Left (Still Standing, #1)

by Graves, T. R.

  Ryker hands Ms. Flirty his card after she says the two rooms will be $748. While she's running his black American Express through the card reader, he puts his hand over mine and stops me from pulling my credit card from my wallet.

  "I've got this. You forget. I invited you and not the other way around."

  "I know, but I'd be more comfortable if I paid for my room," I admit.

  Ryker shakes his head. Ms. Flirty completely ignores our conversation and has the rooms charged to his credit card seconds later. When she hands the card back to Ryker, he has a smug grin on his face.

  I hike my brows up and say, "I'll be paying for supper, then."

  I can tell Ryker wants to refuse me, but he doesn't. He doesn't agree either, which may be the same thing in his book.

  Ms. Flirty gives Ryker both of our room keys and provides him brief instructions on the rooms' locations. She makes sure to stand up and lean over the desk, revealing her breasts all the way down to the dark-brown nipple.

  Embarrassed by what I've just seen, I look away and notice that Ryker is too busy staring in the direction she's pointing to enjoy the show she means specifically for him.

  Ryker grins back at me and says, "Let's go check out our rooms, get freshened up, and then head over to the mall. We need something to wear to supper—that you will not be paying for—and tomorrow for our trip home."

  I decide to go along with Mr. Bossy. For now. Tomorrow when he drops me off, I'll leave enough money in his console to cover the cost of the room, clothes, and supper. He won't be able to argue about something he doesn't know about.

  Ryker leaves me at the door of my room after opening it for me. The way he hangs around outside my room after I go in tells me he's not happy about being away from me. When I think about it, I admit I feel the same way. There's something warm and endearing—and hot and sexy—about him that makes him easy to be around... with.

  "I'll meet you in the concierge lounge in a half an hour. If you get there before me, order a drink and have them put it on the room," Mr. Bossy says.

  I don't bother rolling my eyes. Regardless of what he says, I will pay for any drink I order. I will not be putting anything on the card associated with the room because it is his credit card and not mine.

  The room is not nearly as large as Ryker's Houston hotel room, but it really packs a punch. The walls are a dark taupe, and there are accents throughout the room that tie back to the wall color. The carpet, the curtains, and the blanket at the foot of the pure-white comforter are rich and inviting.

  The cottage-style bathroom is colorless. Everything is white—veined marble, glossy beadboard, thick towels, and flowing robes—and chrome—down to the last professional-grade fixture.

  After I finish in the bathroom, I wander around the room before sitting down in the oversized comfy chair and propping up my feet. I pull my cell phone out of my purse, turn it on, and see that I have dozens of calls and messages from Colt.

  I make the conscious decision to ignore them for now and search to see if there is anything from anyone else I need to respond to. Unusual for the weekend, there are several from Sabrina. Then I remember Colt telling me that he'd called her.

  Four are from last night.

  Sabrina: Where are you? Colt's looking for you.

  Sabrina: Text me if you get this.

  Sabrina: Baylee... I'm worried about you. I know something happened between you and Colt. Talk to me.

  Sabrina: I've called the police, and they've informed me that I can't file a missing person's report until you've been missing for twenty-four hours. My clock is ticking starting now: 24 hours

  Sabrina: 23 hours—Please call me.

  Sabrina: 22 hours—Please. Please call me.

  Sabrina: 21 hours—Jesus. I'm freaking out, Baylee. Call.

  There is one every hour on the hour with the last post being thirty minutes ago and her having counted down to eight hours.

  Me: Please forgive me. I've not had my phone or I would have let you know that I'm safe and sound, and there is absolutely no reason for you to worry about me. I'm out of town. You and I will talk on Monday. Lunch, just the two of us. I love you. Now stop worrying.

  Sabrina: Holy hell! I'm glad to hear from you. Colt's calling me. What should I tell him?

  Me: That I'm fine and that he and I will talk in a few days after we've both calmed down.

  Sabrina: Got it! Do you need me? I'm an excellent listener. ;)

  Me: I want to talk... just not now. It's too hard. Too embarrassing. Too... painful. :(

  Sabrina: As long as you know I love you. <3

  Me: I do. See you Monday.

