Eight Ways to Ecstasy

by Jeanette Grey

  Winding down, she tilted her head to the side. “So. You know. Basically just your ordinary girl.”

  Rylan’s hand on her knee tightened.

  She looked up, meeting his eyes, and the fire that lit them ignited a low, warm glow inside of her. Too fervently, too quietly for that space, he said, “You are anything but ordinary.”

  Just like that, it was as if the rest of the room receded, fading off into the background until it was only the two of them and the swimming way he made her feel, telling her these things. Making her want so badly to believe them, until bit by bit, no matter how many times she’d told herself she wouldn’t, she found herself beginning to.

  The sound of a throat clearing had her shaking it off. She turned toward the table and directed her gaze down at her plate. Her whole face went warm.

  But she was done being the demurring flower. She took another drink, then set the bottle down. “Well, part of him getting me to show up was the promise of meeting all of you. So, why don’t you tell me…” She bit down on her smile, then pointed at Rylan. “…about him?”

  Beside her Rylan groaned, and noises of excitement went up around the table. Rylan lifted his hand from her leg to wrap it warmly around the back of her neck, giving a quick squeeze there that was all affection and approval.

  “You’re going to wish you never asked,” Chase said, before launching into a story about some of their more youthful pursuits. Kate grinned the whole while, through that story and into the next. It was all new information, and she listened avidly.

  Yet for all that these were tales she hadn’t heard before, she recognized the main character. Rylan as a young, rich man with something to prove, getting himself into trouble with his best friend. It wasn’t completely easy to hear about the part girls played in some of their exploits, but Rylan had never pretended not to have had his share of conquests. Considering the way Kate had met him, it wasn’t even the tiniest bit out of character, and if Chase gave her an appraising gaze through some of the more colorful bits, she met him full-on.

  The others added commentary and detail for the episodes they’d been present for. Rylan sat back, looking like he wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t quite bring himself to be.

  Then Chase trailed off, and Lexie, mostly quiet until then, spoke up. Rylan shifted, stiffening slightly with his hand against Kate’s nape.

  “One summer, I dolled him up in our mother’s dresses.”

  A chorus of whoops went up around the table, and a smile flickered at the edges of Lexie’s lips. But if anything, Rylan only went more still.

  “Wait, wait,” Chase interrupted, “how old were you?”

  “I was six, so Teddy would’ve been, what, nine?”

  “And are there pictures?”

  “Sadly no.” Her smile faded by a fraction. “We were in London for a few months and we didn’t have any friends, because God forbid Mommy and Daddy take ten seconds to arrange a playdate for us.” Her tone went darker, and the hoots and hollers died down. “Teddy and Evan always wanted to play boy stuff, and they outnumbered me, so they won. Then Evan managed to get shunted off into some kiddie art program, and it was just me and Teddy, and I decided fifty percent of the time, we were going to do what I wanted to do.”

  “Bossy little thing,” Rylan said, all fondness, but a tension lingered to him.

  “You should have seen this guy.” Her eyes shone as she gazed across the table at him. “He put up with so much. Mother’s evening dresses and heels and tea parties with stuffed animals.”

  That got Rylan some more ribbing, but he took it in stride. “What can I say? I can’t resist it when you pout.”

  She plumped out her lips, demonstrating her best doe eyes, and Kate had to admit. It was effective.

  Then Lexie wiped the expression away. “You’re unnaturally good at resisting it now.”

  “Decades of experience,” Rylan said. “I hadn’t built up my immunity back then.”

  “It was a good couple of weeks.” For a second, Lexie faltered, a flicker of something unhappy crossing her eyes. “Until Dad found out.”

  Rylan’s hand flexed hard against Kate’s back. She looked over at him to find his gaze hard.

  “He came home early one day, and—” Lexie cut herself off, her mouth curving down, and around them, the table went silent. A beat passed and then another before the line of her lips evened out. Then she picked up her beer and shrugged, as if it had been nothing. As if there was no more story to tell. “And that was the end of that.”

  When Rylan spoke again, it was with a bitter edge to his voice. An old, lingering hurt. “He always did have his ideas about how his heir should behave.”

  And Kate’s chest squeezed in, because she’d heard this pain in him before, but rarely so explicitly. She’d never seen it so close to the surface.

  She sucked in a deep breath and held it. Because a part of her—a growing part—wanted to follow it down, far off into the depths. Deep enough inside his ocean she could drown.

  Rylan checked all the other floors of the house first. Kate wasn’t in the kitchen or tidying up one of the bathrooms, or even dealing with the linens in the guest room. He was 98 percent sure she hadn’t managed to sneak off without his noticing. Which left only one last place to look.

  He climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. Just shy of the top, he came to a halt.

  There was music playing. Something quiet and sweet, lots of airy guitar, and a female vocalist. And overlaying it, ever so faintly, was another voice.

  Heart in his throat, he took the last couple of steps. Then he stood there, mesmerized.

