by Livia Quinn
The other woman said, “We’ll all be marching.”
He shook their hands and gave them his card. Returning to the office he looked up the website from the poster and sucked in a breath when he saw the scope of their organization. Marches were planned in fifty major cities all coordinated with author signings and appearances where volunteers would hand out materials to anyone interested so they could blast Congress with their demands.
He opened his briefcase, reached for the paperback book, looked at the cover, as he had everyday since he’d left Larue.
The redhead in the black leather Dom outfit looked at him with so much tenderness. He’d seen that before. What had scared him was the way he’d been looking at her, as if she were more important than anything. He ran his fingertip over her image, feeling his heart twist and his groin tighten. God, he missed her. He lifted the legal pad up and pulled out the circle of red lace.
Twisting the garter around the fingers of his left hand, he thought back to a conversation they’d had. “What wouldn’t you do to get more exposure for the needs of veterans, pull more eyes to the arena?”
Ridge had asked her, “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m saying,” she’d put her hands on his face. “I’m saying take a page from my book, use every asset you have, not just your intelligence, your wealth, but those great Italian looks.” You’d be surprised what this industry can do, you haven’t seen their reach or their determination.”
She’d been right. He would never have agreed to put his picture on that poster. His initial response had been irritation.
He opened the paperback at the center thinking it blank until he flipped to the front page. It read Her First Night, “Part 1 - To Have and To Hold”, Part 2 – “Forever and Ever”. She’d signed it:
I’ll show this to our children
as soon as they’re old enough to appreciate a good story.
Forever, Buffy.
Right now there was nothing he wanted more than to go straight to Louisiana but he had only ten days left to make sure nothing went wrong. He called the 800# and wasn’t surprised to get Sally. “Ridge, so great to hear from you.” There were so many voices in the background he could barely hear her.
“Sally, I just saw the poster. You have been busy. Was this your idea?” he asked, guessing since she was the one with the veterans project.
“Actually, it was Ms. Calloway’s. After one of the readers outed you to the Post accidentally, we all wanted to make it up to you and to do whatever we could to make sure this vote goes through. She believes in you, Ridge. We all do. Say hi to Ridge, ladies.”
A huge collection of screams went up through the phone, and he asked her to put him on speaker. He was overwhelmed by their hard work and told them he had no words that could adequately describe his appreciation. Energized by their support, he got down to work after Sally filled him in on all their plans.
Chapter Thirty-One
Buffy had watched on TV with her family as parades of veterans and their families and hordes of regular citizens took to the streets of Washington, D.C. and fifty other cities. She was filled with pride to see the authors she’d come to know so well over the last two months, but her heart squeezed to see the tall black haired man standing with veterans in front of the Capitol.
Grandpa Earl pointed at the TV and smiled. “Yessir, that’s a fine young man you got there, Buffy-top.” He’d wanted them to drive him to New Orleans to march but he’d finally agreed to watch with her at home while Lillie, Pamela and her dad stood-in for them in New Orleans.
The vote had just been announced and they’d cheered and cried and Lillie brought out a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Late in the afternoon, Ted called to tell her she needed to see the new owner about a serious problem at her house.
She pulled into the driveway of her former home. It was still just as beautiful to her, and she longed for it but she was happy with the strides she’d made in the last couple weeks to get Calloway Studios underway.
She rang the doorbell and a deep voice grated, “Come in.”
Her eyes nearly popped from her eyeballs and her heart dropped to her feet when she got a look at her favorite model standing by the fireplace, with flames casting gold and red across the sculpted lines of his body.
“Um.” Was all her brain could muster for the man she loved, who had struck a pose in his “Viking” loincloth, one arm cocked to display his biceps and one leg bent to show off his quads, down to the furred leather boots. “Wanna shoot me?” he asked, smiling.
She blinked. “You… bought the house?”
“Hmm, I’m thinking I’m not going to answer that if you’re mad.”
“It depends on what you’re doing here,” she said, trying very hard not to run into his arms.
“I figured you’d just know.” He said, “Where’s that Calloway magic?” and he winked.
She wanted her hands on him, wanted to feel his skin against hers, but kept her expression neutral. “Someone’s been doing some pushups…” she sat on the couch and reclined against the back, taking in the view, wanting to make him squirm a little. Payback for the last three weeks of misery.
She knew when he’d seen the poster because Sally’d called, but she still hadn’t heard from Ridge. Was he mad, she’d wondered. Sally said he seemed genuinely grateful and a bit overwhelmed by the level of support. So, she’d worried, maybe he really didn’t feel the same way she did.
Regular visits from Lillie and her dad helped her stay strong, and of course, there was the business, but long days and late nights still hadn’t driven the worry from her mind.
“So, you essentially invested in my business even though I didn’t want you to,” she said, hoping she sounded stern.
He looked down at the fire and one pec jumped. She kept her face impassive. She was getting to him. Yeah, and how long can you sit there looking at him without jumping him?