  Next, I see a message from Dr. Aaron time-stamped early this morning.

  Jesus! Did Colt call everyone I know?

  Dr. Aaron: Baylee, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. No texts.

  There's a tone to this message that tells me how worried Dr. Aaron is. Ever since Mom's suicide, Dr. Aaron gets a little frantic if he thinks I'm dealing with any sort of issue. I know he'll not rest until he hears my voice. I dial his number and pray the connection between the North America and South Africa is blocked.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  "Bay! Baby! Is that you?" Dr. Aaron asks anxiously.

  As soon as I hear his voice, his concern for me, I nearly crumble. "Yes, Daddy, it's me," I whisper.

  Normally, I call him Dr. Aaron just like his every patient. Right now, I need my father. Not the man whose job it is to take care of the world, but rather the man whose job it is to be there for me. He releases a sigh that seems to take forever. It tells me how worried he's been.

  "Thank heavens! I've been going crazy. Colt has never called me looking for you before, and I've never not been able to reach you. What's going on? Do I need to fly back? It will take a few days, but I will."

  For the briefest moment, I think I can emotionlessly tell him that Colt and I broke up, but as soon as the words come out of my mouth so does a loud hiccupping sob. "Colt broke up with me, Daddy! Said Wyatt wants him to date someone better."

  Dr. Aaron is quiet for a few minutes. I know we haven't lost connection because I hear him breathing. He's thinking through his words. He's reliving every word he ever said to my mother. I'm not sure why my mother killed herself, but I do know that he's always blamed himself for her suicide.

  Finally, he very carefully says, "Bay... I want you to listen to me carefully. You are the most wonderful person I know, and no one knows you better than me. You are fiercely loyal, amazingly brilliant, and a daughter a man can be proud of. I'm not sure why Colt did what he did or why Wyatt is an arrogant prick who can't see that his son was already with the best there is. There is no one better. What I do know is that you are the one who dodged the bullet. I want you to get married one day to a man who will worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped. I want your kids to see him put you above everyone else in the world so they grow up doing and expecting the same. That's what I want for you, and based on what Colt just did to you, I know he's not the person I thought he was."

  I'm speechless with Dr. Aaron's words. Usually, he's a man of few words, and he certainly isn't a man who is going to put it all out there. Not like this.

  "My head tells me the same thing. It's my heart that's having a hard time understanding," I mumble through the phlegm, a by-product of my tears, pooled in the back of my throat.

  "I know, Bay, and every day will get easier. I'll tell you what. I'm in my off-rotation. I'm going to fly to Houston and hang out with you next weekend. Then I'll fly back here and finish my volunteer hours."

  I shake my head even though I know he can't see me. "No, Daddy. Those people need you way more than I do. I'm going to be fine. I'm still just a little shocked. It's been less than twenty-four hours."

  "I'll not take no for an answer. You need me, and I need to see you. I'll be there by Friday."

  He's right. I do need him, and for the first time in my life, I would like answers about my mother and
her death. Those questions can only be asked in person, and only the person closest to her can answer them.

  There's a gentle knock on the adjoining door. I wipe away all remnants of tears and snot and walk over to the door to let Ryker in.

  When I open it, I'm still on the phone with Dr. Aaron. I motion an apology toward Ryker who waves it off and tries to shut the door between us and give me the privacy he thinks I want. I keep it open.

  "I'd love that, Daddy. Call me when you know your flight information. I can't wait to see you," I say, and with the thought that Dr. Aaron will be in Houston in less than a week, I'm excited.

  Ryker relaxes when he hears I'm on the phone with my father and not Colt, which is what I think he suspected.

  "I will. I love you, Bay. Just remember how much your ol' man loves and needs you... okay?"

  "I love you, too. I'll see you next weekend," I say, hanging up the phone.

  I frown Ryker's way. "I think Colt called every person I know. They're all texting and calling me. I had to let them know I'm okay before they filed a missing person's report," I say, laughing half-heartedly.

