Wildfire Hurricane (A Ryder Boys Novel Book 1)

by Amelia James

  “I don’t get it either.” Wyatt clapped his hand over his eyes, blocking the rising sun. Faked orgasms? Bullshit. He’d always been able to tell when a woman came. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth dropped open in a gasp he couldn’t hear. Her body heated and her skin flushed, quivering under or on top of him, and the unmistakable, uncontrollable clench of her pussy told him he’d satisfied her. More than once.

  He’d been born without the ability to hear, but his other senses had sharpened. Touch had become his favorite, her slick flesh tightening around him and her fingernails scoring his back. No, he liked taste more. Licking salty sweat from her skin and savoring the flavor of her pussy. Oh, but seeing her skin flush and watching her take short gasping breaths when she came. But maybe the scent of sex on his fingers and the lingering aroma in his sheets was the best of all. Wyatt had honed his heightened skills into sexual mastery.

  Faked it? Oh hell no. The memory of how hard and how often he’d made Megan come stiffened his naked cock, and he slipped his hand under the sheet to stroke himself without thinking. She couldn’t fake an orgasm if she tried, but her relationship performance deserved an Oscar.

  The rushing crash of ocean waves pounding the beach irritated him, and Wyatt yanked his processors off. Silence enveloped him for a brief moment, hugging like an old friend, but the internal noise he’d tamped down roared in and chased the fleeting comfort away. Spencer nudged his thigh with a cold, wet nose and thumped his tail from side to side. Wyatt pulled the sheet over his chest and patted the mattress. The big golden retriever jumped up, settling against his master.

  “At least I can count on you.” Wyatt dropped back on the bunched up pillows and petted his best friend. “You don’t have a hidden agenda. Do your job and get fed. That’s all it takes to make you happy. Megan wasn’t so easy to please.”

  Spencer yawned at the mention of her name, and Wyatt recalled that the usually friendly retriever had shown little interest in her. He loved people, especially Wyatt’s brother and sister-in-law. The well-trained dog asked for permission to play and then he’d run after whatever Dash threw for him. But he’d practically ignored Megan. She’d picked up his slobbery, chewed-on tennis ball with a disgusted cringe and tossed it, but Spencer acted like he hadn’t seen it. Clearly the dog never trusted her.

  “You’re right. I should’ve listened to you.”

  Spencer jumped off the bed and ran to the door, staring out into the living room. His tail wagged, so the dog must have heard a welcome noise or saw someone he knew. He turned back to Wyatt and nudged his hand, even though he was already out of bed and pulling his jeans on.

  “Is Dash here already?” Wyatt dragged a t-shirt over his head and slid the processors back in place. His brother hated signing when the technology Wyatt needed to hear had been available to them since junior high. Wyatt hated the sound of his own voice. He hadn’t learned to speak until after he got the implant, and he still struggled with enunciation. Talking to strangers made his heart race and his palms sweat.

  “Hey buddy, how are you?” Dash stopped in the open doorway and ruffled Spencer’s ears.

  The giddy dog sat down and thumped his tail against the floor.

  “Where’s your ball?” Dash cast a glance toward the worn out tennis ball lying next to the coffee table.

  Spencer quivered as he waited for Wyatt’s command.

  “Go get it.”

  Spencer scrambled to grab his favorite toy then dropped it at Dash’s feet.

  Dash waited, grinning as the dog pawed his leg, eager to run after something.

  “Stop teasing him.” Wyatt poured water into the coffee maker and flipped the switch.

  The golden yipped and danced in a tight circle as Dash hurled the ball into the front yard. Spencer sprinted out the door, chasing his prize.

  Wyatt shook his head and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cabinet. “Why do you have to agitate him?”

  “He needs a little excitement. Nothing like pissing off the ones you love for pleasure.”

  Wyatt’s processors made Dash’s cackle sound like a lunatic cyborg. “Is that what Simone taught you?”

