by J. R. Ward
His laughter sounded good, so good. “You up for a visitor?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
She looked around the mostly barren room. “I don’t know,” she said softly.
“I’m lonely.”
“You’re out with those guys, right? The matched set of douche canoes.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She moved her phone to her other ear. “And you’re surrounded by human women, right? The hot ones who have throat muscles that go lax on command and enough silicon implanted in them that they could qualify as an inert molecule?”
“Pretty much.”
“So why are you on my phone?”
“Because I’d rather be with you.”
Novo closed her eyes. “That fight with your father really must run deep, huh.”
“This is not about him.”
“You sure about that? ’Cuz I’m not.”
“So what do you say. And this is not about sex.”
“Good. Because I’m walking with a cane and I feel about as sexy as a toaster oven.”
“Okay, quick side note on that. Toaster ovens are hot. I mean, that’s their purpose. That’s how you warm up pizza and how Hot Pockets get their name. Without toaster ovens, they’d be Room Temperature Pockets, and who needs that.”
Novo started laughing. “You’re a freak.”
“My point is, if you’re trying to say you’re not feeling sexy, go with a different metaphor. Like…I feel about as sexy as a bottle of Tums. Now, they put out heartburn so—”
“Shut the fuck up and call for the bus.”
As she hung up, she was smiling. And then, for absolutely, positively, no reason whatsoever…she went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and re-braided her hair.
—
It took a good hour for Peyton to get to the training center, and when he finally got off the transport, he found himself nearly running down to Novo’s room. As he came up to her door, he smoothed his hair and made sure that his suit was properly buttoned.
Opening the way in, he stopped.
She was sound asleep, her head cocked to one side as if she had been trying to stay awake for him. The IV was out of her arm, he noted, and short of some wires on her chest that were hooked up to a tiny receiver thingy, all of the monitoring equipment was gone.
He let the door close silently on its own and kicked his loafers free so he made no sound at all in his socks. Halfway to the bed, he peeled off his jacket. Right next to her, he removed his belt, untucked the tails of his button-down, and popped out both cuff links.
“It’s me,” he said as he carefully lay down with her.
Novo muttered something in her sleep. Then she turned to him and nestled in close, her body fitting perfectly with his, her scent flooding his nose, a grand sense of peace settling in.
He willed the lights to dim and shut his eyes.
The quiet hum of the heating system overhead was the most perfect white noise on the planet. And the deep sigh of relaxation Novo let out made him feel a hundred feet tall and strong as an ox.
“You came,” she said into his chest.
“You’re awake.”
Novo lifted her head. Her eyes were so languid and sleepy, her thick lashes nearly on her cheekbones. And the flush on her cheeks was because she was warm from sleep.
“Yes, I came.” He brushed a strand of hair back. “You look amazing.”
“Are you kidding me.”
“No. Never.”
Later, he would have to wonder who kissed who first. Was it him, pressing his mouth to hers? Was it her, dropping her lips to his? Maybe they met in the middle.
That was probably it.
Slow, so very slow. Soft. Gentle.
“Come under the covers with me,” she whispered.
“With or without my clothes,” he asked.
There was a pause. “Without.”
His heart began to pound as he sat up, and before things went further, he willed the door lock into place. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall where it did. Peeled his socks. Hopped off the bed, released the waistband of his slacks, and unzipped them. His cock was fully erect, and he tucked it up onto his lower abdomen and held it in place as he turned back around.
Novo was letting her hospital johnny drop to the floor.
For a moment, all he could do was stare at her. She was amazing, her golden skin glowing against the white sheets and blankets, her taut, tight-nippled breasts, the curve of her waist and her stomach.
“Will you help me get this off?”
Get what off? he wondered. “Oh, the wires. Sorry.”
“Just unclip these things from the pads.”
He eyed the sensors that provided the data feed to the heart monitor. “Are you sure we should?”
“I’m allowed to take them off when I shower. It’s fine. And Dr. Manello said this is out of an abundance of caution anyway. Come into the bed first.”
With a shaking he couldn’t hide, Peyton slid into the warm spot her body had created. And he did what he could to keep his hips back, even though there wasn’t a lot of room—it seemed rude to be rubbing all up on her while she was unclipping the—
Her nipples were small and pink and very perfect.
And though he meant to help her with the wires, instead, his fingertips sought out one of her breasts, drifting across her smooth skin. She gasped as he touched the tip.
“I have to taste you,” he said hoarsely.
In response, Novo arched, offering him exactly what he wanted and oh, God…he covered that tip with his mouth, sucking, licking. Her fingers dug into his hair and urged him on—and that scent. Her arousal made his head short out.
Yet he held back.
Impatient and starved, he kept himself in check nonetheless.
And when his stroking hand got tangled in a wire, she pushed his shoulders back. “Let me—hold on, there’s one left.”
Novo did away with the final lead, and then she smiled in a lopsided way. “Try and ignore the pads.”
He stared into her eyes. “I only see you. Trust me.”
