Either way, though, he’d been glad to hear his buddy sounding happy.
Now . . . he just wished he was, too.
The fact was, he hadn’t slept with anyone since Laura.
He’d tried. He’d even once got so far as bringing a girl home with him. But for some reason, in the end, he hadn’t gotten into it.
Maybe Laura had made him realize that what Tommy had said when they’d been discussing Marianne was true—maybe Braden, too, wanted a girl with some substance. Even if it was just for fooling around, he suddenly didn’t feel satisfied by the same old shallow chicks.
Only, he had the weird feeling that even if he found a less-than-shallow chick strolling up the beach right now, he probably wouldn’t really want to fool around with her, either. He just kept thinking about Laura.
Six months later, autumn had arrived, Dirty Little Secrets had just made the USA Today list, and Laura’s life had become a drudgery.
She’d tried to date Mr. Starbucks back in the spring, and they’d had a nice enough meal at El Camino, her favorite Mexican restaurant over in funky, artsy Fremont. But when he’d asked her back to his place, she’d claimed she was tired, and when he’d tried to kiss her at her door, she’d actually turned away. She’d felt both mean and as if she were behaving like a bit of a freak, and the parting had been utterly awkward.
Since then, she hadn’t even thought about trying to date anyone. Monica had spent most of their time together lecturing her, so even her “girlfriend time” had been less than appealing lately. Which had led to much wearing of joggers and renting of sad movies. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d actually put on a pair of real pants.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, as she’d sat down to start on her next Riley Wainscott Mystery this morning, she’d encountered her old nemesis—writer’s block. Actually, she’d been encountering it every morning for the last few months—but at the moment, it felt even worse than usual, overshadowing her current book’s success.
“God, Riley,” she murmured in frustration toward the computer screen, “you’re supposed to be a whole new woman this time around, ready for new adventures, new relationships, new beginnings of every kind. So what are they?”
All she could do was picture Riley and Aunt Mimsey having tea, or visiting the Dorchesters. Or maybe Riley wandering wistfully and lonely through the secret garden. Wow, what a catchy hook for a story: wannabe detective takes walk.
Once upon a time, Monica had been sure Laura’s writer block had been caused by a lack of sex. And the results of her visit to Colorado had seemed to support the claim. God, she hoped that wasn’t true, given that she didn’t seem to want to have sex with anyone other than Braden Stone.
She was just about to wonder, for the first time ever, if maybe all of Riley’s stories had been told, if all of her adventures had already been lived—when an Instant Message popped up on her screen. She flinched when she saw who it was from.
FLYBOY1: Are you there, snowflake?
Her heart threatened to burst through her chest. He suddenly felt so nearby—even if also still far away. RILEY: Yes, I’m here. Hi.
FLYBOY1: How are you?
What a loaded question. She lied, of course. RILEY: Great, thanks. And you? Busy buying up unsuspecting corporations?
FLYBOY1: I told you, I’m not ruthless and conniving in business. Just ruthless.
FLYBOY1: Let’s just say I know how to get what I want. :) Did you have any complaints?
RILEY: None.
FLYBOY1: I just finished reading Dirty Little Secrets last night.
Damn—she’d never even thought about him seeking out her book. Her poor, put-upon heart pounded even faster at the news.
RILEY: And?
FLYBOY: I want to know where Riley and Sloane Bennett stand.
Because of the same reason her editor had—because it was an appealing story line? Or was there more to his question? How obvious was it that she’d loosely fashioned Sloane after him? She almost couldn’t breathe. RILEY: Well, as you read, Sloane had to return to his business. So . . . they’re finished, I suppose.
FLYBOY1: I think that’s a bad idea.
RILEY: Oh?
FLYBOY1: I think you’re missing an opportunity. They were good together. In fact, I think Riley should hook up with the dark stranger again.
Laura considered her answer, still unsure of what they were really talking about. For at least half a second, she seriously considered typing I love you into the box. But then she came to her senses and remembered how hurt she would be when he didn’t know what to say to that, and when it became clear that she’d just humiliated herself. She took a deep breath and tried to compose a reply. RILEY: I’m not sure how that would happen. They live three thousand miles apart. It seems unlikely they’ll bump into each other again on accident.
It took a little while for him to answer. FLYBOY1: Would you be surprised to know I still miss you, snowflake?
Laura’s throat clogged with emotion. She considered things she could say.
I miss you every day.
Every night.
Then she thought of the Braden she’d come to know and love in the mountain home, and she instead told him something she knew he’d be thrilled to hear. RILEY: Sometimes I use the vibrator you gave me, and I think about you.
FLYBOY1: God, honey, that’s nice. You just made me hard.
Hot desire fluttered through her. RILEY: Feels like old times.
FLYBOY1: I love to think about you fucking yourself with it, moving it in and out of your perfect little pussy. Do you keep it shaven?
Laura pulled in her breath. The truth was no—she had no reason to. But she didn’t want to spoil the fantasy, didn’t want him to think she hadn’t remained the bolder, more sensual woman he’d made of her. RILEY: Sometimes.