  “I learned from the best.” The evil grin on his brother’s face told Wyatt more than he needed to know.

  Spencer bounded in and dropped the ball at Dash’s feet. He scooped it up and tossed it to Wyatt. Wyatt caught the soggy toy and chucked it into the laundry room. Of course, Spencer scurried off and retrieved it.

  “No more playing.” Wyatt snatched the ball and dropped it in the sink where the disappointed retriever couldn’t reach.

  “Come on, man.” Dash grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. “What drove a bug up your butt?”

  Wyatt poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his brother. “Did you bring my light kit?” He poured another cup for himself and scanned the beach house as he drank. He’d put the kitchen together last night before Megan came over, but random boxes still sat scattered throughout the living room.

  “It’s in the back of my truck.”

  “And the backdrops?” Wyatt had left the largest pieces of his photography equipment at the studio in his penthouse, and Dash had brought over a few items every day since he and Simone moved in.

  “I got everything.”

  “Good.” He’d cleared out the third bedroom and converted it into a new photo studio. Smaller, but it would do for a few months until his brother’s new house was built.

  “You didn’t have to move out.” Dash finished his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “Your penthouse has plenty of room for all of us.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “You two newlyweds need your privacy. I might not be able to hear your foreplay fighting, but your makeup sex shook the damn walls.”

  Dash muffled a laugh behind curled fingers, but wicked merriment escaped his eyes. “We’ve got a lot of foreplay–” He corrected himself. “Fighting to make up for.”

  Wyatt had known Simone since high school. She’d been like a sister to him until she and Dash split up. “How long were you two apart?”

  “Thirteen years, eight months, three weeks, five days.” Dash rattled off the numbers without even thinking about them.

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “You haven’t counted the hours?”

  “She did. I thought that was excessive.”

  “You wanted to argue about it.”

  Wicked glee tainted his brother’s smirk. “I won.”

  “I remember.” They’d rattled the fucking floorboards after that one. “That’s when I decided to move to the beach.” Wyatt finished his coffee and loaded the dishwasher. He dropped the dirty tennis ball on the floor. Spencer practically vibrated as he waited for permission to grab it. “All right, you can play.”

  The happy golden snatched the ball and carried it to his favorite playmate.

  Dash hurled it into the yard again. “I think he misses me.”

  “I know he does. Megan thought he was a pest, and believe me, the feeling was mutual.” Spencer had kept his distance, never leaving the room, but always keeping a wary eye on her every move.

  “But Spencer likes everyone.”

  “Not her. I should’ve known she couldn’t be trusted when he wouldn’t go near her.” He’d ignored his trusted companion’s signals. Don’t do that again.

  “What happened?”

  “The usual. She used me to further her career, and when she got what she wanted, she left.”

  “You gotta stop dating these ambitious women.”

  “She was your wedding planner, remember? You set me up with her.”

  Spencer scrambled inside, skidding across the stone tile floor as he dropped the ball in front of Dash.

  But Dash failed to notice him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought she’d be good for you.”

  “Because she could sign?” They’d seen her using American Sign Language at Dash and Simone’s reception.

  Dash cringed as if he’d been caught naked in public. “She was always nice to me
.”

  “Well, yeah, you were her client. I was just a tool.”

  “You can’t mope about her. There are plenty of women who want your attention.” Dash jumped as Spencer nipped his elbow. “I’m sure not all of them are manipulative users.” He scooped up the ball and flung it onto the couch.

  Wyatt scowled. “I’m not moping.” The very notion lit a fuse inside him, sparking a revolution in his soul. “I’m done with women.”

  “We’ll see how long that lasts.” Dash rolled his wrist and laughed at his watch.

  “All right.” He’d need to get laid eventually. But nothing more. “I’m done with relationships. Casual sex only from now on.” He walked out the front door toward Dash’s truck.

