Loving Ruby: The Riverstone Series Book 2 - Standalone

by Roya Carmen

  Trevor pops his adorable face in my room. “Good morning, Auntie Ruby.” He makes the trek to the attic to come and say hi every morning, even on early weekend mornings unfortunately. But I love it.

  I ruffle his hair. “You have a big day today?”

  He pouts. “Math test today.”

  Seven years old and he’s already feeling the stress of life.

  “You look nice,” he says, taking me in from head to toe.

  Then he bounces around my room like he always does, trailing his little hands along my bookcase and desk, exploring. He pets Ginger, who is sleeping on my bed. Usually I’d be jealous of her, but not today. I can’t wait to get to work.

  “Wow,” Trevor exclaims, studying the illustrations spread out on my drafting table. “These are nice. Did you draw these, Auntie Ruby?”

  I had almost forgotten about the illustrations. August asked to see them. I don’t know why he cares. They’re just silly drawings of mice for a silly book.

  “Well, gotta go,” Trevor practically screams, startling sleepy Ginger. With a quick kiss on my cheek, he’s out the door in a flash.

  “Have a good day at school. Good luck on your test.” I check my watch. Looks like I need to go too.

  I say a quick hello to August like normal. I know I must absolutely not disturb him before one o’clock though. Plenty of time to come up with a plan.

  I’m reading the first few rough chapters of his latest manuscript. I slip off my shoes and stretch out on the loveseat by the fireplace in my office. I’ve turned it on because it’s always chilly in this huge, drafty house. A coffee sits on the table next to me, and I’m about to read some smut.

  Best. Job. Ever.

  I try to read with an editor’s eye, but I always seem to get lost in the story. August writes the most amazing sex scenes. I always read them twice, taking them in slowly and savouring them. Something about August Hyde’s writing sets it apart from everything else out there these days. His prose is so intense and so, so wrong, but it feels so, so right. It’s akin to when you’re being kinky in bed, and the kinkier you get, the more hot and bothered you become, and the whole thing feels forbidden and amazing. That’s August Hyde’s writing in a nutshell. It’s no wonder he’s a New York Times best seller.

  By one o’clock, I’m all worked up. I haven’t even had lunch yet, but all I want to do is keep reading. As I step into the kitchen, I smell Millie’s amazing cooking.

  “What are you making?” I ask. My stomach growls almost as if it knows delicious food is about to be served.

  “Butternut squash soup and pastrami on rye,” she says. “It’s Mr. Hyde’s favourite.”

  August walks in and shoots us a smile. Today, he wears a thin, beige cashmere shirt. It hugs him perfectly and makes his eyes look green. I want to rub my cheeks against that gorgeous sweater – it looks so soft. He chats with Millie about mundane things like the coffee machine being on the fritz, and she tells him it’s a lovely day out.

  He’s gorgeous, as he always is. I like it when the three of us are together because when he’s chatting with Millie, I can just watch him and let my greedy eyes get their fill. I study his perfect profile – a Greek god with the whisper of scruff on his face. And his eyes. I could look at those eyes forever. He turns to me, and I jerk my gaze back down to my soup.

  “I was telling Millie about our little excursion last Friday,” he tells me.

  “I don’t know how you managed to get him out of the house,” Millie says. “You must have special powers.”

  August and I stare at each other, both biting down a smile. Any minute, we could explode into laughter.

  “I think you two are up to something,” she adds casually before digging into her sandwich.

  The expression on August’s face is priceless. I swear he’s about to lose it. It’s nice to see him smile and laugh because he’s usually such a serious guy. Millie likes to call him a fuddy-duddy.

  “So I was thinking since it’s such a nice day,” I say, attempting to sound causal, as if this is something I’ve just thought of when in reality I’ve been thinking about it all morning. “I thought we could go have coffee on the gazebo right after lunch.”

  I turn to August to gauge his reaction. He seems a little guarded.

  “What a great idea,” Millie says, “but it’ll have to be tea or instant coffee because the coffee machine is dead.”