“I was hoping we could be partners, and not just in business,” Ridge said, brushing his hair away from his face, knowing it put so many muscles into play.
“Oh, how is that?” She stroked her chin and pretended she didn’t understand while watching each deliberate muscle twitch.
“You rejected my offer, because I was an idiot.” She smiled inwardly. “Your great-granddad told me to ‘quit fartin’ around and get back here before you gave up on me.” He looked down at her. “But you’re not that fickle are you? Not you, the woman who saved herself for ‘the one she was going to spend the rest of her life with’?”
“When did he call you?” she asked.
“After the poster came out. I was having dinner with Belinda and Carrie and ran across it. I wish you’d made me a Ranger,” he shrugged, “but a hero is a hero, I guess.” He grinned at her. “And then you played your hand, put every last card on the table with that Vanity Fair cover.”
“What about Belinda and Carrie, and your other responsibilities?”
“They’ll always be there.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Belinda told me I needed to get a life, that she and Carrie love me but it was getting to where she just couldn’t keep explaining to her dates why her brother-in-law was always hanging around.” His eyes held hers. “I didn’t even know she was dating. Pretty arrogant, huh?”
Buffy softened. “No one could ever use that word to describe you.”
“She said John would have wanted me to be happy.” Buffy’s heart warmed at the understanding shown by his sister-in-law.
“She was right.” Watching him stand there periodically flexing his muscles just to tease her while she tried to keep her mind on business…
“I found some books in your bedroom with me on the cover.” He stroked his chin, setting his abs and chest rippling.
The curl felt like an Anaconda.
“Let’s see, there was The Devil Duke and the Angel, The Seal’s Return, and Night with a Dangerous Man. That’s the one I’m portraying now.”
“More like Night w
ith a Dark Toasted Viking Stud,” she quipped. “You might want to turn that fire down.”
His brow arched, ignoring her. “So, here’s how I have it figured. Now that MiliCare and the consortium are into phase one, I don’t have to be in D.C. as much. Belinda doesn’t want me in California… You and I could be partners, 60/40, since I fronted you the money—”
“65/35,” she said as he started flexing his arms and turning his leg this way and that, a certain muscle bumped the front of the loincloth.
“55/45,” he said, chest and biceps gleaming. She wanted to lick his salty skin all the way down to his toes. She swallowed as another drip of sweat angled down over the muscles of his thigh.
“49/51… I mean 51/49.” He brought his arm up to his chin. More muscle bunching. Then he shifted his leg and the loincloth rose.
“Oh, my. I wish I had my camera,” she said.
He reached up to the mantel and tossed her his IPhone. “Shoot fast, I’m getting…hot…over here,” and his gaze said it wasn’t just from the fire.
She looked at the phone in her hand realizing the importance of what he’d just done. He was shamelessly posing for her. “What has gotten into you?”
He shrugged making his chest ripple again. She groaned. “You were the one that said I should have some fun and learn to use my assets. Besides, no less than two hundred women told me I made a damn fine hero on that poster. And it did get a lot of…” he looked down…“exposure for the vote.” He pointed at the phone. “Darlin’, take your pictures.”
“So you’re saying you will agree to be the face of Calloway Studios?”
“Mm, that’s something we still have to negotiate. Depending on your powers of persuasion, I think we can come to terms.”
“What about the house?” she asked, snapping one picture as sweat trickled down his neck. He belonged on a calendar for firemen—“Four Alarm Heat”. Later, Buffy.
“The house still belongs to you.”
She blinked, lowering the phone, “But I signed the papers.”
“You’re brother can be bought.”
“I don’t understand, how did you know,” Buffy was confused.
“I called the office to try to change your mind about the money and… Frances?… said you’d decided to sell your house. So, I called Ted.”
“I’ll have to have a chat with Frances about keeping her mouth shut.”
Ridge said, “Oh, I don’t know, Buffy. Remember what Grandpa Earl always says.” He leaned down and the flex of thigh and ribs and shiny bronze skin shut her up. He turned as if he’d been on the stage for years and that bronzed landscape was all for her. She licked her lips. He stalked toward her and she thought, yes, come to me. Love… Wait.
She put a hand up. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. It’s not about partnership, sex—”
He knelt in front of her. “I fell in love with you when I saw you on the covers of that magazine, not Lana—Buffy. I saw something in your photos, in the interviews, and articles, and YouTubes—yeah, I was slightly fixated. That’s one of the reasons it took me so long to accept how I feel about you. I kept asking myself, could you fall in love with a photograph?”
She said, “It was the same for me, the first time I saw you on that stage through the lens of my mind’s eye. I knew—truth be told, I knew that first day.”
“I don’t just love you, Buffy. You talked about my work being more important, my passion, but the things you put in motion with the romance writers and veterans organizations took vision, and time, and a lot of love.” He threaded his fingers through hers and kissed her knuckles. “I still can’t believe you had the courage to use me on that poster. You are one gutsy woman.”
