Taken by Storm

by Tamara Mataya

  “What about Wallace?” Leila smiled at the older woman’s blush.

  “He’s fine.” Her eyes twinkled. “And how’s your man?”

  “What man?” Kyle’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t have one,” Leila answered, guilt and regret creeping in again, tainting the moment.

  “Ah, honey. I was sure you’d end up together.”

  “End up with who?” Kyle asked.

  “Overprotective much?” Leila threw a mock glare at him, secretly glad something hadn’t changed. She turned back to Ronna and lowered her voice so only Ronna could hear. “We were never a thing. And even if we’d had a chance, I screwed up.” And he got hurt. He deserves better.

  “There’s very rarely a mistake that can’t be fixed with a sincere apology, and actions to back it up.”

  “Maybe.” But Leila doubted it.

  ***

  She shouldn’t have had the cake as well as the three cups of coffee for dessert. Too much sugar and caffeine cascaded through her central nervous system, making her jittery despite her fatigue. Ronna had stayed and eaten with her family. Wallace joined them too, and it was clear they were an item. It made Leila’s heart happy to see them in love and completely doting on each other. They seemed to sense she didn’t want to talk about her experiences that day, so they stuck to after the flood stories.

  Out of sorts, Leila returned to her room shortly after nine. Her concentration was for shit, and she threw her e-Reader back into her suitcase after not being able to focus on a single word she’d read. Instead of providing a much-needed distraction, the movie channel mocked her, showing horror films about bodies of water and large predators. As if she hadn’t had enough water to last a lifetime. Where was the special about the desert when she needed one?

  After flipping the power off, she tossed the remote onto the foot of the bed and went to the bathroom. No point going online on her laptop. She’d done that while evacuated and gotten into an argument of epic proportions with some assholes who weren’t from Silver Springs, and who’d said the town deserved what it got because it flooded all the time. As if the townspeople could have predicted the disaster that had happened. Not wanting her head to pop off from the high blood pressure, she decided real life was better than online.

  At least you can throat punch someone being an asshole when they do it in front of you. Internet trolls were a species she wished would all crawl back under whatever hole they’d sprung out of. Angry at the memory, she changed into her pajama pants and tank top and brushed her teeth. The anger stopped her from thinking too closely about Ryan, remembering how he’d told her he loved her, wishing she’d have said it back so he knew.

  A gentle knock at the door. She spit out her toothpaste and rinsed. “Hang on!” She put her toothbrush back into her toiletry bag and headed for the door.

  She pulled it open, polite smile on her lips, and clutched the doorframe to support her suddenly shaky legs.

  “Hello, Leila.”

  She swallowed hard, nerves turning her stomach into an Ouroboros, trying to consume itself as she looked up into his dark blue eyes. “Hi, Ryan.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She stood still as a statue, holding the doorknob, her eyes killing his carefully rehearsed speech. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sounds came out for an embarrassing amount of time. Finally, she put him out of his misery and spoke.

  “Come in?”

  He stepped past her and stood a few feet away from the bed. “I know you said it’s better for both of us if we’re not together. But that’s bullshit. Please just let me talk, I need to say this.” She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He continued. “It’s not your fault. None of it.” He paced the room, unable to sit still. “I was drowning before the flood, and I didn’t even care enough to swim. I wasn’t living, I was burning time. Floundering in the empty waste my life had become.” He moved in front of her and knelt so they were eye to eye. “You pulled me out of it, just by being you. Just by taking me by the hand that night and pulling me into your life.” He ran his fingers through her hair, and she didn’t push him away—she pressed closer to his hand, and hope bloomed in his chest. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me, I know how much you hate this town and I couldn’t expect you to stay. Not just for me. Blaming yourself, using that as the reason we can’t be together so you can punish yourself is so wrong. You’re denying yourself happiness. But you’re denying me happiness too. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Maybe I read everything all wrong and that was your way of letting me down gently. But I have to tell you how I feel.” His face burned, but if he didn’t lay it all out there, he’d regret it forever.

  “The town’s grown on me since the flood. Maybe it’s not a bad thing to know all your neighbors. Seeing how everyone has pulled together has made me feel better about Silver Springs.” Her voice was as small as her smile.

  He trailed his hand down her shoulder and arm. “You drive me crazy. You’re bossy and headstrong, and your temper is a real pain in my ass.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but he pressed on, grabbing her hands. “You’re perfect. You’re smart and strong and so full of passion I don’t know how your tiny body contains it all.” He struggled against the emotions that made his voice husky. “You’re everything I never knew I needed, and everything I ever wanted.” He pulled a small, green velvet box from his back pocket, and Leila gasped. “I know it seems sudden, impulsive even, but all I’ve done since we crashed into each other again, is think about you. You’ve sucked all the color from my world, and made everything boring without you.” Her silence was killing him. “I’m asking you to marry me. To spend the rest of your life letting me love you with everything I have in me. I hope you feel the same, and want to be my wife. But if you don’t, if you aren’t interested,” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, nervous and agitated. “I know I’ll spend the rest of my life hoping to find someone who feels for me the way I feel about you.”

