“Your team did great,” she murmured.
“Thanks,” he replied, looking straight ahead.
“Are you going to follow me back to the house?”
“Yes,” he said without expression. “I parked next door at my parents’, so give me a minute, and I’ll be behind you.”
“Okay.” Once she was in her car, her heart pounded as she waited for Rye to pull behind her. He was scaring the hell out of her. She’d never seen him so quiet and irate, and she knew the change was a result of her grandmother’s blunt announcement. It sure would have been nice if Katie had kept her mouth closed about Malik. She made it seem like Lacey opened her legs for both men within a week’s time. Damn old, loudmouthed, opinionated grandmothers. Typical Katie, thinking just because she was of a certain age she could say whatever she wanted, and never mind the consequences.
Finally, Rye pulled around, and Lacey backed out of the driveway. Traffic was light on the interstate, so the ride was quick, but the closer they got to her house and a sure battle with Rye, the more the butterflies in her stomach started flapping madly. At her brownstone, she rolled into the basement-level double garage and expected him to do the same, but he parked in the driveway. He exited the SUV and then walked down to open her door.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Are you going to pull in so I can let the garage door down?”
“I’m going to the condo. I wanted to make sure you got inside safely,” he said, his voice guarded.
Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. “That’s unusual.”
What happened to his intent for them to spend as much time together as they could while he was off this week? And hadn’t he asked her to be his girlfriend last night? He said he didn’t want to be away from her, yet he was preparing to leave. Her butterflies turned into angry bats.
He gave a cynical twist of his lips. “It’s been a fucking unusual kind of day.”
“What happened has nothing to do with us now. Why are you acting this way?”
“You don’t think I have reason to be fucking furious?”
First Kyle, then her mother, and now Rye. They were all trying to manipulate her, trying to bend her to their will. Until last night, there was no status for her and Rye’s so-called relationship. Technically, there was still no agreement about seeing other people. She’d invited Malik—someone she wasn’t remotely attracted to—for a meal to get her mother off her back. So what? At the time, her unofficial man was in unknown parts of the country. Now everyone wanted to punish her for making her own decisions, including Rye. Well, it had to end.
“No, I don’t,” she snapped. She stepped over the threshold, then placed her hand on the doorknob.
He stood beside her car without saying a word.
“If you’re leaving, don’t let me keep you. Have a good evening,” she said before closing the door.
Seconds later, she sat on her living room sofa and tensed when she heard his powerful vehicle come to life. Was he really leaving? If he was, the hell with him. Since he was out of sorts because of something so trivial, so be it. She didn’t have time for relationship drama anyway. She sat in the dark room, eyes focused on an off-centered brick in the fireplace, her heart thudded when the roar of his engine grew fainter as he drove in the other direction. Away from her.
When the silence became deafening, her breath came in small pants, and the tears rolled down her cheeks as painful shudders racked her body.
Chapter Twelve
Rye paused in the middle of chopping his second cord of wood of the morning, looking up as his father approached. “I was wondering how long it would take you, old man.”
“It was either come out here or listen to your mother moan and groan about her baby until the cows come home,” his father grumbled.
“We don’t have cows, Dad.” Rye started making neat piles of cut wood between the makeshift borders he’d set up. His overworked muscles protested and bulged when he maneuvered the heavy pieces, but he didn’t mind.
“Exactly. Anything you want to talk about since you’re chopping firewood in the middle of the summer?” His father looked as enthusiastic as when he and Rye had “the talk” when Rye was ten. “Not that we haven’t enjoyed having you here for the last few days—er, if you were to come visit some or eat dinner with us, but I’ll listen if you want to talk.”
Rye stopped working and peered at his father. “Man, she has you between a rock and a hard place, doesn’t she?”
His father nodded in defeat. “And she knows it, damn it.”
Rye laughed. His first laugh in ages felt good. Trust his parents to pull it out of him. He’d spent two of his five days of vacation locked in his father’s workshop, in solitude. Food had been of minor importance, as had answering his phone or spending leisure time with his parents. Finding out about Lacey’s date had left a hole in his gut and was taking some time to repair—a first for him.
Of all the things that could go wrong with them, Lacey being with someone else hadn’t worried him. Hell, she could have run the other way before even considering being with someone of a different race. The time demands of her business would also have provided a valid excuse. But this shit? She’d been with another man, and not a peep had crossed her lips. It rubbed him raw she could do whatever she wanted when he was away so much, with him none the wiser.
For once he wasn’t traipsing around the country being an engineering hero, and he was too out of sorts to spend the precious time with his woman. If Lacey was still his woman; he’d yet to acknowledge the two voice mails she left on his phone Monday morning—the best decision for both of them. Any conversation then would not have ended well. With Lacey being Lacey and as stubborn as a dozen mules, she hadn’t called again.
He was pissed at her for thinking she was free to even be in the same room as any fucker who wanted her, and furious with himself for not having made it clear she wasn’t. The feelings of intense anger and jealousy were so far out of his normal realm he couldn’t handle them. Hence the decision to hole up in his father’s shop and immerse himself in physical labor.
“I talked to John. He told me about what happened Sunday,” Jackson said. “You realize you have no control over this situation, right?”
“I’m starting to,” Rye replied as he stacked the last few pieces of wood on the pile. “You realize the next generation of McKays might look quite different from the last, don’t you?”
His father’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at the implication of grandchildren. “Will they have my blood running through their veins?”
