But she didn’t leave. She sat right next to him, her knees still curled up so they pressed against his side, her kneecaps practically in his armpits. She touched him, briefly, softly brushing the hair over his ears.
His breath escaped his chest in a rush.
“That must have sucked,” she said.
Words beyond him, he nodded.
“Do you think this is going to hurt your campaign?”
“Yes. But mostly I think it’s going to hurt her. It’s going to open her up to all kinds of pain.”
“Well, that’s unavoidable, isn’t it? She’s in love, and that’s kind of what love does.”
“My family doesn’t do love, Ryan.”
“Nonsense. You just said your sister loves this Brody guy. And you clearly love your sister.”
He jerked away from her touch, frustrated and uncomfortable.
“How was the luncheon?” he asked, changing subjects. “Did they serve the peach cobbler?”
“How’d you know?” She laughed.
“They always serve it. It’s famous.”
“It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had. I ate nearly every serving at the table.”
“I’m glad you’re eating. How … how was the doctor?”
He could not hide his interest and she sat back slightly, as if that interest were slightly repellant. Or perhaps just totally unexpected. Oh, man, that’s where he was with her.
She was surprised that he would be interested in the results of her doctor’s appointment.
And he was too much of a coward to try and change that impression, in fear that she didn’t want him to be interested.
“He said now that my appetite is back, I need to concentrate on gaining the weight I lost.”
“Did he say everything else was good?”
“I’m officially ten weeks, they count from my last period, not when we had sex and I heard the heartbeat.”
“Really?”
She smiled at him because his voice had kind of cracked. “I go for an ultrasound in a few weeks.”
Ask me, he thought. Please ask me.
“Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes. I would.”
She smiled, and then he did, and it didn’t feel awkward at all to touch her. He squeezed her hand, the smooth skin of her palm against his. She wore a loose shirt, the sleeve coming off her shoulder, and he imagined sliding his hand up her arm. To that velvet place at her elbow. Higher, to the curve of her shoulder; his fingers would find the edges and ridges of the muscles there. And then across her chest, the fluted collarbone under his fingers, the flat of his palm just touching that tender skin at the tops of her breasts.
Between his memory and his desire he could feel the pound of her heart under his hand, hear the hitch of her breath in his ear. He found himself bending, turning toward her, his arm reaching across the back of the couch as if he could just pull her against him. Into him.
It was what he wanted; at this moment he wanted it more than he wanted anything else.
But he was a Montgomery, doomed to live a rather incomplete life.
And he’d signed a contract promising he would not expect this of her. That sex would not enter into this arrangement.
And how could he deny his sister this and take it for himself?
“How did things go with Mother?” he asked, pulling his thoughts away from sex with the surest device at his disposal: a conversation involving his parents.
“Maybe you should have another drink,” she said in a dry voice.
His head shot up. “How bad was it?”
“It’s not selling-weapons-to-bad-guys bad, but it’s not good, either.”
“Just tell me.”
“Your mother is looking for Paul.”
“Your ex? Why?”
She shrugged. “Leverage against me? Who knows what she’s thinking.”
He groaned and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. She touched his back, one long stroke along his spine, and then she stopped and he wanted to beg her to do it again. He wanted to pick her up and pull her into his lap, forget the alcohol, forget his family, forget the thousands of ways everything could fall apart tomorrow and just … breathe her in.
“Noelle told me. She said I should have a plan for when this is over.”
“Didn’t it just start? We’ve been married less than two weeks.”
Her smile was sad. Grim, nearly.
It took a surprising amount of courage, it really did, for him to reach over and touch her hand. To gather her fingers in his. He expected with every breath for her to pull away. To sit back on the far side of the couch or to stand, leaving him alone in this dark room with his dark thoughts.
And he didn’t want that.
If this was taking advantage, he wanted that. Whatever it took to try and feel better. That’s how despicable he was. He didn’t care.
“I think … I think I’m going to go back to school,” she said to the blanket in her lap. “Take some college courses.”
“Really?”
“I’d like … well, I don’t know what I’d like. But I’m interested in psychology, and there are some night classes at Georgia Tech that I can take.”
“I think that’s a great idea. And you have most of the textbooks.”
She laughed, and he was so stupidly pleased to have made her laugh. “I’ll save so much money.”
Money. He sobered, his stomach bottoming out for the hundredth time tonight. “I can’t send you to school right now.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she said. “I’ll get financial aid—”
“You won’t qualify. Not anymore. Not as my wife.”
“Oh.” She sank a little farther into the couch. “I didn’t think about that.”
He couldn’t have predicted what came out of his mouth. For all his scrupulous plans for so many years, things had been going batshit wrong in his life lately, so it shouldn’t have been all that surprising when he opened his mouth and just told her the absolute truth.
“I’m … I’m broke, Ryan. I mean, like … I’ve got nothing. Between the campaign, getting my sister out of Somalia, and the stuff we set up for your family—I have nothing left. I’m running on credit. And that is truly about to run out.”