  She was silent a long moment. “Can I see it?”

  The seriousness in her voice scared him more than her silence. She was putting import on his choice, and he was suddenly terrified he’d fucked up by choosing something that bucked tradition.

  The hinge made a small creak as he opened it and held it out to her.

  “What is it?” She reached out and delicately touched it with a fingertip.

  “Fire opal.” It was a dark blue, and reminded him of the flood that had brought them together. But when you moved it, the light picked up bright fiery highlights of green, orange, and yellow, as if it was lit with fire from within. The stone had reminded him of Leila. It was oval, and surrounded by a delicate diamond-crusted pattern in the platinum band that reminded him of a lei.

  Her eyes were serious, and she sighed. “Ryan … ”

  His heart dropped to the floor, and his eyes followed. At least he’d asked, and put himself out there. He’d never regret that.

  She tipped his head up to meet his eyes with her own. “Aren’t you going to put it on me?”

  “What?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, then smiled radiantly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the smile from her lips. When he couldn’t suppress his own happy grin, he pulled back and gently pressed his forehead to hers. “God, I love you, Leilani Spencer.”

  He slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. He was still admiring it when she threw herself into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “I love you too, Ryan Benton. But I go by Leila now.” She nibbled a trail down his jaw and breathed into his ear. Every muscle in his body tightened at once, and he stood with her clinging to him, legs making a shapely belt. She worked his earlobe with her teeth, and he ran his hands up her thighs to her ass, and was rewarded with a sigh.

  She was here, she was safe, and she was his.

  And he was hers.

  He pulled her tank top off, smilin
g to see she wore no bra underneath. Her nipples peaked and hardened beneath his thumbs. He needed to be closer. He’d hoped but truly never thought she’d agree to marry him, and had been running under the assumption he’d say his piece, be rejected, and never get to see her again—especially after she rejected him on the lawn.

  She relaxed her legs and slid down his body without him saying a word, running hands down his chest, first overtop then underneath the fabric of his shirt. He removed it when she looked him in the eyes and tugged at it once. He’d barely taken it off when her hands moved down his back, and swooped down to clench his ass, and pull him closer.

  He was already hard, straining against the confines of his jeans, but she reached between them and rubbed him, making it both better and worse. He planted his feet wider, and teased her pants down her hips and legs, letting gravity take over while he kissed a trail down her torso, kneeling in front of her again, this time not speaking.

  He didn’t stop moving his mouth against her until she moaned, “yes,” again and again. He slid two fingers inside her, rubbing her g-spot, so she had something to clench around when she came a moment later.

  Then he laid her on the bed and stretched out above, propped on his elbows, drinking the sight of her in.

  She reached up and kissed him, and pressed a hand on his back. “Put your weight on me.”

  Another moan when he complied. He gritted his teeth. “You’re doing me in, and I’m not even inside you yet.” Her skin was impossibly warm beneath the hand he used to trace the planes of her body, thigh to ribs and back again.

  “Why is that? It’s been weeks.”

  “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”

  “Neither did I,” she said softly. “Not until you knocked on the door. But I feel like I’ve always been waiting for you.”

  “No one’s gotten under my skin like you. I can’t get you out. And I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want you out of me either.” Her eyes darkened with the wicked grin that stole over her features. She wiggled her hips and wrapped her legs around him again. “Starting now?”

  God, he loved when she talked dirty.

  But he loved it more when she couldn’t talk at all.

  ***

  He cradled her face and kissed her. Deeply, slowly, then pushed her back and nestled between her legs. The look in his eyes melted her to the bed. So much love, need, and want. Her every argument to send him away had dissolved when she’d opened the door and seen him there. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Ryan. Her Ryan, after all these years.

  One thrust and all thoughts were obliterated from her mind except, “more.”

  He held her so close, brushing her lips with his, tracing feathery lines on her skin. It was a deliciously stark contrast to how hard and deep he plunged inside her, shaking the bed with the power of his thrusts. She shifted her hips to a more severe angle, and Ryan and she both cried out at the sensation of new places being stroked, and touched deep inside.

  An electric tingle spread from where he gripped her hip. “God, Leila, you feel so—”

  “Amazing!” she finished. “You feel so,” her last word turned to a moan as he reached and rubbed her clit while devastating her with his hips. His other hand joined in the sensory overload and found her breast, massaging and kneading, playing with her nipples. Then his mouth was on hers and he was sitting up with her on his lap, buried deep inside.

  “Wanted to hold you tighter,” he explained, tightening his arms around her, stroking her back hard, but not hard enough. She held him as close as she could, laying her head in the nook, pressing her face to his neck, breathing in the warm masculine scent that hit her straight between the legs.