Dropping his head down again, he nuzzled his way across her sternum and paused to kiss where her heart was. After a silent prayer of thanks, he continued on to her other nipple, running his tongue around it before taking it into his mouth.
Beneath the covers, his hand caressed her hip and stroked her thigh. She was muscle and sinew, so strong, so powerful, and holy shit, that was fucking hot. And even though he wanted his cock in her, he took his time, petting her, getting her more and more hot, until she was sawing her legs across the mattress, her breath was coming in an urgent beat, and her spine was undulating as her pelvis rolled in frustration.
It was only then that he licked and nibbled his way up to her collarbone, her throat…her lips. Delving into her mouth, he swept his palm down the inside of her leg, heading for her heat.
“Yes,” she said into his kiss. “Oh, God…yes.”
Her slick sex, so open and ready, nearly made him orgasm. But this was about her. Holding himself back once again, he penetrated her and found a rhythm, helping her along with his thumb. When she found her release, he swallowed her moans.
“I want you in me,” she demanded.
As her hand found his erection, she did not have to ask twice. He rolled on top of her, finding a home as she split her thighs to make room for him. And then he retracted his hips, angled his arousal…
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned as his head entered her.
He slid deep, so fucking deep. And she was tight, like a fist. And she was hot, like raw fire. It was as he had known it to be from before, except so much better. Because she was with him now, hungry as he was.
He pulled back, all the way back, and slid in again. And back. And in.
His lower body wanted to pump like a piston, but he kept the penetrations slow and steady. Beneath him, she was a live wire of impatience, and s
he even sunk her nails into his ass to get him to go faster.
He refused.
And he was glad he did.
Because when she came again, he was able to be aware of every pulse, the contractions working his cock—
The orgasm tackled him from behind, hitting him and his will like a ton of bricks, taking him down a rabbit hole of pleasure from which he could not escape.
He’d wanted to last longer. But as he filled her up, and dropped his head into the fragrant nest of her throat, he couldn’t say he regretted a thing.
How could he.
He’d never had anything or anyone so good before.
When Ruhn got back to his guest room at the Brotherhood’s mansion, he closed himself in and looked around at the fine decor. Everything was so beautiful, from the wallpaper, which certainly looked like silk, to the antique dressers and desk, to the canopied bed that was draped in the same kind of heavy fabric that the walls seemed to be covered in.
He’d always thought it looked fit for the King.
He’d never felt comfortable under that canopy with all those fancy pillows and the monogrammed bedspread—and he had even contemplated sleeping on the rug with a blanket over him. He had been worried, though, that word would get back through the maids that tidied up every night and his hosts would take offense.
Crossing over to the walk-in closet, he had another jolt of I-don’t-belong as he opened the double doors and confronted the rows upon rows of barren hangers and shoe shelves. His two or three T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, and work boots took up no space at all on the right. The sweaters and slacks that Bitty, Rhage, and Mary had gotten him as the household had celebrated the human holiday, Christmas, had seemed like way too much when he’d been unwrapping them. In this vast wardrobe containment space, they made no dent at all.
He removed his clothes and put everything into the hamper.
He’d had to get used to his laundry being done for him. In the beginning, he had fought tooth and nail to have Fritz and the staff leave his things alone so he could take care of them, but in the end, he had caved.
That hangdog face the butler assumed when he was denied work was more than what Ruhn could withstand.
Walking naked into the bathroom, he was tempted to leave the lights off, but he needed to see the truth of how badly he’d been hurt—
“Oh.”
Going over to the stretch of mirror above the two marble sinks, he shook his head. “Oh…dear.”
His face looked bad. Really bad. One whole side was puffy and distorted, and he leaned in closer to the glass and prodded the bruising gently with his finger. The answering pain suggested that Saxton might be right; that cheekbone might well be broken and maybe he did need a healer.
And then there was his split lip.
“Maybe a shower will help.”
He had no idea who he was speaking to.
Moving across to the glass enclosure, he opened the see-through door and turned on the water. The fact that there were six different showerheads had always seemed like a ridiculous luxury to him—but he never complained once he was in the spray.
He certainly did not tonight.
His body was aching in places, and he hissed as the open cuts on the backs of his knuckles came in contact with water. His left arm was sore, but he didn’t dwell on the why of it. That would have required him replaying the fight in his mind and he wanted to pretend nothing had happened.
After he had soaped and shampooed—he didn’t condition; he didn’t understand why people got their hair clean just to put crap right back in it—he stepped out, toweled off, and tried to win an argument with himself for not going to the clinic.
Bitty made up his mind for him, however.
If she saw him like this, all banged up? Or if things healed wrong and that side of his face ended up contorted permanently? She might think he was the monster he had been.
He couldn’t bear that.
Back in the closet, he pulled on fresh jeans, a clean Hanes undershirt, and that blue sweater Bitty had gotten for him.
He wore the sweater for good luck. For strength. For—
The knock on his door was soft and that was not good news. Maybe it was his niece, having seen his truck parked out in the courtyard with the other vehicles.