She turned wide eyes toward him. “Are you kidding?”
“It won’t be like this forever; it’s temporary. When the election’s over and I’m back at work—”
“What about the private jet?”
“My parents’.”
“Your car?”
“The contract was paid; when it runs out, it’s over.”
Her dark level eyes just stared at him and he didn’t know what she was thinking. But he’d never been broke before and he was amazed at how guilty it made him feel. Like he’d done something wrong.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “You’re just never quite what you seem, are you? I have some money saved. I’ll see where that gets me.”
They sat there in heavy silence for a long time. “Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I think for a guy surrounded by so many people, you seem awfully alone a lot of the time.”
He imagined climbing the stairs to his bedroom with her. He imagined undressing in the half-dark and sliding under the sheets where he would find her, warm and welcoming, and he would pull her close, close enough that he could feel through their skin, their bones and muscles, the beating of her heart.
Sex wasn’t part of the fantasy; they were entirely too estranged for that. And he couldn’t shake this sense that he was taking advantage of her. But he imagined comfort. A hand in the darkness. Warmth where he was cold.
She stood, gathering her blanket and her laptop, and he knew the reality would be him taking those stairs alone. Climbing into his cold bed alone. Staring at the ceiling alone and thinking of her.
He grabbed her hand, pressing it quickly to his
lips just to taste her, because though he could not imagine how they would get to his bedroom, it didn’t mean he didn’t long for it with every cell in his body.
“Stay with me,” he whispered. To his utter astonishment, he begged. “For just a little while. Just a little while longer.”
He held his breath waiting for her to make up her mind. Wondering why every quiet moment between them felt so dangerous, as if they were alone in a vast minefield.
He thought again of his sister and Brody, the way they seemed to genuinely care for each other, find comfort in each other. The way Brody broke it off with Ashley despite the devastation it caused him, because he knew it was the right thing for Ashley.
Harrison believed they were in love—his sister and Brody. And he believed that their love was good and selfless and in any other world, if Ashley were born in any other family, that love should have a chance to thrive.
But Ashley was a Montgomery, and that meant any emotion that could not be spun into gold for them had to be crushed out of existence.
This thing between him and Ryan—it was selfish. An agreement to keep them all safe. That practically guaranteed they’d never care for each other.
That is who I am.
That is what I know of love.
“Never mind,” he breathed.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
She’d gotten used to the political candidate. The man she’d signed the contract with, who saved all his smiles for voters, who projected warmth and compassion to everyone but her. This guy … on the couch, with the drink and the messy hair. All that confusion and grief in his eyes. This guy needed her—not to dress up and pretend to be someone else, but needed her warmth and her ear and her compassion—damn it! It was Harry, and she liked him.
Really liked him.
Which was why she should leave. Because they’d signed contracts that made liking each other nearly impossible and punishable. Because she would throw herself into his fire without thought, without care, until there was nothing left of her.
Because when she liked this guy—historically—it made her do reckless and foolish things. With a sudden spasm, like the shutter on a camera opening and shutting super fast, she remembered those foolish things. Her body remembered. Her skin, her breasts, between her legs—they twitched with memory.
“Never mind,” he said, and coiled to stand.
“No,” she said and sat down next to him, the blanket gathered in her lap. “I’ll stay.”
A plane flew across the night sky, red lights blinking in the distance. But he was silent, as if asking her to stay had exhausted what he had left of conversation.
“What was Arkansas like?”
“You’ve never been?”
“No,” she said, unmistakably sarcastic. “I’ve never had that pleasure.”
He turned to look at her, half-smiling. “Now who is the snob?”
Desire like speed entered her bloodstream and she felt every inch of her skin, so close to every inch of his.
“Point taken,” she said after a while.
“It was nice. Really nice. She’s met some good people, and Bishop is a nice community. She started this shuttle service for senior citizens.”
“She’s been there, like, less than a month!”
“I know,” he smiled, “she’s remarkably determined. And she doesn’t see obstacles. This thing with Brody, she only sees that she loves him.”
“She believes love conquers all?”
He lifted his nearly empty glass in a toast.
“Do we admire that?” she asked, trying to jolly him out of his bad mood the way she had that night at the bar. “Or make fun of it?”
“I don’t know.” Oh, he seemed so lost when he said that. Not at all the confident politician, the gleaming freshly minted Golden Boy of Georgia Politics.
He seemed like a man who hadn’t been loved in a very long time. If ever.
And as shitty as her family life was now, it had been amazing at one time. She had been loved and loved well by all the people she needed.
Harrison never had.
“Oh goddamnit,” she muttered before leaning forward, pitching forward, really, right into his chest. Her arms slid around his neck, her belly pressed against part of his shoulder.
His entire body jerked at the contact as if he’d been startled awake from some dark sleep.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His hand without the drink in it landed against her back, his touch searing through her shirt and the light sweater.