FLYBOY1: Ever think about installing a webcam on your end?
The mere act of communicating with Braden, even just over the computer, was making Laura feel alive in a way she hadn’t in months. Keep the playful, naughty banter going, she commanded herself. Besides being exciting and fun, and a way to keep him in her life, maybe some cybersex would be enough to revive her creativity again.
Yet to her surprise, something inside her slowly began to sink. She wanted to excite him, wanted to rekindle all that forbidden pleasure that had first brought them together—but she couldn’t.
Knowing the things they’d done together, face to face, body to body, and knowing how very close to him she’d felt, how very trusting, how very attached—she knew already that dirty cyberchat wasn’t going to make up for what she lacked. Already it felt empty. Like moving backward. She couldn’t do it. She typed her answer in sadly. RILEY: No.
FLYBOY1: Would you?
RILEY: No again.
FLYBOY1: Did I just accidentally do something to make you mad at me?
RILEY: No.
FLYBOY1: Then is something wrong?
RILEY. Yes.
FLYBOY1: What?
RILEY: I love you.
She sent it without giving herself a chance to even consider it. It was gone, and it couldn’t be brought back. She felt sick, her stomach churning, every nerve ending in her body tingling so intensely it was painful.
When he didn’t answer, she feared she would throw up.
And then a message appeared.
FLYBOY1: I didn’t know that, honey.
A far cry from I love you, too. Oh God, she’d made a horrible mistake. RILEY: I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t believe I did. Forget about it, okay?
FLYBOY1: I don’t know how to forget about something like that.
Laura made a stressful decision—to barrel ahead to the heart of the matter. She had to—nothing else made any sense.
RILEY: Well, since I’m pretty sure you don’t feel the same way, I want you to at least TRY to forget it, okay? I want you to remember me fondly, not like the dork who j
ust spouted out something without thinking about it.
FLYBOY1: I never said I didn’t feel the same way.
Her chest ached from the intense beating of her heart. RILEY: But you didn’t say you did, either.
A long, painful hesitation on his end that made tears well in her eyes. FLYBOY1: I don’t even really know what love is, Laura. That kind of love. I’ve never been in it. You know me—bachelor forever and all that. I’m sorry.
Well, that was all she needed to know. She still possessed the ability to excite him, but he didn’t love her. And he was a nice enough guy that he was trying to let her down easy. The person on the other side of the situation, though, never seemed to understand that there could be nothing easy about it.
Taking a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears enough to type, she constructed an answer. RILEY: I understand. Thank you for reading my book and letting me know. I have to go now.
And she shut down her Instant Message program and Internet connection as quickly as she could, before he could reply. Then she even shut down the computer altogether.
Methodically, she shed her jogging pants for a pair of jeans, left the apartment, and started walking toward Starbucks, even at the risk of seeing the guy she’d refused to kiss, because she simply had to get out of the house for a little while.
She couldn’t believe she’d told Braden she loved him.
You could have had lots of fun IMing him. You could have had a secret little Internet affair for weeks, months, years. But thinking of “years” brought back the original problem she’d figured out during the exchange: it just wasn’t enough, and she couldn’t survive on that. Back when she’d first arrived at the Vail house, she’d questioned whether or not she even knew what it was to be in love—but now she definitely knew. She was in love with Braden, and nothing less than him loving her back was going to make her happy.
Which probably meant she was destined for a long life of dirty clothes, sad movies, and writer’s block.
Chapter Nineteen
Part of Braden couldn’t believe he was in a Seattle cab speeding toward the address he’d gotten from his cousin, Monica. But another part of him couldn’t believe he’d managed to wait this long.
It had been a week since Laura had told him she loved him. A week since she’d rushed abruptly off the computer and ignored his every IM since.
Maybe it was just as well—because he hadn’t even been sure what he wanted to say, only that he’d hated feeling he’d hurt her, and hated the idea that they might never come into contact with each other again. The more he’d imagined it, the more unthinkable it had become.
He still didn’t know for sure about love. He’d never let himself be an emotional guy. His job demanded that he block emotion out, and it had always come easy for him—in fact, now that he thought about it, it was probably why he was so good at what he did. Maybe it was due to his parents’ divorce—he’d just never believed in monogamy very much after that, that it could work, or maybe that it was even natural. Happy couples seemed few and far between in his life.
But Laura’s tenderness and the genuine way she’d opened herself to him and put herself at risk affected him in a way he couldn’t keep ignoring. From touching herself on the webcam for him . . . to experimenting with a three-way . . . to telling him she loved him. He’d never had anyone trust him so very much, and each time it had stirred something deep inside him, made his heart feel like it was bending, stretching, in his chest.
“Thirty-four Woodview,” the cab driver said, pulling to the curb in front of a small, quaint-if-slightly-funky-looking apartment building from another era. Braden glanced toward the front door and, palms sweating, heart racing, realized he was actually nervous—an emotion he wasn’t very well acquainted with.
He paid the driver, picked up the rose he’d laid gently on the seat next to him, and got out, striding boldly to the door and inside. Then he found the apartment number Monica had also supplied and, without hesitating, knocked firmly, ignoring the doorbell.