“Who is it?” he said.
There was a pause. “Me.”
As Saxton’s voice registered, Ruhn was so shocked he couldn’t move. But then he snapped into action and went for the door.
Opening it, he found himself gripping the knob so hard, his forearm hurt. “Hello.”
“May I please have a moment of your time? In private?”
—
As Novo felt Peyton go still on top of her, she froze herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not so much the sex, although she had surprised herself with wanting him even though she was train-wreck tired still. No, what she didn’t want was the kind of sex they’d had.
Fucking. She only ever wanted raging sex, the kind that rattled your teeth and broke beds, that you were sore for the night after from, that made you feel like you’d been in a car accident.
Not this soft, gentle stuff.
The former was athletic and aggressive, and so it was easier to keep a guard up. What she and Peyton had just done? It was too close. To…intimate.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
As he pulled back, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
After a moment, he withdrew—and she hated that her body missed him immediately. That was also something she did not need.
“You know,” he said in a level voice, “sooner or later, you’re going to have to decide whether you like me or not.”
A pang of conscience made her more honest than she would ordinarily have been. “It’s not you. Honest.”
“Oh, my God, what a line.” His smile was dry as he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. “And you know, I’ve used it, too. It’s always a lie.”
“Not always.”
“Well. Most of the time.”
There was a long period of silence, and she tried not to trace his shoulders and upper body with her eyes. The extra muscle suited him. And it wasn’t the only place where he was big.
She shut her lids as a blast of pure erotic heat whipped through her like a solar flare.
“I do like you,” she heard herself say. “I’m just not…good at the whole relationship thing.”
He looked across his shoulder at her. “Annnnnnd I have also used that line! Hey, give me back my playbook.”
“It’s true.”
Peyton seemed to focus on the floor as he shook his head. “No, frankly, it’s bullshit. ’Cuz who is good at relationships? And is that where you saw us going? Wait, don’t answer that—because it’s in the past tense now, clearly.”
Novo sat up. “Peyton. I’m serious.”
“My given name. I guess you are.” He slid off the high bed and pulled on his slacks. “And it’s cool. It’s whatever, you know. I am not going to push you.”
“I’m just not interested in anything.”
“Evidently. Although I guess I should be complimented by the fact that you’re threatened by me. It’s a backhander, to be sure. But you probably only give this strong-arm speech to people you think maybe, possibly, just might get past your badass shell. So hey, sign me up for that merit badge, ’kay? It’ll probably be a middle finger against a background of female empowerment, but I’m sure I can find a jacket to put it on.”
As she stared at him, the words came to her, but only in her mind: I lost a young. After the male left me for my sister—and Sophy only came on to him to prove she could win, okay? I miscarried alone, in a cold house, and promised myself I would never, ever get involved emotionally with anyone ever again.
And then you come along, and for a while, I got to write you off as a rich asshole…until you promised me you would never hurt me and then made love to me instead of fucked me.<
br />
Now I want to run from you because I don’t want to learn that lesson twice.
Okay, fine, that would all be so much better spoken instead of merely thought and kept to herself. But she couldn’t seem to make that leap. She couldn’t seem to open her mouth and tell him about all the reasons why no one, not just him, was allowed to get through to her.
“I’m going to go,” he said, “before you have to throw another line of mine back at me. Which, I’m willing to bet, is going to be the whole I’m so sorry, but I have to crash now because I have to work—which, at least for me, was actually a bold-faced lie up until I came into the program. But there you go.”
Bending down, he picked up his socks and shoved them in his pants pockets. Grabbed his shirt and put it on. The jacket as well. His loafers—were those made of ostrich skin?—went on first the left and then the right. He finger-combed his hair. Snagged his cuff links.
As he added more and more clothing to his formerly naked frame, he moved faster and faster, as if his departure were a train gathering momentum.
“So I’ll see you when I see you.” Peyton paused by the door. “And the message has been received, okay? I’ll leave you alone, especially now that you’re back on your feet.”
He gave her a smile that was right out of a fashion magazine, all cocky and full of perfect white teeth. “Take care.”
He knocked on the jamb like a judge putting the gavel down on a case, and then he was gone as if he had never been.
In the silence, she told herself it was for the best. He felt too good. He got past her defenses too often. He was the kind of surprise she did not need in her life.
And his departure couldn’t be better. By the time she saw him next—and that would be Saturday night—he would be re-categorized appropriately and all would be well.
She wasn’t going to have it any other way.
As Saxton stood at Ruhn’s open bedroom door and waited for his answer, he took deep breaths and smelled that wonderful combination of soap and shampoo that the male used.
“Please,” Ruhn said as he stepped back. “Come in.”
Saxton entered and thought immediately that the decor did not suit the male. It was not that the room was ugly or even badly done. In fact, it was a very elegant example of what he liked to think of as neo-monarchy, everything damask and silk and gilded up the yin-yang. The dark blue was okay, and worked well with the Old Masters paintings and all the gold leaf, but for what Ruhn would be comfortable in? It was too fussy and fancy.