I watched the struggle taking place behind his stormy gaze. Something else was holding him back. Finally he came out with it. "Annabelle said something to me on the phone. I have to know, Lauren. Is this … do you have … did you have … feelings for me back in Chicago?"

  My face must have turned scarlet. Feelings? Oh Jesus. He worried that I'd fall in love with him. He didn't know that "love" was not an option for someone like me.

  Playing the moment for all I was worth, I let my head fall back with a laugh. "Of course I did. You didn't know?"

  "Jesus. You were thirteen. How would I know that? You were a kid with a mouthful of braces."

  I winced at that oh-so-flattering portrait. "Listen, Rye. As you say, I was a kid. You were my first crush, yes. That was a very, very long time ago. But if it's a problem that I used to fantasize about you, I completely understand. We'll call this whole thing off."

  Those intense silver eyes examined every inch of my face. But I was a pro and maintained my nonchalant expression.

  "Rye?" I prompted him. "If we're done here, why don't you let me go and we'll get out of here?"

  He didn't let me go. Quite the opposite. He seemed to draw even closer, as if he was trying to see right into my soul. "You're not in love with me?"

  Talk fast, Lauren. Sell it. Make him believe.

  "To be honest, Rye, I'm not entirely sure what the phrase means. Yes, I used to have a massive crush on you. And now that you've so inconveniently appeared in my life, I'm wildly attracted to you. But my life is a bit crazy right now and believe me, falling in love is not on the menu."

  His eyebrows drew together. "Are you saying you're not in love with your fiancé?"

  Oops. Major alarm bells went off in my head. That was a misstep. I shouldn't have revealed anything about my true feelings. Rye was completely distracting me from my primary job.

  This had to stop.

  "Our relationship is complicated. I care for him deeply." All true. "But we don't have this kind of …" I waved my hand back and forth between us. "Whatever it is."

  The silence built between us. Tension rippled through Rye's muscles. He settled me closer on his lap, gathering me against his chest. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to bury myself inside you. But you have to promise me. Promise me I won't be hurting you." His soft murmurs tickled my ear lobe.

  "You worry too much, Rye. I'm a grown woman. You're a grown man. Let the past go. We're here right now. Naked. We both want each other." To support my case, I softly stroked his erection. It had subsided during our intense conversation, but at my touch it sprang back to life. He bent his head to watch. My hand looked so small against the heft of his shaft. The erotic sight made heat build inside me. I wrapped my fist around him and bent down to lick the thick smooth head of his cock.

  He groaned out loud. "You're not making this easy, Lauren."

  "Yes, I am. It's so easy. Easy as one, two, three. Easy as A, B, C." With my tongue, I drew numbers and letters across the tip. I lapped up a tiny droplet of pre-come. Even though I'd never had sex before, I had plenty of experience with everything else. I loved giving head, feeling a man tremble in my mouth. "I want you. You want me. What could be easier?"

  The time for my slow torture ran out. He rose to his feet, tossed me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, then plopped me on the bed. "You win. Legs apart, woman."

  I spread them eagerly. He bounced onto the mattress, right between my legs, and hauled my knees over his shoulders. With long, clever strokes with that masterful tongue, he quickly brought me right back to where I'd been before he'd found out I was a virgin. Wet, dripping, hot. My hips vibrated from the need to have him deep inside.

  "Please, Rye. Do it," I urged him. "Fuck me. I can't wait any more. Don't make me wait."

  This time, when he rose up, the hard muscles bunching in his arms, his eyes wild with lust, I wasn't afraid. He slid inside me as if filling me was his destiny. His cock seemed to swell even larger as he pushed forward, inch by slow inch. "Sweet Jesus," he groaned.

  "Oh my God." I held onto his broad shoulders as sweet sensation built inside me. "That feels so incredible."

  "You have no idea. You're so tight. Hot and tight and creamy and … Lauren, are you sure this doesn't hurt? You're so small."

  "No." I gulped. "It's you. You're so darn big."

  He laughed as if the act of laughing physically pained him. "I'm going to come. I can't help it." He arched his back to drag the base of his shaft against my clit and I was gone. Obliterated. I came with the power of ten thousand suns. He did too, based on the shout he let loose.

  And so I lost my virginity to Rye McAllister, twelve years after first setting eyes on him.

  11

  Rye

  It's never a good sign when the woman you've just made love to leaps out of bed in a straight-up panic.

  "What? What's wrong?"

  Lauren was dancing around on one foot while she tried to get her underwear on. "My phone was off. I just saw the time. It's nearly three!"

  "Yeah, well, time flies when you're losing your virginity."

  I still hadn't totally processed Lauren's surprising secret. Obviously, I'd had her pegged all wrong. Instead of a cunning seductress, she was a virgin. What else did I have wrong? I'd never met a more unpredictable girl. Where was our decadent afterglow? Our lazy post-sex discussion about how and where we'd fuck next? None of that for Lauren Blakewell Gallatin. Instead she was darting around the room in a full-fledged panic.