  The third floor—that big, open space he’d fallen in love with the same way he’d fallen in love with this beautiful, open girl…it was all lit up. Kate had apparently found some Christmas lights he didn’t even remember owning and strung them around the edges of the room, casting it in a soft, warm glow. She sat in the very center of the space, going through the box of old vinyl albums he’d saved when his mother had been planning to throw them out. Resting on the floor beside her was an ancient record player, jerry-rigged to a couple of speakers, and all at once, he recognized the song.

  His vision overlapped with memory, and he reached for the center of his chest without thinking, for the ring that didn’t live there anymore.

  He must’ve been…what? Five years old? He’d snuck out of bed long after he’d been supposed to be asleep, and crept down the stairs to find Mom and Dad in fancy clothes. Home after some sort of a party, this record playing in the background as they held each other close. Not fighting for once. Not ignoring each other. But dancing. Laughing.

  He could’ve stayed and watched for hours.

  The image before his eyes faded, and he blinked until the here and now came back into focus. Kate’s lips moved as she sang along, almost but not quite under her breath, and his chest swelled to the point where he thought it might burst. She looked at home here. Right where she belonged.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped forward. “I wondered if I might find you here.”

  She started, jerking her head up. As he crossed the space toward her, he took in the rest of the things strewn around her, the half-emptied boxes. There were more albums, of course, some pictures. Plunking down on the floor beside her, he frowned, then picked up a black leather bag.

  “It’s a camera,” she explained. “An old-school one.”

  Really, really old-school. He unzipped the bag to find exactly what she’d described. “It was my father’s, I think.” Another sentimental castoff Rylan had rescued for reasons he hadn’t been able to explain at the time.

  “It’s nice.” She said it with a certain wistfulness to her voice.

  He closed the bag back up and held it out to her. “You can have it, if you want.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You could. If you think you’d use it. I might even have some film somewhere.”

  “But it was your father’s…”

  �
��So were a lot of things.” He’d kept it because he remembered the days when his father would take pictures of them. When he’d seemed so interested in what his children did and not just in what purpose they might serve. He pressed it into her hands. “Take it. I want you to.”

  She accepted it this time. “Thank you.”

  He paused for a second, reaching into his pocket. Second-guessing. But the segue seemed natural enough. “I have something else for you, too.”

  “Oh?”

  He squeezed his hand around the metal, then drew it out and passed it over.

  Forehead scrunching up, she let him place it in her palm. “What…?”

  “A key.” Obviously. “For the house.”

  He could actually see her getting ready to pass it right back. “I couldn’t—”

  He wrapped his hand around hers, closing her fingers around the key. “You can.”

  “But…” She didn’t seem to have much of an argument. Probably something about how it was too soon, and was he really sure?

  His voice threatened to stick in his throat. Pushing past it, he nudged her hand toward her lap. “I trust you,” he said.

  Just like someday, somehow, he hoped that she would trust him, too.

  With apparent reluctance, she tucked it in her pocket, and something in his chest loosened. “I promise I won’t abuse it.”

  “As long as you don’t throw a party here without inviting me, abuse it as much as you want.” At the joke, she rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t all just teasing. “I mean it.” The words came out too serious by half. “Come over whenever you want.”

  He had nothing to hide. Not anymore. Not from her.

  The track on the record changed, and they sat there for few beats, listening. The same vision from before rose up in his mind. And maybe it was a day full of too many memories. Maybe it was seeing her in this space, blending seamlessly with his friends. The high of her accepting his invitation to make this place her home.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  She looked at it, head cocked to the side.

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  “Really?”

  His throat went tight. “Really.”

  She might’ve just been humoring him, but she let him pull her up and into his arms. Maybe he should show off a little—show her some of the steps he’d learned as a teen. But she shuffled in close, and in the end, he just rested his head against hers, holding her and basking in her warmth.

  They did a slow couple of circles in place as the music played on. With every turn, she relaxed a little more, the exhaustion from a hard day’s work starting to show on her face.

  Putting her ear to his chest, she asked, “Did everyone else take off?”

  “A little while ago.” Leaving just the two of them.

  They danced in silence through the end of the song. The arm of the record player picked up with an audible set of clicks, and she sighed. “It’s late.”

  “Very.” A full day of hauling and unpacking and still so much more to do. But he didn’t have any more in him. By the way she was sagging into him, he doubted she did, either. “Do you want me to call you a car?”

  At that, she pulled away, and it was glass cracking, the soft, perfect space in which they’d spun threatening to collapse. To shatter. “Probably should.”

  Swallowing against the tightness in his chest, he reached for her, cupping her shoulders so gently in his hands. His voice came out deep and rough. “Or you could stay here. In my bed.” In my home. “With me.”

  Something inside him trembled, he wanted it so much.

  She shook her head. “I’m so tired.”

  “No expectations.”

  Lifting her head, she settled her gaze on him. Looked him right in the eyes, and he tried to make everything about him soft.

  He wanted her, of course. He’d never had her in a place that felt like his, and there was nothing in the world he wanted so much as to take her apart, to leave her boneless with pleasure and to pour his own need out into her.

