by Livia Quinn
Her shoulders rose and a red gold curl fell off into his palm. He turned it in the light coming in through the window. It glinted several different shades of red. Looking back now, he could see why he hadn’t recognized her. She was literally a world away from the model he’d… drooled over, like half the population of mankind.
But none of them had been in her bed. Because no one had seen her for who she was, a lovely woman with dreams, commitment and passion. He could see himself loving her… or, a woman like her. But he wasn’t in love with her. You didn’t fall in love with a woman after just one date, or even think about it, especially if it involved sex. He should get up and get a cold shower.
Her butt snuggled against him. Yeah, in a minute…
Chapter Sixteen
His large hand roamed over her body settling on her stomach. Hips shifted bringing his morning arousal snug against the hollow of her backside. Barely awake, Buffy’s heart did a flip remembering their night together… that curl in her stomach had become a purr of contentment. Utterly sure of her feelings after a night of experiencing his unselfish loving, she responded to his touch with a smile.
His long length slid against her skin while his hand creeped up to cup her breast. “Morning, love,” his husky voice reverberated through her. A moan escaped when his fingers caught her nipple between them and squeezed, making her insides clench. Then they trailed up to brush her hair aside to nuzzle her neck.
She squirmed as his hands roamed over her nipples, down to her stomach and below. They dipped inside as he nipped her earlobe, “That’s good isn’t it?” She shivered, “Cold?” another nip.
Cold? Hell, no, the heat he was creating inside her which had been mere embers before now blazed into flames of red and gold, and then brilliant shards of light exploded behind her eyes as he parted her wet sheath and slid inside.
She cried out, covering his hand as he pressed her to his body, her hand linking with his as he held her fast and filled her. The tension built again as his speed increased and reached the magic spot inside her.
She closed her eyes against a wave of oncoming color, on the edge of the precipice. Then he pinched her nipple and she sailed over it, off into nothing—lights exploding, a kaleidoscope of changing colors and textures. Lost in a wave of pleasure for several long seconds, she heard him call her name and felt the pulse of his climax.
Buffy’s eyes drifted open again to light streaming in through the curtains. She grabbed his hand and nibbled at the side of his palm. Then she turned his lifeline to her lips and kissed it.
She drifted as he held her, his breathing decelerating. “I love how you feel inside me.” He kissed her neck gently, cupped her breast and gave one last push inside her—a last gasp.
“Well, hold that thought close because I’m afraid it’s over for a bit,” he chuckled. “How about a shower and some breakfast?”
Except for his initial reaction to her being inexperienced, Buffy thought things between them had been effortless, like fate had placed them in D.C. just to fulfill her dream. And what about his dream? He’d admitted having a serious thing for “Lana” and had even felt a bit odd that he jumped at the chance to pose for Buffy, to spend time with her. But she knew he desired her—Buffy, not Lana.
She wondered how soon she could tell him about the Calloway… heritage. Her gut said, not yet. She’d waited for him, for the man she’d spend her life with, like they’d said. When she’d realized it was Ridge, without a doubt, well… she’d seduced him. If he’d known she was a virgin would he have made love to her? At the very least it would’ve ruined the mood.
She had been sure so, she’d taken the lead. She’d wanted him the minute she looked into that dark gaze, in the conference room the first day. When she’d felt the first little clench, or as Grandmama called it, the curl. It really was like a stirring, a stomach bug. She smiled. A love bug.
And now, she was doubting? Like it was indigestion? No, it wasn’t a cramp; it wasn’t heartburn, or gas. She’d been hearing the same thing since she was a young girl, from all the matriarchs in the family. You’ll know, Buff, but the first time you feel it, you’ll deny it—and hadn’t she?
Every time she got new insight into his character, every time she looked at him, yes, she was more attracted to him than anyone in her life. He was right, she’d had plenty of opportunities, but the strength of that attraction and their limited time together to establish something had added an urgency to the opportunity because except for a few details about his work and his business card she knew little about his personal life, where he lived, and there was that call from ‘Belinda’. Somehow she knew that if he had been in a steady relationship he would never had slept with her.
It had felt like time was running out. They would both be gone by Sunday. No matter what, she didn’t regret giving herself to him. She had to have faith in herself, in her feelings, and in him.
She drifted until she felt his hand run down her arm. “You asleep?”
“Hmm, no just enjoying the moment, but I guess we should shower and get some breakfast. What time is it?”
“9:30,” his voice whispered huskily over her shoulder. “I think we dosed again.”
He smoothed her hair back and kissed her neck. Buffy turned onto her back, marveling at the face that looked down at her. Bedhead had never looked better. Once again, he looked like a commercial—for what?
With his day old whiskers, hair flowing down around his face, and that warm dark expression, it would probably be for a superior brand of coffee, or sleeping on satin sheets, or for an online dating site where you were guaranteed to find the love of your life. Nah, it would be something you wouldn’t have to get out of bed to get. Sex!
“You’re a pretty face to wake up to, Ridge Romano.”
He laughed, “Says the ‘most beautiful woman in the world’.” He used one hand to make finger quotes. “You’re one of those women that makes other women green with envy. That or they want to be just like you.” Ridge felt a slight change in Buffy’s body and her expression slipped, “What?”