  "I can't think about that now. I was supposed to be somewhere at one! They're going to kill me."

  "They? Who's they?"

  "I mean Brian. It was his company luncheon and I was supposed to be there in fuchsia."

  "Fuchsia?"

  None of this made any sense. Lauren had just given her virginity to a man who wasn't her fiancé, and she was worried about a luncheon? And fuchsia? I wasn't even sure what that was, but it couldn't be as earth-shattering as what we'd just done.
>
  "Lauren, calm down. Brian seems like a pretty relaxed guy." Understatement of the year, if he was okay with his fiancée sleeping with someone else. "Just tell him you're running late."

  "You don't understand. Being late is not acceptable."

  "Okaaaay …" I swung my sated body out of bed and pulled on my briefs. "What do you need? I'll drive you wherever you need to go."

  "No." She pushed a fall of dark hair off her face. "You stay here. I'll catch a cab."

  "Lauren, talk to me. What's going on?"

  A flutter of her hand, a quick "text you later," and she was gone.

  I was alone with a full picnic basket and a limp dick.

  I hauled myself into the shower. As the hot water beat down on my back, I had to wonder what I was doing here in Washington. Aside from contributing big sums to the local hospitality economy, what had I accomplished? I'd located Lauren—still hadn't seen Bliss—but instead of exacting some kind of payback, I'd fallen into bed with her. And now that I'd been inside Lauren's sweet, hot body, I wanted to know everything about her. Every thought, feeling, memory, opinion.

  But she was more of a mystery than ever. So was Bliss. Bliss's story didn't match what I remembered, but I believed what Lauren said. They obviously didn't have a big nest egg leftover from Chicago.

  I checked out of the B&B and loaded my lonely picnic basket into the Maserati. I hooked up the Bluetooth system and punched Doug Berkowitz's number. Doug was my go-to investigator. I called him whenever I wanted to know the deep, dark secrets of a company I might invest in.

  "Hey, Doug. I need you to find out everything you can about Bliss and Lauren Blakewell. They also use the name '"Gallatin.'" Lauren is currently engaged to Brian Clayton, son of the senator."

  "This ain't my area of expertise. I don't investigate people." His familiar South Jersey accent filled the interior of the expensive sports car.

  "I know that. Just do your best. I want any lick of dirt you can find. If you can't find any, that'll say something right there."

  "That you're a paranoid bastard?"

  "Or maybe that they're even wilier than I thought."

  "This ain't related to some kind of romance, is it?"

  "Hell no." Romance? Last word I'd use.

  "Good. Cause I don't like coming between lovers."

  "We're not—" Well, we were lovers. "What are you, a romantic?"

  "It's bad juju gettin' in the middle of a love affair. My recommendation? Just talk to her. Be honest with her. There's no problem that can't be solved with honest communication."

  I punched the mute button so I could laugh without offending the guy. Doug was definitely showing a different aspect of his personality. Since when did my hard-nosed investigator have a Dr. Ruth side? And really … honest communication with the Blakewell women? Good luck with that. Yeah, I was a little disgusted with myself for secretly investigating the woman I was sleeping with. Not my style. I liked to be upfront about everything.

  And yet I had to. No matter how much I wanted her, she was still Bliss's daughter.

  I took off the mute. "Don't worry about it, Doug. Just call me tonight with whatever you have."

  "Talk to her, Rye. And if that doesn't work—"

  "Goodbye." I hung up as the light ahead of me turned red. I slowed to a stop. A homeless man with a hand-written "Hungry veteran, no money, please help" sign stood on the sidewalk of the intersection. His slumped shoulders signaled his desperation, his sense of defeat. One side of his face was paralyzed. Stroke victim?

  That thought hurtled me back in time to the age of sixteen.

  Oak Glen Rehabilitation Center. Room 15. My father sat crooked in his wheelchair. His attendant wiped drool off his face every few minutes. His stroke had taken away his speech and coordination.

  Don't expect him to understand much, the doctors had told me. It doesn't hurt to try, but don't get your hopes up. The severe damage to his brain had permanently impaired his cognition. My exuberant, bigger-than-life father, reduced to a dribbling mute … it was the worst thing I'd ever experienced.

  I didn’t totally believe the doctors, because of that R-U-N he’d traced on my hand. If he could do that, couldn’t he do more?

  But we didn’t have much time to find out because we’d made our plans. I visited him only one more time before we left. I wanted to tell him what we were doing, try one last time to communicate.

  As soon as the attendant left us alone, I sat on a rolling stool next to my dad. I gripped both his hands in mine as I explained our plan in a whisper, hoping he'd understand.

