by Zena Wynn
Ryan’s Obsession
By
Zena Wynn
© 2019
A Real Love Enterprises Publication
ISBN 978-0-9986472-7-2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Ryan’s Obsession
Copyright © 2019 by Zena Wynn
Cover art: Shirley Burnett
Editor: Vivienne Williams
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Ryan's Obsession
Gwen Riley is my former partner's widow and the object of my obsession. I've waited two long years for her heart to heal. Waited for a sign she was ready to allow another man into her life. I positioned myself to be the one she turned to and what did she do? Go out on a date with another man. Before tonight is over, my lovely lady will learn what I've always known—she belongs to me.
Prologue
Ryan
I sat in the corner of the crowded restaurant, gaze locked on the object of my obsession. She sat across the room, blithely unaware of my presence, her attention captured by her date. The man appeared attentive to her every word. Occasionally, his gaze would dip to the brown skin revealed by the neckline of her dress. When she leaned forward, as she was doing now, the swell of her breasts showed. It was tastefully done, but I still wanted to throat punch him.
Gwen Riley, my former partner’s widow, was beautiful. Some might consider her hips too wide or her stomach too round. They’d be fools. She had soul deep, laughing brown eyes that could see into the heart of a man. Her plump lips were quick to smile, and her laughter could make the birds sing. She was my bohemian gypsy.
For the last two years, I’d been insinuating myself deeper into her life. Since John’s death, I called several times a week, making sure she had everything she needed. Once a week, I stopped by to take care of the yard work or any odd jobs that needed doing around the house. I wrangled an invitation to dinner at least twice a month. In short, I’d become even more of a fixture in her home.
This whole time I’d been the perfect friend, waiting for some sign, some indication that Gwen was ready to move past her grief and live again. I wasn’t waiting any more. It was time to stake my claim.
Chapter One
Gwen
It felt good to be out of the house. To be out on a date and see appreciation and admiration in a man’s eyes again. Tonight, I wasn’t John’s widow or JT’s mom. I was an attractive woman worthy of desire. Too bad I couldn’t quell the voice in my head screaming, “He’s the wrong man!” long enough to enjoy it.
Troy Haddish was nice. Two months ago, he’d cashed in a groupon deal for three severely discounted massages at my yoga and massage studio. After his massage package ended, he’d joined a biweekly yoga session. Three weeks ago, Troy had invited me out for a post workout drink at the smoothie bar next door. I’d accepted. That invitation had led to more friendly conversation, and here we were tonight, on our first date.
Troy was a divorced father of two who worked as a bank manager. His looks were exotic, African-American mixed with what looked to be Indian. By Indian, I don’t mean Native American. His complexion leaned more toward olive than brown, his nose was a trifle large for his face, and his body was lean but muscular. I wouldn’t call him handsome. Neither would I deem him ugly. He was somewhere in between.
My husband, John, had been handsome. His mother was Cuban, and his father was African-American. My husband’s complexion had been a few shades lighter than mine and he had gray—I kid you not—eyes. He’d always appeared younger than his actual age, a trait that served him well during his tenure working undercover with the local police department. Being bilingual had also been a plus.
John had enjoyed his assignment with the police department’s gang unit. Despite growing up in suburbia and having a master’s degree in criminology, the man could play ’hood rat with the best of them. To him, it had all been a game. Ironically, it hadn’t been a gangbanger that had killed my husband. It was a disturbing the peace call to a house in suburbia that had caused his death.
He and his partner, Ryan, had unknowingly interrupted a homicide in progress. The homeowner had answered the door with the gun still in his hand. When he’d spotted my husband, he’d opened fire. John had died at the scene. Though wounded, Ryan had managed to return fire, put down my husband’s killer, and call for help.
Once again, I yanked my thoughts back from lanes they should never have traveled, not if I were truly ready to move forward. Pasting a smile on my face, I leaned forward in my seat and gave Troy my full attention.
Thirty minutes later, I set my napkin down on my plate and declined dessert. “This was nice, Troy. I really enjoyed myself. Thank you for inviting me.”
He smiled brilliantly, showing plenty of teeth. “I’m glad. Does this mean you’d be willing to go out with me again?”
Withholding a sigh, I rested my forearm on the recently cleared table and propped my chin on my hand. “Did I mention that I’m a widow, and that coming here with you was my first date since my husband died?”
“You did,” he confirmed with a nod. “He was a policeman who died in the line of duty, a little over two years ago. Tough act to follow.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I gave a little shrug. “I thought I was ready to date, but as interesting as I find you, it was a struggle to keep my mind on the here and now. I don’t know if going out again would be fair to you.”