  “Yeah, sure.” Dash followed him while Spencer ran alongside carrying his tennis ball.

  Wyatt yanked the tailgate open and caught a falling box. “If I’m going to get fucked for business, I might as well enjoy it. Why invest in a relationship if there’s no return for me?”

  “You can’t do that.” Dash wrestled the ball from Spencer and lobbed it toward the beach.

  “Why not? You did.” After Dash had finished college, he’d moved into Wyatt’s penthouse for a few months. The two Ryder boys became notorious and sought-after bachelors, indulging in kinky sex and other forms of debauchery. The memories heated Wyatt’s face as he hefted the wayward box and stalked back to the house.

  “Because it’s not who you are. You’re not the kind of guy who can use a woman for sex. You have to give something back to her.”

  “Not anymore. I’ve got nothing left to give.”

  Dash grabbed a duffle bag and scrambled after him. “I tried to harden my heart, but I couldn’t do it. Remember how pissy and miserable I was?”

  Wyatt snorted as he dropped the heavy box on the coffee table. “You were a real asshole.”

  “Damn right.” Dash dropped the bag on the floor and scratched his head. “Wait. What? That’s not the point.” He snarled while Wyatt laughed. “You can’t function without a relationship, no matter how fucked up it is. Making it work is what gives life meaning.”

  Is he serious? Wyatt stomped out the door. “Just what was the meaning behind Michelle fucking her ex in our bed?” Just weeks before they were supposed to be married, Wyatt caught his ex-fiancée screwing her old boyfriend. He’d thrown them both out on their bare asses, and he hadn’t spoken to her since.

  Dash helped him pull a rolled up backdrop from the truck bed. “You’re still hung up on that?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” Wyatt heaved one end on his shoulder and led the way to his new studio.

  “No.” Dash stumbled to keep up. “You can’t let that old anger drag you down.”

  Mr. Irate Poet is giving advice now? “It isn’t. I haven’t thought about her for some time.” Why now? His breakup with the wedding planner had been predictable and relatively painless, nothing that should’ve ripped open that old wound.

  “Then what’s got you all riled up? Megan?”

  “No.” He’d expected his most recent relationship to end. Just like everything good in his life. The fact that he’d kept his career and his luxurious lifestyle for so long surprised him. He often lay awake at night wondering when his seemingly perfect world would implode. “I knew it wouldn’t last.”

  “Why?” Dash gave his brother a puzzled look as they propped the backdrop against the wall.

  Wyatt ripped the processors off and flung them on his desk. Seething rage smothered the momentary silence that followed, filling his head with angry noise. “Because life crushes your dreams for no reason.” He signed with forceful movements and sharp gestures. “We still don’t know why I was born deaf. There’s no genetic history in our family, no complications while Mom was pregnant with me. Just ‘Hey, Wyatt can’t hear. That’s odd.’”

  “But look how well you’ve done,” Dash signed back to him, equally expressive. “You own a penthouse and a beach house. You photograph gorgeous models and celebrities, and you’re a celebrity in your own right. You can hear when you wear these things.” He picked up the processors and shook them in Wyatt’s face.

  Spencer dropped his ball and took a solid stance in front of his beloved master, hackles raised, head low, and ears back.

  Dash handed the processors to his brother, stepped back, and showed his open palms. “And Spencer loves you.”

  “That’s his job.” He patted his loyal companion’s head. The dog relaxed.

  “His job is to hear for you. His…” Dash fumbled through a couple different signs. “Devotion, affection, is a bonus.”

  Wyatt sighed and put his processors back on. After his mother, Dash knew ASL better than anyone else in their family, but he still struggled with it at times.

  Dash spoke while he signed, his favorite technique to make sure his brother got the message. “You know I love you, right? Simone loves you like a brother. Mal is an asshole, but I’m pretty sure he loves you too. And you know Mom and Dad wouldn’t trade you for anything. You’re the favorite son.”