  " We love you, Papa, and we’re doing what you wanted. We're going to head west. There's a place Annabelle knows from riding camp. People she trusts. Annabelle, she has that sixth sense about people. So we held a vote and we all agreed. I'm not sure when we'll be back."

  He nodded. At least it looked like a nod. I wanted to cry, but I needed to show him I could be strong.

  "I wish you could explain what’s going on. Is it something Bliss did? I I ever see she again, she'll pay. She'll pay for what she did."

  He made a sound. I nearly fell off my stool. He never made sounds. "What is it, Papa? Is there something you want me to know?"

  He made another sound. A hiss. "Isssss," it sounded like.

  "Something about Bliss?"

  No response. I leaned closer, desperate to hear his voice again. "Papa, try again."

  "What are you doing?" The attendant, back from the bathroom, spun the wheelchair around so my father no longer faced me. "You aren't supposed to pressure him. It causes stress, which raises his blood pressure."

  I lost it. So close, but so fucking far. "You know what causes stress?" I yelled, out of control. "Having your father fucked over by a con woman!"

  The attendant, a huge Hispanic dude with a full sleeve of tattoos, hauled me to my feet. "Time's up, chico. You're out of here. Go on, get out."

  I blinked the memory away and found myself back the Maserati. I looked again at the homeless man. I put on my emergency brake, grabbed the picnic basket from the passenger seat and strode across two lanes of traffic. I handed the basket to him with a salute. "Thank you for your service," I told him. "There's plenty of food in there. Take care." I clapped him on the shoulder and booked it back to my car.

  As soon as the light turned, I hit the Maserati's accelerator hard. What had my father been trying to tell me that day? It was the last real communication I had with him. All this time, I'd assumed "issss" referred to Bliss.

  What if he meant something else? If so, what?

  I spent the rest of the afternoon brushing up on my sightseeing. The Lincoln Memorial, the White House, the Vietnam Memorial. I snapped photos for Alison Parker, who loved gardening. For Ben, an Army vet, I made sure to document every moment of my trip to the Vietnam Memorial. I texted Annabelle a photo of a policeman on horseback. I picked up some salt water taffy for Elijah, who had the most ridiculous sweet tooth ever seen in a heterosexual male. These touristy activities kept me grounded in my real life—my Texas life. This was Lauren's world, a place where engaged couples followed strange rules, and where nothing was ever what it seemed at first.

  I looked for a present for Sunny too. For some reason, it felt like cheating. Which was ridiculous. Sunny and I had the perfect, attachment-free relationship. Lauren and I had … I didn't even know how to fill in that blank. I shrugged it off and dipped into a series of souvenir shops until I found the perfect gift.

  Patriotic condoms decorated with stars and stripes.

  Sunny would laugh her ass off. She wouldn't attach any meaning to that gift. And we'd enjoy the hell out of it.

  Or would we?

  When I tried to imagine having sex with Sunny again, my brain short-circuited and all I saw was Lauren's curtain of dark hair tumbling over her creamy skin. The mole just below her hipbone. The sensual arch of her back. The deep crimson of her peaked nipples.

  Oh, hell.

  I made it back to the Colonial in time for
the evening news, and that's when I saw Lauren again.

  Once again, she filled my TV screen. Seriously, we had to stop meeting like that. I had a moment of déjà vu. Tex Mex Grill. Sawdust and sticky floor. The fumes of hops spiraling from my just-opened bottle of ale.

  A young black reporter spoke into the camera. "Senator Clayton is taking a break from the campaign trail to spend time with his newly engaged son and daughter-in-law to-be. His chances of reelection now look solid, thanks in part to the efforts of this photogenic duo. Voters are fascinated by their romance and by Lauren's resemblance to Kate Middleton. Like Kate, she comes from a non-political background. As a teacher's aide, she has the summer off, and is using that time to devote to the Clayton campaign. When asked for her plans after the wedding, she had this to say."

  The camera focused on Lauren's alluring face. "Brian and I have discussed it and decided to leave all options open. When the time comes, we'll see what's best for our family. I love my career, but of course family comes first."

  Our family.

  Oh, those words rubbed me wrong. Family comes first? What about my family? The one she and Bliss had destroyed? And hang on a red-hot second … was she planning to have children with that guy? Of course she was. Why wouldn't she?

  The camera panned to Brian Clayton. He wore the appropriate proud smile, but I noticed his body was angled away from Lauren. Body language is a lot harder to fake than smiles. His stiff posture told me he wasn't happy with his beautiful fiancée.

  As the camera panned back to the reporter, Brian grabbed Lauren's wrist to lead her away somewhere. I saw her wince sharply.

  The moment passed so quickly I could have imagined it. Except that I didn't. I'd just spent the afternoon in bed with Lauren and I'd seen a hundred different expressions cross her face. Brian had hurt her when he took her wrist. Maybe not on purpose. I couldn't tell. Maybe her wrist was already injured. Either way, I had to make sure she was okay.