  But it would be enough. More than enough. Just to hold her. Just to sleep.

  Her breath blew out, and with it, all the resistance in her shoulders. “All right.”

  His heart felt too big to fit behind his ribs.

  Leaning in, he placed a single, soft kiss to her lips. Then he took her by the hand and led her down the stairs.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Kate blinked her eyes open to an unfamiliar room. Pale light poured in through the bare windows, and she was way too comfortable, the bed too soft, the sheets smooth beneath her skin. Stretching, she rolled over onto her back and stared up at a distant ceiling.

  This was Rylan’s room.

  The bed was empty beside her, but it didn’t matter. Her ribs squeezed in hard, taking her breath away. She’d sworn she wasn’t going to do this again. But she’d been so exhausted last night, and it had been late. And Rylan had been looking at her with this naked hope in his eyes, his outstretched palm extended toward her. He hadn’t even tried to get her naked, had simply pulled off her shoes and helped her skim off her jeans. Had watched, hands off, as she’d unclasped her bra and pulled it through her sleeve. He’d stripped down to his boxers and turned the covers down, and she’d had no will left to refuse.

  She’d fallen asleep tangled up in him, her spine to his chest, the warm strength of his arms curled around her, and it had been perfect.

  Maybe too perfect. All her resolutions to guard her heart, and here she was, tumbling headlong down the same path she’d wiped out on once before.

  Except it was different this time. Wasn’t it? He’d invited her into his home and introduced her to his family and friends. If he was still lying about who he was, it would be obvious, right?

  If he only wanted her for sex, he would’ve asked for it last night.

  Yet there were still these silences. These unspoken pockets of his life that made her doubt.

  Before she could second-guess herself any further, quietly creaking footfalls seeped in from the hallway, and she propped herself up on her elbows in time for the door to crack open. And there was Rylan. Blue eyes bright and smile soft as he peered inside.

  Her stomach dipped. Because just seeing him had her heart melting, her whole being lighting up. All her doubts slowly melting away.

  Pushing the door wider, he stepped inside. He was dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him in a black T-shirt and jeans, his messy hair less intentionally fussed with than usual. In one hand, he held a cardboard carrier with two takeaway coffees, while a couple of mismatched bags dangled from the other. “You’re up.”

  She scrubbed at her eyes and swung what was left of her braid over her shoulder. “Barely.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

  The bed dipped beneath his weight as he came to sit beside her. His movements were all careful, his voice quiet. “Here.” He handed her one of the coffees. “Just how you like it.”

  Propping herself with a pillow, she sat the rest of the way up and took the cup from his hand. She sipped at it and nodded. “Perfect.”

  “Good. There are some pastries, too. And”—he pointed to one of the bags he’d come in with—“would you believe I found a place in this city that still sells film?”

  “How long have you been up?”

  He shrugged. “A while. Never been much good at getting back to sleep. Those didn’t help.” He gestured toward the windows. “I was thinking we might do some shopping today, if you’re up for it. Need some curtains if nothing else.”

  A hundred movie montages of happy couples laughing their way through Ikeas floated through her mind. Probably not quite the shopping experience he was suggesting, but still. It sounded fun. Easy.

  And there was that sensation again of careening down a path. Of falling forward into something deeper than she fully trusted, and it felt good. The last thing she wanted was to slam on the brakes.


  But a part of her needed to tap on them. To test and make sure they were at least still there.

  She faltered, fiddling with the sleeve around her coffee cup. “You know if I spend the whole day with you, it still counts as two.”

  Four out of their seven nights were already gone, and it looked like they were starting on their fifth. More than halfway through, and it made something clench in her chest.

  He shook his head at her, grin wry. “You’re onto me. Keeping me honest.”

  “Somebody has to.”

  Placing his hand on her knee through the sheet, he leaned in closer, skimming the point of his nose along her jaw. Grazing his lips against her cheek. “What can I say? I’ll do whatever I have to. To get more time with you.”

  Her breath stuttered, the warm amber scent of him surrounding her, making it hard to think.

  But she managed to all the same. Because that was what he’d said when she’d found him out. From the very first day, he’d hidden who he was from her because he wanted her to sleep with him, to spend time with him.

  A memory of bile rose up in her throat.

  She didn’t need him to do that now.

  With a hand on his chest, she pushed him away. Not far. Scarcely a few inches—only far enough to see his face. Looking him right in the eye, she said, “Just ask.”

  For a long moment, his gaze searched hers, throat bobbing. But then he gave this slightest hint of a nod. Closed his palm over hers and brought them both to his lips. “Please. Spend the day with me. I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

  All the thoughts she’d had of getting to the studio evaporated, burned away by the heat in his eyes. Her voice cracked as she said, “Okay.”

  And the force of his smile split his face. He dropped their hands and swooped in, kissing her full on the mouth.

  He pulled away just as she was letting herself get lost in it, the heat she’d been too exhausted for the night before rising up in her blood. It stayed there, lingering at a low simmer as he climbed his way over to sit beside her and opened up a pastry bag.