When Laura opened the door, he feared she might faint. Her mouth dropped open and he’d never seen her eyes so wide. “What are you doing here?”
Good question. He still wasn’t sure. “I just couldn’t leave things the way they were, snowflake.” Then he held out the flower, a pink rose just beginning to open.
Her eyes dropped to the rosebud and she let out a heavy breath. “How did you know this is my favorite flower?”
He shrugged. “It’s Riley’s favorite, so I took a shot.”
Trembling now, she accepted it from him. She stood with her hair falling tousled around her face, wearing a pale yellow strappy top, blue jeans below. Her nipples jutted softly through the fabric. Damn, she was just as beautiful as he remembered, maybe more, and only then, in that moment, did he realize just how stupid he’d been.
He should have come here the day after she’d left Vail, the day he’d realized he missed her so much. He just hadn’t known then, or the week after, or the week after . . . he hadn’t known for sure until right this moment. He loved her. He loved her so fucking much. Being without her had physically hurt. For the first time since February, he felt happy.
“I have a plan for Riley,” he said. “I think she should move.”
Laura blinked. “Huh?”
“I think Riley should pack up and move to L.A. with Sloane. I think they should keep solving new mysteries together. And I think they should find their own secret garden. If they can’t find one, they should make one.”
She blinked again. “Braden . . .” she began uncertainly, her eyes reaching out to him needfully.
And he understood. That he had to just say it. Because she needed to hear it. And he needed to tell her. He didn’t even know how to say things like this, but he had to learn—right now. “Come to L.A. with me, Laura. Let me make love to you every night for the rest of our lives. I know it seems sudden, probably risky—but I love you.”
Laura’s knees nearly buckled beneath her, and she reached out to press her hand against the wall to steady herself. He wanted to make love to her. He loved her. Actually loved her. “I . . . I thought you didn’t know what love was.”
“I just figured it out, snowflake. I’m in it. With you. And I have been since we met. I just didn’t know it, because . . .”
She tilted her head, trying to understand. “Because you’re . . . a virgin?” she suggested. “When it comes to love?”
He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving softly upward. “I guess that’s an accurate way to put it.” Then he stepped up closer and slid his arms smoothly around her waist, and her whole body ached for more of him. “And I want to give it to you, that last little piece of my virginity, the same way you gave me the last little piece of yours.”
Oh God. It was too unbelievable, too perfect. “Braden,” she said, nearly breathless. “Please kiss me.”
His mouth came down on hers in a hot crush, and she could feel how long he’d yearned for the connection, too. The kiss reverberated through her whole body as their tongues thrust together. His hands dropped to her ass, making her pussy throb.
“I can’t believe you love me,” she murmured when the kiss ended.
He pulled back to peer down at her with those dark, possessive eyes. “I do, baby. I love you so damn much. I can’t live without you.”
She could barely breathe, too overcome with emotion. “I can’t live without you, either.”
“Then you’ll come? To L.A.?”
She didn’t even hesitate. She’d miss Monica and her mom—but that’s why they made airplanes. She nodded emphatically. “God, yes!”
“Thank God,” he whispered, pulling her back to him in a deep hug.
Mmm, he felt so good—but she still needed more of him, all of him. “Fuck me, Braden,” she whispered.
A low groan left him, and after that, there were no more words.
They rushed frantically, pulling at each other’s clothes. She dragged him to the sof
a, opening his jeans so that his cock burst free. She moaned at the sight of it—so big and hard. She’d never needed anything so desperately.
Discarding her jeans and panties, she straddled his thighs and lowered herself onto his stiff, beautiful erection with a low cry that came from her very core. Braden moaned, too, and they peered deeply into each other’s eyes as she began to move on him.
“So long,” she murmured, grinding against him, “I’ve needed this for so, so long.”
“There’s been no one since you, honey,” he told her. “This sweet body is the only one I wanted. This sweet pussy wrapping around my cock is the only thing that could make me happy.”
She slid wetly against him, loving when he thrust up into her deep, deeper.
“God, yes,” she purred. “Fuck me, Braden. Fuck me hard.”
His fingers dug into her ass as he plunged into her with rough strokes that reached her very center. Ah yes, so good—she just needed to feel him, filling her.
She found her rhythm against the hard drives and knew it wouldn’t take long to come, since he was so much better than her vibrator. “Soon, lover,” she told him—which was when he pressed the tip of one finger firmly against her anus, and she exploded into pure ecstasy. “God, baby!” she cried. “God, yes! I’m coming! Coming!” But she didn’t stop there, adding, “I love you! I love you, Braden, so much!” Because she could say that now! Because she didn’t have to hide it anymore!
“Ah—baby,” he growled on a low groan, and she knew he was coming, too, pushing deep, his eyes falling shut, and she watched his handsome face, watched the way his lips softly parted, the way his features softened as the orgasm tapered into relaxation. She smiled afterward, so glad he’d taught her how beautiful it could be to witness your lover’s pleasure.
“What you said made me come,” he whispered when his eyes opened again.
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