“That’s one reason I was glad to get off ‘the stage’ of fashion modeling. Being idolized by young girls and—”
“—Fantasized about by every man,” he interjected.
“The thing is some people can handle the adoration, the empty praise for a lifetime. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not putting the profession down—it’s how I make my living. But it’s all about what you want out of life. “I had a friend once who was offered a contract at sixteen for a record deal. With that, came concerts, travel, being away from family and a lifestyle so unlike what she was used to. She turned it down, still plays in small clubs and says she’s wondered what her life would have been like but never really regretted her decision. She told me ‘you have to want it more than you ever wanted anything because it’s not going to be easy. Everything about fame will be a challenge to who you are inside’.”
Buffy looked into Ridge’s eyes. “She was right. I never wanted it that badly, not enough for a lifetime career. For me, it was a means of achieving my dreams. I simply made use of the looks I was born with when Fabrere offered me a lucrative contract. Up here,” she tapped her head, “I know I’m attractive—”
He snorted, shaking his head. “But, it’s nothing like what you’ve accomplished, with that brilliant intellect—”
“—Which I was born with,” he reminded her.
“The difference is… you expanded it, cultivated it, and what you’re doing with it could help millions of people,” she said.
He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I see what the problem is. You have an idealistic streak.”
Buffy thought about that for a minute. “Maybe, but I never realized it until I met you. I think you bring that out in people with your passion.” She stroked his hair away from his eyes. It fell back. “So, what did you think of your first photo session yesterday?”
“That last one—”
“It wa
sn’t that bad was it?” She asked, running her hands over his shoulders.
She felt the muscles expand as he admitted, “It’s like anything else I guess, the fear, or your worst expectations are never as bad as it seems.”
“Oh, thanks. That’s quite the compliment,” she teased.
“And the photographer was a real pleasure to work with.” He emphasized that with a flex of his hips and her eyes widened. He chuckled. “What can I say? I have a lifetime of fantasies about you that have to be addressed.” She started to object and he said, “Now, don’t get that look in your eye. I know who I’m making love to, Buffy. Apparently, I want you both.”
He kissed her as he eased her legs apart and entered in one smooth gentle slide. It was another thirty minutes before they made it to the shower.
Buffy dried off; grateful for the few minutes Ridge had given her alone to pamper her sore muscles. Making love to a virile and sensual man like Ridge when you had no experience had proved to be a workout. One she’d thoroughly enjoyed getting into shape for.
She heard the front door open, and close, then Ridge’s harsh curse. “Sonofabitch!”
Chapter Seventeen
Pulling the sheet around her, she hurried to the front room. Ridge leaned, elbows against the wall, with his hands buried in that mass of gorgeous black hair, muttering real curses. She’d have to remember to ask him about that.
His face, just since he’d left her, was haggard as he threw the paper on the kitchen counter and walked into the living room. He reached for a cigarette but just held it.
The Post lay on the counter, the business section pulled out. The front page held the answer to his distress. She placed both hands on either side the paper to steady herself. The caption centered below two images read:
Caught with his pants down? Would the real Ridge Romano please stand up?
Could Congresswoman Vork know something we don’t?
The Post received a text from a woman in D.C. attending a Romance Writer’s Conference that ties up their ‘activities’ on Sunday. Her friend snapped the picture of a man who impersonated a cover model in a strip bingo event at the conference. The woman, who wished to remain anonymous, said after the real cover model showed up, the impostor left and no one knew who he was until Saturday’s article in the Post seemed to identify him as Ridge Romano.
Judge for yourselves. This writer has to wonder if perhaps Romano could pull out his romance card and play it to gain Congresswoman Vork’s support. Probably not, since Vork told the Times she doesn’t read romance. We are not surprised.
Two images appeared side-by-side. Ridge in only a tie and trousers and those fabulous pecs, and one of him accepting an award from the President for his work with veterans. A stark contrast. She laid the paper down and looked at Ridge who paced the short entryway.
“This is a disaster,” Ridge said. “I knew this would come back to haunt me, but I never expected it could be this bad. What the hell am I going to do?”
“I’m sorry Ridge. Maybe it’s for the best—”
“For the best!” Irritation flavored his voice now, “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough about the import of this bill. I’ve spent three years planning and lobbying, four damn years on R&D, getting other companies to join with me in a effort to force the government’s hand. Thousands of veterans and their families stand to benefit from the passage of the bill and now…” His fist pounded the wall in frustration.
“You don’t think this will —”
“Oh, yeah. They’ve made me look like one of those politicians with strange sexual appetites. It’s exactly what Vork needs to discredit me. She’s been calling for an audit of both companies, and now she may get it. That will slow everything down, the transfer of ISS, and with WBI about to be optioned… God, this is a mess.”
He strode to the couch and shrugged on his shirt, picked up coat and shook his head. She could read his thoughts. If he wore the crumpled suit coat and someone saw him, they may draw the wrong conclusions, or the right ones. She stood by helplessly as he dressed, borrowed her comb to slick his hair back, creating a stern version of the Ridge Romano she’d spent the night with.