Oh God, the thoughts she had. The memories of that night, the feel of him in her hands, her arms. The way he tasted. Smelled. She wanted to add a second chapter, a whole new set of memories.
“I’m hugging you. This is a hug.”
“Oh.”
He put down the glass and turned slightly in the couch, embracing her fully, pulling her up against him. Cheeks, chests, arms all touching. The blanket in her lap kept her from crawling into his and she supposed she should be grateful to that red blanket, but in actuality she thought she might burn it tomorrow.
Her body’s hunger, its desperation after weeks of being numb, was shocking. It hurt almost like blood flow returning to a leg that had gone to sleep. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone. Ever.
The Internet was right. And she was one of those women for whom desire roared back, fueled by hormones and a certain lush new way of living in her body. Her breasts felt weighted, her skin like velvet. Between her legs, blood pounded like some kind of tribal drum.
Oh for fuck’s sake, she thought. Let’s not go overboard.
“What if … what if I needed to kiss you,” he breathed.
Chapter 19
YES! Her body cheered. We can do that! Kisses for everyone.
“Harrison.” There was a world of doubt in her breath that she couldn’t hide. Confusion. Worry. A finely tuned sense of danger.
It wasn’t just the contract they signed that made her worry. What would they do tomorrow? How would sleeping together change the very delicate balance they’d managed to create? How would she pay in days to come for taking what she wanted right now?
They both leaned back but didn’t let go. She fisted her hands in his shirt, her nails biting into the skin of his shoulders. His heart was pounding so hard she felt it under her hands, could see it in his throat. She stared at that throbbing skin, wondering when the world was going to burst into flames.
And then he kissed her.
And the world wasn’t engulfed in flame. It was she that was consumed.
She clutched at his shoulders and his hands swept around her hips to pull her into his lap, but they were stopped by the stupid soon-to-be-ash blanket, which she pulled and yanked out of the way until it was gone and she could find his body with hers.
There, she found his chest with her breasts. His arms with her hands. The hard erection in his pants with her belly.
Yes. Oh, God. Yes, finally, she thought, pushing herself against him because she’d been waiting for this. Even while pretending she didn’t want it. Didn’t need it.
She’d been wanting this.
Wanting him.
He ate at her mouth, using his thumbs against the hollows of her cheeks to open it wider so he could devour her. And that’s what she craved; not just sex. Not just contact. She wanted to devour and be devoured.
“Ryan,” he breathed, pulling the sweater up and over her head and then yanking down the thin straps of her camisole until her breasts were revealed. He bent her back over his arms and licked at her breasts, pulling her nipples into his mouth, sucking until she cried out. Until everything began to coil inside of her, burning hotter and tighter.
Fuck. She was going to come. She was going to come like this.
The pain of this pleasure was nearly too much and she had to share it, enlist his help in carrying this load, and so she sucked at his throat, so hard he lifted his hips, high and hard against her, his cock nudging into her.
She ran her fingers through his hair, using her nails against his scalp, and he hissed, his skin twitching. He reached both his hands around her hips, grabbing rough palmfuls of her ass, and she cried out, smacking her hands down on the back of the couch to hold herself up, to keep herself from slipping into a pile of messy woman on a man’s lap.
He pulled her and pushed her against him. Rough and hard and fast and urgent. Like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Are you …?” he panted, licking her throat, sucking her earlobe into his mouth, all while his wicked hands held her against him. The perfect grip. A dreamy jail. “Is this hurting—” His voice cut off on a loud groan.
“Good. So good. Keep—” No. She didn’t want to keep going like this. She needed more. She needed him inside of her.
Just the thought of it—that slow penetration, the way her body would yield, but it would still sting a little, how heavy and thick he would feel, how right and foreign at the same time—brought her panting toward orgasm. Quickly she reached between them and unbuckled his belt. He caught on and reached under her skirt for the edge of her panties. She shifted to help him pull them off, but he grabbed the thin silk at her hip and twisted it around his hand, the elastic and silk burning into her skin until the fabric ripped and fell away.
He tossed her torn underwear on the floor and she pulled down the zipper of his pants and pushed aside the cotton of his boxers until he was a reality in her hand, hot and damp just there at the tip. Her mind was blown blank by lust, her body pained by want. By need. By a desire so sudden and so hungry she was almost scared the feeling wouldn’t go away. They could fuck each other until they couldn’t move, but this fire in her blood would not be extinguished.
On her knees over him, holding him still, she slowly lowered herself down, felt the push of the broad head, right there, right where her body wept for him.
She hung her head, shaking.
Oh. God.
“Ryan,” he panted, as if he were running right alongside her in a marathon. His hands slid over her ass, up her back and back down, unable to make up their mind where to stay. “Condom.”
“I’m already pregnant,” she breathed, her forehead against his collarbone, his cock easing slowly, slowly inside of her. “And there hasn’t been anyone but you for four years.”
Indecent Proposal (Boys of Bishop) Page 19