  I smile. “Yes, you’ve mentioned. Tea it is, I guess.” I turn to August again, hoping he’ll play along.

  A tight smile traces his mouth.

  “Tea in the backyard? Then who knows what the day will bring,” I say playfully.

  August beams. He knows exactly what I’m alluding to.

  Millie fusses with a fork as she helps herself to another pickle from the jar. “Well, I know what the day will bring for me. I’ll be folding some laundry while I watch The Young and the Restless.”

  August and I are still staring at each other, the both of us wearing wicked grins. How I’d love to know what filthy things are going through his mind.

  She sets the pickle carefully on her plate. “And then I’ll be organizing the coat room. It’s spring cleaning time. I have the whole house to do.” She slices her pickle. “Now if this was an ordinary house, it wouldn’t be a problem, but this house…”

  I swear one of us is going to lose it. August smiles into his hand, his face flushed. I bite back a laugh, and I just can’t wait for later. Millie has no clue just how much fun August and I will be having.

  She finally looks at the both of us. “What are you two up to for the rest of the afternoon?”

  August sits up straight, all business. “Well… uh, the usual. And yes, I think tea in the backyard is a great idea, Ruby.”

  I light up. Yes, this is so on.

  It is a gorgeous spring day, and it’s about time. We’ve had a rough winter that seemed to have no end, but the snow is finally melting. The trees are just about to form buds, and the birds and small animals are finally venturing out. We sit on the back patio, surrounded by large maple and oak trees. The Hyde estate backs onto a forest, and the backyard is a nature lover’s dream.

  At first, I can feel August’s tension; I can see it in his rigid stance, in his wary eyes, in the straight line of his mouth as he sips his tea. However, as soon as we spot our first bird, he lights up. He becomes a different man, as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. The bird in question is a striking cardinal. Its vibrant red is striking against the dull colours of early spring.

  “Wow, I love cardinals,” I say, excited. “They’re my favourite.”

  “Yes, they are quite striking,” he says. “Red, that’s your favourite colour, isn’t it?”

  I smile, confused for a second. How did he know that? I’m sure I’ve mentioned it. August remembers every single thing I say. I love that about him.

  “Oh, look, another one,” Millie cheers – the excitement is contagious. “But that one’s kind of ugly.”

  August laughs. “No, not ugly. That’s the female. They usually travel in pairs. The female’s feathers aren’t as bright. They’re a rather dull brownish-grey with a hint of red.”

  I ogle him as I sip my delicious tea – ginger-lemon, my favourite.

  “With birds, the males are always more striking, more vibrant. With humans” – he turns to me again, and his gaze lingers – “we all know women are the beauties.”

  I smile shyly, like a smitten schoolgirl. Damn, he’s hot when he goes on about birds. Who knew birds could be so sexy?

  He turns to look at the birds again. “Some people say cardinals represent a loved one who has passed. When you spot one, it means someone you’ve loved and lost is saying hello. They usually visit in times of despair or times of joy.”

  He looks so sorrowful as he looks at the sky. I wonder if he’s thinking about her. I think about my parents and my brother. I hope what August says is true – for his sake and mine. Is this a time of despair or joy? Definitely joy, I
decide. August being out in his backyard on a beautiful spring day is definitely cause for celebration.

  Suddenly, I want the hands on my watch to speed along. I want to get to that moment when August and I are alone and I can reward him. Because the man deserves a slow, delicious, hot-as-hell reward.

  I’ve been keeping busy, trying not to think about August. It’s four o’clock when I receive an email from him.

  I’m curious to see what the day will bring. Come to my office. Bring the illustrations you promised me.

  Just a few platonic words – three short sentences – and I’m already aroused. My hearts races as I scurry to his office, my portfolio pressed against my chest.

  As soon as Miko spots me, he sings, “Ruuuby.”

  I crack up. “Nice to see you too, Miko.”

  August stands as I enter, and he smiles quietly. That smile is absolutely panty-melting. Maybe that’s because I don’t see it too often. But thankfully, I’ve been seeing it a lot more lately. When I reach his desk, I plop my portfolio down.