Troy reached out and took my free hand in his. “While I can’t say I’m happy to hear that, it’s only to be expected, isn’t it? The first few dates I went on after my wife and I divorced, I spent most of the night comparing the women to my ex. It’s a natural progression. I’m willing to give it another try if you are.”
I smiled, letting my amusement show. “You’re saying you’re willing to be my romantic guinea pig?”
Displeasure flashed briefly in his narrowed eyes before Troy chuckled softly. “I don’t know if I’d call it that, but you have to start somewhere. Why not with me?”
Examining him closely, I exhaled softly. “In that case, yes I’d love to go out with you again. However, keep in mind, I’m not ready for a lover. So, if you’re holding on for sex, don’t. If dating is tougher than I thought, there’s no way I’m ready to get naked.” I felt it only fair to warn him.
Troy squeezed my hand. “How about we concentrate on being friends and let the rest work itself out?”
Unwilling to rush into anything, I gave the question a few seconds thought before responding. “I’d like that.”
“Consider it done. You ready?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet
/>
“Yes.” I grabbed my purse as he picked up the bill.
We walked to the cashier station where he paid for our meal before escorting me outside. I’d driven my own vehicle. After being married to a cop for over twelve years, I knew better than to give a strange man my address. I unlocked the car door and then paused in the open doorway for a final goodbye. “Thanks again. See you in class tomorrow?”
“Sure. If not, I’ll give you a call.” He stepped closer. “If I may?”
Realizing he was asking permission to kiss me, I gave a short nod and held still. With the car door between us, Troy cupped my face with both hands, leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I waited for something to happen—guilt for betraying my husband, lust after so long of a sexual abstinence, anything. Instead, all I felt was the warm press of flesh against flesh.
To Troy’s credit, the kiss only lasted long enough to push the boundaries of friendship. He didn’t try to insert his tongue in my mouth or coax me to give him mine. It was a perfect first kiss.
As we separated, he studied my face. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
He released me and retreated a step. “Be safe driving home and send me a text to let me know you’ve arrived.”
“All right.” I climbed in the car and closed the door. After a final wave, I backed out of the parking space and headed home. As I drove, I reflected on the kiss. Though pleasant, there’d been no sizzle of sexual chemistry. It had simply been a nice kiss from a nice man.
Maybe I’d expected too much. It wasn’t like I was looking for the love of my life. I’d had that in John. We’d been friends as well as lovers. We’d played together, fought together, cried together. No one understood me the way he had, and no one could irk my nerves quicker. I thought we’d have forever.
The devastation of John’s death had faded to a nagging ache. I’d gotten used to my empty bed. I no longer replayed his last few voicemails just to hear his voice again and had finally deleted his text messages from my phone’s history. Little by little, I’d pulled my life together. Not for my sake, but for our son’s.
The hopeful mood in which I’d left my home two hours earlier had morphed into the semi-depressed state that had become my constant companion. I pulled into my driveway and exited the car, giving serious thought to calling my sister and telling her I was coming to collect JT. One thing stopped me. I couldn’t continue to use my son as a crutch.
With a heavy sigh, I trudged to my front door, key in hand. The sound of a vehicle coming to a stop in front of my house had me turning with curiosity. At the sight of the black Ford truck, all of the palpitations and heat missing with Troy flooded my system.
My husband’s former partner, Ryan, exited the cab and slammed the door closed. As he stalked across the yard, I forced myself to breathe. He wore form-fitting dark jeans that outlined muscular thighs. A dark t-shirt molded to bulging pectorals and revealed a hint of the tribal tattoo on his right shoulder and bicep.
Ryan wasn’t one of those cops who let himself go. He believed his body was a weapon and exercised it accordingly. From John, I knew in addition to being an expert marksman, Ryan was proficient in several forms of martial arts. Simply put, the man was lethal.
As he drew closer, I found my voice. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Is something wrong?”
Chapter Two
Ryan
It felt like steam poured from my ears and nostrils. She’d allowed another man to put his hands on her. To taste what belonged to me. That wouldn’t be tolerated.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, not even bothering to keep the growl out of my voice.
Her eyes widened, but she obediently slid the key into the lock and opened the door. I herded her inside, then shut and locked the door behind me. Glancing around, I asked, “Where’s JT?”
“He’s with Donna for the weekend. Ryan, what’s wrong? You’re not acting like yourself.” She placed her purse on the couch and slipped out of her heels.
Secure in the familiarity of our long friendship, Gwen reached up and released her hair from the purple bandana she’d used to contain the mass of curls. Next, she removed the dangling gold earrings and set them on the side table.
“Where were you tonight?” I demanded, wondering if she’d tell me the truth.