  Ryker glances at his watch. "That would explain the last hour."

  My stare darts quickly over to the bedside clock, and I remember I was supposed to meet him a half an hour ago.

  "Oh, Ryker. I completely lost track of time. I'm sorry."

  He shrugs. "No problem. I was just worried there for a minute that you'd abandoned me."

  His words are not the confident ones I've come to expect from him. They are tinged with something that tells me he's afraid he's the one that's about to get hurt.

  Something deep inside me wants to reach out and hug him and assure him I'd never hurt him, but I can't. I'm coming off of a four-year relationship. I don't know what to do or where to go from here. I do know that I'm not any good for anyone right now. I decide to go for lighthearted.

  "What girl in her right mind would walk out on a man who has rescued her repeatedly over the last twenty-four hours?" I laugh and roll my eyes as if I'm a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. "Oh, and don't forget about his car. Who would leave a man who has a car that might well be called heaven on earth?"

  Ryker knows I'm mocking him and his expensive car. He laughs with me. "All right, Mrs. Russell." Ryker holds up our room papers, and I snatch them from his hands.

  "Ms. Flirty listed my last name as Russell." I study the papers and laugh, and with that laugh I feel better than I've felt all day.

  Ryker sends a raised brow my way. "You thought she was flirting?"

  "Holy smokes, Ryker! I think the top button on her blouse popped off she was breathing so deep and sticking her breasts out so far. You are definitely her type," I say.

  Not realizing Ryker has taken several steps and is now just inches from me, I turn, trip, and fall—all in one clumsy motion—after I sling my purse over my shoulder. Ever my hero, he catches me.

  I have both palms on his chests and we are eye to eye, staring at each other, breathing the other in, and deciding where this moment will take us. Before we let reason tear us apart and send us on our mall-shopping way, Ryker murmurs, "There's only one woman here who is my type, and it's you." Then he leans down and very softly kisses me.

  I close my eyes and open my mouth for him. Like a chemical reaction where the heat gradually builds until it's as scorching as a roaring fire, Ryker's kiss and the degree with which he wants me makes me hotter and hotter by the second. When he slips his arm around my waist and pins me against the door, I'm tempted—unlike any time in my life, I'm tempted—to wrap my legs around his waist and give in to what's happening between us.

  Instead, we just keep kissing, exploring each other with our tongues and mouths until finally, Ryker pulls back and hoarsely says, "If we don't leave this room right now, I'm going to throw you on this bed and fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Tell me which you'd prefer."

  I stare him in his eyes and notice his pupils are black with want. I'm sure mine are exactly the same. Only, I don't just want Ryker. I need him after that kiss. Hormones of pure and unadulterated lust have saturated every cell in my body. Only a mind-blowing orgasm will bring me the relief I need.

  "Jesus! Right now, I'd give anything for you to do that," I groan with every ounce of frustration I feel, putting my hand up before Ryker can act on my request. "But... I don't think we should... not yet. I barely know which way is up today. I think I'd be doing you a disservice if we let this go any further. It's too soon."

  Ryker wags his brows in a way that reminds me just how gorgeously sexy he is. "I'm willing to sacrifice myself," he says, pushing into me and letting me know how much he wants this thing between us to go further. Now.

  I turn my head to the side and whisper, "I can't."

  Ryker's grip on me loosens. Like the respectful gentleman I need him to be, he kisses my forehead and steps away from me. "No pressure. I'll wait." He intertwines our fingers and pulls me toward the door. "Let's go shopping!"

  CHAPTER 9

  BLINDSIDED

  Baylee

  I'm having more fun shopping with Ryker than I've ever had with anyone in my life. He picks out the most beautiful dresses and insists I try them on. He never once acts bored or impatient, and he's a natural with the saleswomen. Truly, I haven't had this much excitement dressing up since I was a little girl, one who had extravagant tea parties with my stuffed animals.

  My only real dilemma is the price tags on the dresses he's adding to my stacks of clothes to try on. I can't afford them. No matter how perfect they are, I hang them on the no rack.