He pulled her to her feet, wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “I don’t just love you. I accept your love for me, and I want it to last a long long time until we’re frisky old folks like that family of yours.”
She reached out and tugged the tie loose on his loincloth. “Well, what are you standing there for?”
“Baby, I thought you’d never ever ask,” he growled as he took her mouth with his, and the loincloth hit the wood floor.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ridge scooped her up into his arms. In the hallway, he used his foot to nudge her bedroom door open and carried her inside an erotic fantasy. The deep teal drapes were pulled. He’d thrown one of her aqua colored satin sheets over some of her furniture and, arranged on it he’d lit scented candles. Every clear dish and vase she owned was filled, or floating with flowers. The fragrance wasn’t overwhelming but starkly different from the rest of the house, like entering a fantasy world.
His dark eyes studied her face while he held her and she filled her senses with the sights and smells that awaited her. Flames bounced off the walls and from mirrors he’d placed, which made it look like a vast lovemaking playground. She turned and found those flames reflected in his eyes, the heat she felt in his arms, his strength, his love.
He was patient, though she felt his shaft bumping against her hip. “You’ve been busy.”
He simply nodded and released her legs so she slid down his big hard body, but he didn’t let go. His hands went to her buttons easing each one open and then slid inside her blouse, eased it off her shoulders and followed with his lips. He nibbled her skin, setting her insides ablaze with his hot tongue.
Losing herself in the sensations of his tongue and hands and his lower body gently prodding her to lose her clothes, she was surprised when she felt the air hit her bare breasts, then fingers hooked the waist of her skirt and pushed down, exposing her stomach to the gentle prod of his erection. Her womb clenched. She wanted him so very much, had longed for him for weeks.
With her face lifted to his she reached up to bring him down for a kiss. She tried to convey her feelings, all the emotions he stirred in her back to him with her tongue and teeth and her skin against his. She rocked her hips against him and heard a choked off groan. “Slowly, sweetheart. It’s been too long and I want you very badly.”
“Then don’t drag it out, and no counting. I want you just as much.” She gasped as he sucked the skin between her jaw and shoulder blade with his lips and tickled it with his tongue.
“Like that?” He did it again, and then trailed his tongue up her neck to her ear, playing with it, dipping inside. Easing her skirt off her hips to fall around her feet, he took her mouth as his hands came under her butt and lifted her to lock her legs around him. Then he walked to the side of the bed and turned her so she could see them in the mirrored glass doors of her closet.
He climbed onto the bed, supporting her and leaned over to take her breast in his mouth. She felt his ready cock bumping her wet entrance but he was a very determined man. With slow languorous kisses he made his way down her stomach, dipped into her navel, dragged his tongue from there to the little bud above those dewy petals.
There she felt his breath as he said, “Watch in the mirror,” and he began to devour her, lapping at the juices, taking the swollen petals between his lips and tugging, then dipping into that sensitive moist heat.
She arched off the bed, closing her eyes but he ordered her once again to watch and he angled to the side so she could see his full glory as his arms pulsed, flexed and he pushed two fingers inside her. She keened and thrust against them, begging him to come to her. But he pulled two of the pillows from the foot and raised her up to place them beneath her upper body. At this angle she could see them plainly in the mirror, watch his beautiful backside pump as his shaft stroked across her folds. “Ridge, please.”
He made a negative sound and leaned down to entertain her nipples, suckling and plucking them with his fingers. She thrust up against him bumping him with her pelvis as he watched them, and then he was parting the soft flesh and she felt the first push of the tip against her opening.
She groaned and tried to pull on his broad shoulders but he was of a mind to go slowly at first it seemed. Glancing toward the mirror she saw sensual art in mo
tion, all those magnificent gleaming muscles, the lines only the great artists had been able to capture with the emotion she was feeling.
She watched as he retreated from her body, his shoulders expanding, hips swelled and then he plunged into her and their bodies melded into the art of the couple, a captured image on her mind she would never forget—the image of love in physical form. He paused and their eyes met. His held no fan-boy infatuation but a mature and lasting sentiment.
“I love you.” He thrust, and said, “I love you.”
She responded, taking him deep. Their hips met over and over as the tension built between them and then she panted, “Now, Ridge. Oh, God, I love you so much.”
He sank into her as she climaxed around him, squeezing his pulsing shaft until they were spent. For the moment at least.
He rolled onto his back and brought her with him, gazing up into her eyes. A few minutes later he said, “You knew what you were doing all along, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean—” she frowned. “Oh, if you think I wasn’t terrified that you’d walked away forever, you are so wrong. My dad and Lillie kept me going, but it was my mom that really convinced me. She said, ‘You have to stick to your guns, baby. Those of us who are on the receiving end of that love at first sight proclamation need time to get used to the idea that someone could not only know it right off, but also have the guts to say it. I thought your father just wanted to get me out of my jeans. And he did, eventually, so just don’t you give up. Your plan is gonna work.’”
She looked over at Ridge. “Problem was, it wasn’t really a plan. I was winging it, totally.”