  “So Miko will only listen to Keith Urban now. Thank you for that,” he says, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  I laugh. “What can I say? The bird has good taste.”

  He’s still grinning as he makes his way around his desk without a word. He stands so close behind me I can breathe in his intoxicating scent.

  “Show me what you have,” he says quietly.

  I close my eyes for just a second, relishing the moment. When I open my portfolio to share my illustrations, my breathing falters as I await his response. He doesn’t say a thing for the longest time.

  But then… he says, “Beautiful.”

  I smile. I’m glad he likes them. For some reason, I seek his approval. This artwork is who I am. It’s a part of me. I want him to appreciate all of me, not just how curvy my legs look in heels.

  “You have so much talent. I want you to tell me you’ll finish this book.”

  I appreciate his enthusiasm, but I’m still pretty cynical. “I can finish it, but I’m not sure what good that will do. I’ve contacted publishers and agents, and no one is interested.”

  He’s still pressed against my back, his mouth against the top of my head, when he says, “Fuck them.”

  I smile. Damn. That word sounds so sexy on his lips I can feel it between my legs. Say it again…

  “In this day and age, you don’t always need publishers and agents. You can do it on your own. That’s how a good friend of mine got started, and now she’s a New York Times best seller,” he tells me. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  I’ve considered self-publishing before, but I’ve always been too scared, too overwhelmed by all it entails. But with August by my side, guiding me, maybe it could be a possibility. “Maybe…”

  “But first, you need to finish the book,” he points out. “It’s all discipline. You need to set goals for yourself. Where are you with this?”

  “Um…” I mull it over for a second. “I’m almost done actually. I have the story written and most of the illustrations done. Just two more to do.”

  “Perfect,” he says and presses closer still. I want to reach back and touch him. “You need to finish these illustrations. I want to see them on Monday. I’ll give you some time off if you need the extra time to work on them.”

  No one has ever believed in me this much. Jimmy thought my little drawings were stupid. He used to say I should do real art I could hang on walls. Amber’s been supportive, and she loves my illustrations, but I don’t think she’s ever seriously thought I could turn them into an actual book.

  But August… he believes.

  I turn to him, and when I see those eyes gazing into mine, I ache to kiss him. “It’s okay. I don’t need extra time off. I really don’t like the idea of more time away from you.”

  He smiles. “Neither do I, Miss Riverstone. I love having you here.”

  We’re silent, glued to each other.

  “I don’t think I’ve told you how lovely you look today,” he says with a delicious smirk. “I love that suit. It’s the one you had on when I first met you. Very classy.”

  “It’s vintage. It was my mother’s. It means a lot to me.”

  “Well, it looks great on you,” he says, pulling me closer. “It’s almost perfect indeed, but…”

  “But what?”

  He trails a finger leisurely down my hip. “These skirt suits you wear are sexy, and I think that’s because they are so demure, so chaste. The buttoned-up blazers make it all but impossible to get to your chest, and it’s not exactly easy to get into that tight skirt.”

  I laugh. “You didn’t seem to have too much trouble the last few times you’ve gotten into my skirt.”

  His laugh is a soft whisper before he counters, “Well, we had a bit more privacy. Millie is walking around the halls. I can’t exactly hike up your skirt over your ass right now.”

  A rush of heat makes its way down my body. I feel it everywhere, from my nipples to down below. I really want to get naughty… now. “And is that what you’d like to do right now, Mr. Hyde? Hike up my skirt?”

  He crushes my body against his, so close I can feel him hard for me. He presses his hot mouth against my ear. “Yeah, I want to get in there. Feel your pussy against my fingers… I want to feel how wet you are for me.”

  Good heavens… I grab his arm because my legs are just about to give out on me.

  “Have you been thinking about this all day?” he asks, his words ragged. “I know I have.”

  “I’ve… been thinking about it since last Friday,” I say breathlessly. We need to do this somewhere else… and now. “I want you now…” I’m on the verge of begging.