  I'm down to the final dress. When I see the $4,750 price tag, I decide not to try on the dress at all.

  No sense in setting myself up for disappointment.

  While putting my summer dress back on so we can leave, I decide to let Ryker know we're going to have to find a casual restaurant this evening... or he can dine alone. I'm bending down to put on my sandals when someone knocks.

  I'm dressed and not at all worried this person might see anything risqué, so I swing the door wide open. I'm met by a stony-faced Ryker.

  "Is there some reason you've sent back every dress? They've all looked beautiful on you. Surely there's one you could wear tonight," Ryker says, and he's beyond irritated.

  I look back down the hall like I'm afraid he's about to get us kicked out of the store.

  "This is the woman's dressing room. What are you doing?" I whisper.

  Ryker has no plan to be discreet. He ignores me and my concerns and points to the one I just decided not to try on. "I never even saw that one on you."

  I stare down at my bare feet.

  Ryker softens. "What is it, Baylee? Tell me."

  He reaches up and slides my hair behind my ear, cupping my face in his hands.

  "They cost too much, Ryker. I can't afford them," I say, cocking my head and looking up at him.

  His grin is crooked. "You did understand I'm the one buying the dress, right? I promise you I can afford them."

  I sigh. "I understood that you wanted to buy it, but I wanted to buy it myself. Only I can't because my financial situation has recently changed. I'm going to have to pay every bill without Colt's help. I can't afford any of these dresses unless I want to move, and I don't want to leave the downtown area," I confess.

  Ryker leans into my ear. "Please... please... please let me buy these clothes for you today. Nothing would make me happier, and last I checked, you owe me."

  My eyes slit. "That's a very sneaky way to get what you want."

  Ryker shrugs. "No one will ever accuse me of not using everything I have at my disposal to get my way."

  I don't say anything.

  "Is that a yes?" Ryker asks, going in for the kill.

  I close my eyes. "Pick whichever one you like, and I'll wear it. I hope you like it a lot, though, because it's going home with you. I can't—in good conscience—keep it."

  "In that case, I'm going to buy all of them I
've liked. That way you'll have lots of dresses to pick from every single time I want to take you to supper or to a dinner party," Ryker says, clearly pleased he's gotten his way.

  "It's your money, Mr. Bossy," I concede snarkily.

  My pouting does nothing to deter him or change his mind. "That it is, Baylee. While I'm thinking about it, I have a dinner party Thursday night. Can I count you as my plus one?"

  "It looks like my calendar has recently become completely open," I remark.

  "And I plan to take full advantage of that fact." Ryker winks right before the saleswoman finds her way back to my dressing room.

  "Is there anything I can get for you?" she asks and is clearly worried that she's lost her sale because of her absence.

  "She'll take every dress on that hook," Ryker says, nodding his head to the hook holding all of the very expensive dresses.

  I cringe at the thought of him spending more than fifty thousand dollars on dresses.

  "She'll also need undergarments and shoes," Ryker says without skipping a beat and is as pragmatic as someone who's saying we're about to get a cup of coffee.

  The saleswoman quickly realizes this might be her best sale all year and begins waiting on me hand and foot.

  "What size are you?" she asks, staring at my breasts and sizing them up for my undergarments. Her only thought is that of the additional commission she'll get.

  My face flushes because of Ryker's presence. Instinctively, I cross my arms and say, "I wear a 36C."

  I refuse to look in Ryker's direction while she asks me the very personal undergarment questions. Even then, I feel his stare boring into me. He's way more interested in this subject than he should be.

  "How long has it been since you've been measured?"

  "Last week," I mumble.

  When I was buying lingerie for Colt.

  "What do you like better? Corsets? Teddies? Garters?"

  "I just want bras and panties. Nothing more," I say, reminding myself that the props got me nowhere.

  "Thongs, hipsters, bikinis, or briefs?" the very aggressive saleswoman asks.

  Good Lord! Will there be any end to this embarrassment?

  "Thongs and bikinis, please," I say, bending over and buckling my sandal.