  “Love it.” She’d never done it in this position, but it was her new favorite. His hips rubbed the insides of her legs, still wrapped around him. His thighs moved beneath her ass, his arms around her back, hands sliding up and down. Their chests were pressed together, his hard muscles gliding against her soft curves. He was inside her and all around her, and she’d never been touched this much at once.

  And he rocked them at a lazy, sensual pace as though they’d be joined together forever. Heat and pleasure built between them, the stimulation of so much skin on skin spiraling them to impossible heights until every thrust grew faster, more desperate, and soon they were frantically grinding together, kisses running nearly too deep to breathe, eyes open and on each other, hips bucking and rocketing at a frenzied pace toward release.

  And when they got there, it was with sighs and pleasure on the verge of relief, to have bared it all and been taken in by the other. Leila knew this man would protect and shelter her no matter what storms came into their future. He was the one. And she’d do her damnedest to keep him safe as well.

  They kissed and caressed, hands lazily exploring, getting to know any inch that had been neglected. Soon, it led to another round of lovemaking. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  After, they lay content facing each other, discussing plans for the future—now not a question of his and hers, but theirs. Their future. “I’m thinking of getting back into writing.”

  “No way!” Ryan’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Me too!”

  She glared at him and he burst out laughing. “Couldn’t resist.”

  “Always copying me.” She smacked his shoulder, and he pulled her hand to his mouth, flipping it to lay a gentle kiss to her palm.

  “What will you write about?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I want to make something beautiful. Something important.”

  “You will. Maybe you could write our story.”

  “No one wants to hear that.”

  “Jazz it up a little. Maybe in the story, you were a paramedic who rescued me from a grizzly accident.”

  “And you were the sexy damsel in distress.” She grinned while possibilities played through her imagination. “Maybe. But I can’t write our story yet.”

  “Why not?” He turned off the lamp, smoothed her hair, and tucked her back against his chest, spooning her.

  “Because our story is just beginning.” She yawned, completely sated, and sleepy. It was sudden, but he knew her, and she knew his heart. He was a great man and they loved each other. They’d been through hell together and made it through—because they were able to be each other’s rock in the crisis.

  If the ring had been something generic and beautiful, no matter how expensive, she’d have told him no. Well, maybe not no, but she’d have wanted to date for a while first to be sure. The ring choice showed he knew her. It was perfect, and she couldn’t have designed something more her if she’d had a month to do it. She rolled over and, cradled in Ryan’s arms, slept better than she had in weeks.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  All of the stories in this book are true, or based on things that happened to myself, or the people in the town I live in, High River, Alberta, Canada, on June 20th 2013. Much worse happened, and I hope readers understand that these were people’s lives, though fictionalized. This book is my way of creating a reminder to the best and worst of that day, and the days and weeks that followed. People still aren’t back in their homes, some 18 months later. No stories are forgotten.

  Thanks and gratitude to Georgia McBride and everyone at Swoon Romance for letting me tell this story that is so important to my heart.

  Thanks and BIG LOVE to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, and everyone at the Seymour Agency.

  Jessa ‘E.T.’ Russo. What can I say that hasn’t been said before? During the flood, you did more for me than anyone else, restoring hope, springing to action, and making me cry tears of gratitude on more than one occasion at a time when I didn’t know if I had a home to go back to. You’re one of my favourite writers, best friends, and my first Crit Partner. I love you.

  Amber Tuscan-Clites, Heather Griffin, Brandi Lynch, and Cait Peterson. You’re my usual suspects. You make me better and are always there for everything, like a safety
net of love, support, and TWSS jokes. I hope you feel the same, and I’m honoured that you still reply to my many neurotic messages. :)

  Thanks to Tristina Wright for the always thoughtful critique, and to Carrie Bastyr and Angie McLain for their helpful notes.

  To my NAturals girls for keeping it real, keeping it tight, and keeping me. I love you all more than flipping tables.

  To my friends in “real life” who understand when I gasp and run for my laptop I’m ignoring them for good reasons.

  To my Dad, who now knows the difference between ‘Porn Queen’ and ‘Smut Writer’ and is no longer bragging to people that I’m the former.

  To my Mum, who is NOT into this genre, but reads my books anyway.

  To my husband, who learned that his wife is not a delicate flower in an emergency, when she came home with someone else’s blood on her hands on June 20th 2013. <3

  To my brother, Bruce, for being another kind of hero after the flood. Rebuilding peoples’ homes, and fixing things other people fucked up is an amazing gift. What you do is so important. I hope you know how appreciated you are.

  TAMARA MATAYA

  Amazon international bestselling author of THE BEST LAID PLANS and JUST BREATHE

  Tamara Mataya is currently a librarian; she lurked there for so long recommending books to patrons and shushing people, that she suspects they only hired her so it would be less creepy. Now she’s armed with a name tag, and a thin veneer of credibility. She’s also a musician with synaesthesia – which isn't an issue until someone plays a wrong note, which makes her want to squirm inside out. It makes for a good live show.