  He pulls from me and checks his watch. “Meet me at five o’clock at the elevator.”

  I look at him, confused. “Elevator?”

  He smiles. “You didn’t know there’s an elevator here?”

  I shake my head. “No. Obviously I realize how huge this house is, but no…”

  He smiles. “Come with me. I’ll show you.” As we make our way to the coat room, he says, “It’s not actually an elevator. It’s a lift rather – different technology. It was here when I moved in here. The previous owner was elderly.”

  “Yeah, I knew her. Mrs. Kimble.”

  There it is, tucked in behind the coat room. An ordinary door I’ve walked past before, assuming it was a linen closet or something of the sort. He opens the door, and there it is, a state-of-the-art elevator with brass railings and one of his late wife’s lovely paintings hung on the wall.

  “This is amazing,” I say. “Why didn’t I know about this before?”

  He closes the door. “Meet me here at five o’clock.”

  He swivels around, and he’s off, leaving me standing there and wishing time could speed up.

  Ruby

  The clock says 4:57 p.m. I debate leaving my desk, but it’s too early to go. If I’m there exactly on time, I’ll look too eager and desperate. Which I am. But I don’t want him to know that. After all, this is supposed to be his reward, not mine.

  Who am I kidding? I think we both know I’m enjoying this as much as he is.

  4:58 p.m.

  Damn, my watch is so slow. Why are there sixty seconds in a minute? That’s too many. I think we’d do well with thirty seconds in a minute. I realize that would mess up the whole time continuum and the world would probably explode. But right now, I just wish time moved more quickly.

  4:59 p.m.

  One more minute. I smell my armpits. I’m good. I just freshened up five minutes ago – added a dab of perfume, a spot of lipstick, flipped my head to fluff my hair, and refreshed my deodorant. I look and smell ready for sexual escapades. I have no clue what he has in store for me, but I’m up for anything.

  5:00 p.m.

  It’s time. Yessss. But it takes about thirty seconds to walk to the lift, and I don’t want to show up right at five o’clock. I’ll need to wait another minute.

  5
:01 p.m.

  This is it. I dash from my desk like a sprinter on steroids.

  Still 5:01 p.m.

  I’m here. Standing by the elevator. And he’s not here. I’m not happy. I was hoping he’d be here before me. I check my watch.

  5:02 p.m.

  I can’t believe he’s not here yet. It’s not exactly fun to stand in four-inch heels on hard marble. I look at my watch again.

  5:03 p.m.

  Maybe he doesn’t want this as much as I do. He’s probably not even as turned on as I am. Well, I’ve been reading his erotica all day, and I damn well need to get off. He’d better get here soon.

  5:04 p.m.

  What the fuck? Where is he? Could he have forgotten? He can’t have forgotten. That would mean he really doesn’t give a shit. And I want him to give a shit.

  5:05 p.m.

  That’s it. I’m giving him one more minute. And then I’m off. I’m too good to stand here waiting for him. Where the hell does he get off?

  5:06 p.m.

  I set off to go find him in his office to give him a piece of my mind, but just as I round the corner, I spot him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I made the mistake of taking a phone call, and I couldn’t get rid of her.”

  Well, I suppose that’s a valid excuse. I follow him eagerly to the elevator.

  He shoots me a wink as he opens the door. “Ladies first.”

  I gingerly make my way into the small space. He closes the door behind us and winks at me when he presses the button for the second floor. I’m filled with so much excitement I fear I might burst. As soon as the lift takes off, August pushes me against the wall and presses his mouth against mine. It’s hot as hell. His tongue teases mine sloppily. He tastes so sweet. The journey up is slow. This might be the laziest elevator I’ve ever been in, but I’m certainly not complaining.

  He pulls away when we get there, and I want his mouth back. When the lift door slides open, he reaches for another ordinary door and opens it. We find ourselves on a floor I’ve never been to. I know this is where his bedroom is, and I can’t wait to see it. I’ve pictured it more times than I can count, and I imagine a large, contemporary, tufted-leather headboard, modern furnishings, and muted shades of beige and blue.