“Ridge,” she put her hand on his arm. What could she say though? His worst fears had come true and he probably blamed her.
He stood with his profile to her, his teeth clenching, “Look, we need to table this for now.” He didn’t look at her, just stood there looking at the door with his hands in his pockets. His distant attitude stung, and she felt her heart trip and fall.
Gone was the fun-loving cover model, the sexy gentlemen, and playful bed partner, and in his place was the corporate powerhouse, inventive genius and former Ranger—he was in warrior mood, and to prove it he said, “I’ve got a lot of damage control to do, and only two months to fix it. That’s when the bill comes up for a vote.” He grimaced. “I hope.”
“I’m sorry, Ridge. Is there anything I can do?” She was sorry she asked. For the briefest of seconds she thought his look said, Haven’t you done enough? But then his shoulders slumped.
“Buffy, I take the blame. If I hadn’t gone temporarily insane and got on that stage—” He sighed, “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Well, I wasn’t…thinking. Look…” His expression was unreadable, “I’ll…”
See you later? What? What was he thinking? And before she could ask him—stop him—he opened the door and let himself out.
Buffy felt as if something inside her had died. Hope. Her heart bled for him. She knew he wasn’t worried about himself, about what anyone thought of him, except for the way it would affect what he’d worked so hard for because that would be letting a lot of people down. He was taking way too much blame on himself though. Things happened.
And really, he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all about perception, of the public and his own high standards. Not to make light of what happened or the complications it could cause him, but she wished Ridge didn’t expect so much of himself. She’d bet those veterans and friends of his, if they’d seen the paper that morning, weren’t blaming him.
The issue wasn’t that he had some fun in a conference room, or slept with Buffy. The issue was about someone not wanting him to succeed with this bill—the Vork camp was behind the negative press she’d read in the paper. She was sure of it.
Their night together had been almost magical for her, and then for this to happen… Ridge had left so abruptly that she hadn’t asked how she could reach him. Would he regret their time together because of what had happened? Would pushing him into posing for her backfire now? Her chest hurt but it wasn’t a physical ache, she was scared, worried for him because he cared so much. And for what she knew they could have together if he just gave it a chance.
She wanted to just go back to bed and curl up in a ball and shut out everything but she wouldn’t be able to rest for worrying. She decided to straighten the room and pack up her equipment, get dressed, and go downstairs. The remaining attendees would be at the Sunday brunch.
Chapter Eighteen
She was glad to see that her four new friends and Deborah, the woman in the wheelchair, had an extra seat. The small coffee shop on the promenade was bustling with the remaining attendees. Most had left Saturday afternoon or early that morning, since there was only one bonus workshop scheduled for Sunday with a popular historical author, Claranne Braxton, which had been limited to the first twenty-five sign-ups.
“Did you see the paper this morning?” Sally asked in a low voice. Diane and her friends had the Washington Post out in front of them and were discussing the newspaper article about Ridge. Had she really thought she’d escape by leaving her room?
“About what?” she asked pretending ignorance. She wanted to close her eyes and wish this all away.
Cathy said, “The guy that impersonated Tucker? They slammed him in the paper. Seems as if he’s a rich muckity muck who’s been testifying in front of congress. The media has made him out to be some kind of sex pervert.”<
br />
“Ridge?” Buffy asked. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, and the congresswoman who’s been giving him trouble for the last two days has put out a statement saying she knew there was something suspicious about him. Quote: ‘No one is as selfless as he pretended to be.’ She’s calling for an investigation,” Diane said, “It says here that he got a doctorate in Mechanical Bionics from MIT when he was seventeen! The guy’s a friggin’ Einstein. You just don’t think of geniuses looking like that, do you?”
Sonya said, “More like a da Vinci. What else?”
“He was recruited into the Army and ended up in the Rangers doing classified research and on-site quality control,” Diane read.
“In his case, that probably means on the battlefield,” Sally said.
“The other picture is of him excepting an award from the President for his work with veterans. She looked at Buffy, “I wonder what he was doing on that stage? It’s obvious he wasn’t a cover model.”
Sally said, “It might be obvious now, but he was my favorite of the cover models. I was shocked when the real Tucker showed up and we found out that guy wasn’t even in the industry. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to have him on one of my Seal Team Extraction covers. He seems like such a nice man. Did you know he gave me a donation for my Wounded Warrior fund?” Sally’s readers had raised thousands for the WWP fund.
“Maybe it was a publicity stunt that had to do with this hearing, the bill he’s trying to get support for.” Cathy eyes said she thought she was on to something.
“Wait a minute,” Sally said, suddenly alert. “What Bill is that?”
Sonya leaned over Diane’s shoulder, “Looks like it’s a bill for some kind of cooperative, MiliCare and H.R. 6159?”
Sally slapped her forehead with her palm. “Are you kidding me? That’s him?” She shook her head and grabbed her purse. “I don’t know why I didn’t put it together. He’s R. Romano of…” She reached into her purse to get her planner notebook. Tucked into the back were some articles on veterans’ issues, and, she explained, letters she’d received from her fans. Here it is.” She turned the photo around so they could see and read the article…