  “The defective one is the favorite?” Yes, he knew his family loved him. But no woman who wasn’t related had ever loved him and his defects.

  “Funny how that works.”

  Wyatt aimed a backhand at Dash’s head, but he didn’t follow through. “Did we get everything out of the truck?”

  “Your light kit is still in there. I need help carrying that.” Dash headed outside.

  “How’d you load it?”

  Dash grinned and grunted as they lifted the equipment from the truck. “Simone’s stronger than she looks.”

  “She has to be to put up with your shit.”

  “Damn right,” Dash grumbled and stumbled over the threshold. “Wait. I mean fuck you.”

  Wyatt laughed as they shuffled down the hall. “Over here.” They set the light kit in a corner of the studio, groaning as they stood upright.

  “Do you want me to help you set up?”

  “Nah, I’ll do it later.” The box of books he’d set on the coffee table called to him. He strode out to the living room and ripped the tape off.

  Dash dragged his arm across his forehead as he wandered into the kitchen. “I worked up a sweat.”

  “Bottled water in the fridge.” The bookshelves at the beach house weren’t nearly as large as the penthouse library, so Wyatt had packed only his favorites: Frankenstein, Dracula, and The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe among them.

  Spencer curled up in his bed while Dash strolled over with a bottle in his hand and poked through the open box. “Oh shit, where’d you get this?” He held up a copy of The Corpse of My Heart.

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t know who R.H. Daschle was?” Wyatt winked.

  “Damn it.”

  “It’s good stuff. Vicious, but good.” He grabbed the volume of poetry his brother had written and stuffed it between his Alexandre Dumas collection and The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.

  Dash wandered back to the kitchen and pulled the pantry door open. “I need food.” He searched through the cabinets, flipping the doors open and banging them shut. “You have no food.”

  “I just moved in.” He kept the beach house kitchen stocked with the basics, but hadn’t stayed here since before Thanksgiving. No doubt his pantry needed replenishing. “I ordered take-out last night, but we ate it all.” He slipped the last book on the shelf and flattened the box.

  Dash grabbed his keys. “Come on, Spencer. Let’s go get lunch.”

  The enthusiastic dog bounded after him then skidded to a halt at the door and panted back at Wyatt.

  He grabbed Spencer’s service dog vest. The retriever would need to wear it to be allowed into public places. “I’m coming.”

  Oh God, I’m coming! Megan’s chant echoed in his head as he locked the front door behind them. Had she faked it? Could he have misinterpreted the sensual signs? Maybe a hot and heavy, sex-only fling would erase his doubts. He’d always dated with a purpose before. Where
would he find a woman who’d settle for meaningless fucking?

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  Acknowledgements

  A lot of work goes into producing a book. It’s a team effort, and I’m sure I’ll miss someone, but I need to say thank you to:

  My readers. There are a lot of good books out there, and I’m grateful that mine made it to your bookshelf. Thank you for your support and encouragement and for sticking with me.

  Dede Taylor for naming Belladonna’s Peak.

  My Beta Readers, Lori Whitwam and Heather Cox, for being trustworthy and honest, especially when I’ve made huge mistakes. You saved me a lot of grief.

  #TeamLimitless for believing in me and backing me up with their amazing editors, cover designers, and PR team. Special thanks to Savannah Blevins (blurb writer), Rosa Sophia (editor), Robin Harper from Wicked by Design (cover art), and Lori Whitwam (managing editor) for bringing this all together.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When I was in the third grade, my teacher wrote ‘tends to daydream’ on my report card. What did she expect from a girl raised on fairy tales? I’m convinced those fanciful stories led to the romance novel addiction I acquired in junior high. My mom caught me reading a particularly hot one and took it away from me. She couldn’t stop me from daydreaming though, and after I got married, I wrote some of my steamier daydreams down and sent them to Playgirl magazine. Two of them were published. I kept writing and eventually my short stories became romance novels.