Eyes widening, her lips curved down in a small frown. “I went on a date.”
“A date,” I repeated grimly. “With whom?”
“A guy I met at my studio.” Her hands landed on her hips as her frown became a scowl. “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?” I said, prowling toward her.
Eyeing me warily, she retreated slowly from my advance. “Like some kind of jealous lover.”
“Is that how I’m acting?” I matched her step for step.
“Yes.” Her butt hit one of the bar stools lined up against the kitchen counter that served as a room divider.
Placing a hand on either side of her, I gripped the countertop as I hemmed her in. She arched to keep distance between us as I leaned in close. “Because I am. Why didn’t you tell me you were ready to begin dating?”
Gwen rested her hands lightly on my chest and subtly applied pressure. “It wasn’t any of your business. Back up. You’re too close.”
The heat of anger flushed my skin. “Wrong. Everything you do is my business.”
Fire lit her eyes and her chin rose. “Since when?”
I lowered my face until it was inches from hers as I snarled, “Since always.”
“That’s crazy. You aren’t my keeper,” she snapped.
“No. I’m more.” I caught her by the arms, crushed her to me, and slammed my mouth on hers. Her taste rushed to my head like the finest liquor. Groaning, I dropped one hand to her full hips and pulled her close enough to feel how hard I was for her.
Three years. It had been three years since I’d last held her, tasted her. Now she was mine. There was nothing standing in our way.
Ripping herself loose from my embrace, she stormed to the center of the living room before turning to face me, hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I felt my eyebrow rise. She had to ask? “Claiming what’s mine.”
That defiant little chin rose again in challenge. “I don’t belong to you. Why would you even think that? We’re friends. Nothing more.”
I laughed, but there was nothing humorous about it. I knew she’d try to fight me on this. It’s why I’d been so patient. “We’re more than friends. Lie to yourself if you must, but don’t try it with me.”
She glared at me. I met her stare, my determination clear. If she was finally ready to move past John’s death, she could damn well face what was between us.
After a few tense moments, Gwen dropped her gaze and rubbed her arms. “Look, Ryan. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and JT. You’ve been a good friend. JT couldn’t ask for a better godfather. I know you promised John you’d look out for me and you have. But this? You’re taking duty to the brotherhood too far.”
Is that what she thought? That I saw her as some type of duty? “Gwen, look at me.”
When she complied, I said, “John has nothing to do with this. Everything I do, I do for you. I love you, and when you’ve adjusted to the idea, I plan to marry you.”
Her eyes widened as she shook her head violently. “No. That’s not happening. You’re John’s partner. I’m his widow. That’s all there is between us. All there will ever be.”
“We both know that’s not true.” I pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor. “Before tonight is over with, I’ll prove it to you.”
Chapter Three
Gwen
I swallowed hard as his bulging biceps and rippling abdominal muscles sprang into full view. He had a trio of circular tats covering his right pectoral, shoulder, and bicep muscles. I’d asked once what it symbolized and he’d just smiled. His perpetual five o’clock shadow and spiky hai
r gave him a bad boy look that weakened my knees. Like my husband, Ryan had no problems convincing criminals he was one of them.
I snapped out of my lust-filled trance when he unzipped his jeans. “What are you doing?” God, I sounded like a ninny, but the man was stealing my wits.
“Undressing. Don’t worry. I’ll help you catch up.” He smiled as he shoved his jeans down his legs. No man should look this sexy while matter-of-factly removing his pants, shoes, and socks.
Ryan straightened, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs that revealed his straining erection. Long and thick, it almost escaped the confines of the cotton. I wanted my hands and mouth on it in the worst way, and that desire sent guilt crashing through me.
Turning, I walked to the window and braced one hand on its edge. The blinds were cracked, allowing me to see a portion of the street outside if I squinted past the glare of the interior light reflected on the glass. “I’m not having sex with you. I won’t betray John.”
I felt the heat of his body behind mine right before he touched me. He gripped my hips with his hands, leaned in close, and murmured in my ear, “John’s the one who invited me into your bed.”
As if I could ever forget. I closed my eyes against the memories flooding me. Memories I’d spent years trying to suppress. Me, on my hands and knees on the king-sized hotel mattress. My husband standing in front of me with one hand cupping my jaw as his other squeezed and pulled on my nipple. John’s thick cock sliding between my lips as he fucked my mouth. Ryan kneeling on the bed behind me, slowly plowing my pussy as he strummed my clit.
A birthday present, John had called it. Something to satisfy my curiosity and provide firsthand research on the book I was writing. I should have said no. I should have been mad as hell at the suggestion. Instead, I’d let hormones overrule common sense.