“If I can possibly negotiate a merger,” Rye answered in a grim tone.
“Well, then, let me help you out. I never thought I’d say this to my only son, but get the hell off my property.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lacey was so tired when she turned her car onto her street it was pathetic, but she embraced the exhaustion. After sleeping for just a handful of hours Monday and Tuesday nights combined, she hoped insomnia was catching up with her. Work was her solace, but sleep would be a welcome friend because it would keep her from thinking. She didn’t want to think. Especially about him, because he’s fine.
Rye had sped off Sunday without a backward glance, and according to Paula, it was business as usual for him. Lacey couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and was on the verge of pulling the hairs from her forearms one by one, but Rye was just fine. Christ, if those words ran through her head one more time, she really would start plucking.
It was almost ten o’clock at night, and she wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and conk out on her living room sofa. Her beloved bed wasn’t very appealing these days. Changing the linens twice hadn’t helped. Rye’s potent scent still lingered in the air, suffocating her, mocking her. Reminding her he wasn’t here. Making her feel—
What in the heck? Her jaw unhinged when she neared her house and saw Rye’s vehicle in the driveway. Not a word from him since Sunday, and now he was chilling at her
place? Oh, no. He could go right back where he came from, because she was done. Done. For a moment, she closed her eyes to gather strength not to do something stupid—like beg him to hold her. Even through her pain and anger, she longed to feel him against her, inside her. She was a fool.
She sat in the car and watched the numbers on the digital clock in the dashboard change shape several more times. She didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to see him at all, but since it was her house, she couldn’t very well sit in the driveway all night. Sighing, she pressed the garage door opener and waited until it was safe to pull inside.
In the office space off the kitchen, she took her time and unpacked the accounting records she’d been working on. She had maybe three more reports to evaluate before she could make the final revisions to the Thymes budget—three months ahead of schedule, thanks to her recent sleeplessness.
Braced and ready, she walked through her compact kitchen to the living room, but Rye wasn’t there. She made her way to her bedroom and paused in the doorway. The lamps were off. Slivers of moonlight through the half-open blinds illuminated the room. He sat in the armchair near her bed with his elbows on his knees.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out devoid of inflection or emotion. No way would she let the hurt she felt dominate her. If she let her guard down even for a minute, the pain might overwhelm her, and as it was, her fingernails were right on the edge of the cliff, barely hanging on.
He looked up and pinned her with narrowed eyes. “Did you fuck him?”
Her stomach plummeted to her knees, and she took a step back. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“I need to know. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” he repeated as if she didn’t hear him the first time.
“How dare you?” She advanced until she stood less than a foot from him. She needed to be in his face to make sure she was understood. “What gives you the right to ask such a question? What gives you the right to be here at all?”
“You still haven’t answered the question, Lacey.”
So all of a sudden he wanted to talk? After she hadn’t heard back from him Sunday or Monday, she’d swallowed her pride and contacted Paula on Tuesday. All kinds of frightful scenarios had rolled through her head. Had he been injured? Was he sick with no one to help? No, he must have received a last-minute assignment and was somewhere without wireless service. Otherwise why hadn’t he called?
Her lungs contracted as all the hurt and anger she’d experienced when she’d received an answer to her inquiry rushed to the surface.
“Lacey, dear, Rye hasn’t gone anywhere. I talked to him an hour ago, and as far as I know, he’s fine. Is everything all right?”
Even now, Paula’s gentle words pierced her heart with the precision of a hot knife through cold butter. He was still in town; he had better things to do than communicate with her. She should have stuck with their friends-with-benefits package; it would have been a much smarter choice for her heart.
“And you didn’t return my phone calls, so I guess we’re even,” she gritted through her teeth.
“Damn it, answer me. Do you know what I’ve been through imagining some motherfucker’s hands on you, touching what’s mine?”
“Yours?” she shrilled. “You have a funny way of showing it. After ignoring me for days, you have the nerve to show up here and call me yours? I don’t think so.” She shook her head and turned away from him.
Before she could take a full step, he jetted from the chair and then turned her around to face him. “Put everything you thought you knew about me as a friend and neighbor on one of your lists, then ball it up and throw it in the trash. You need to know me as your man.”
Was he serious? Did he think she invited every male she counted as a friend into her bed? She’d acted as far from just a pal or neighbor with him as she could get. A knot in her throat made it difficult to form words. “I thought we were getting to know each other as a couple, as you called it, but you walked away.”
“No. I took some time to get over you omitting very important information during our conversations after your ‘lunch date.’ I still wouldn’t know a damn thing if it weren’t for Katie.”
She straightened her back. “You don’t get to do this, Rye. We hadn’t agreed to be exclusive, and I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t think so? That’s where you’re wrong. You are mine, and I will not share. Do you understand?”
“You know what I understand? You walked away from me without a word,” she said, her voice hollow.
He pulled her forward to stand between his legs. Then he sent her blouse and skirt to the floor. He grazed his thumbs along the edges of the soft cotton thong where her thighs cradled her sex. When he lowered to his knees, a pool of heated, disloyal moisture to rushed to her core. Eyes closed, she bit her lip to hold back a needy moan.
He worked his thumbs over her sex, her breath caught, and her legs trembled. Only a steel rod of stubbornness kept her back upright when he pushed his stiff tongue against her drenched thong, spearing her clit.
Never had she been more in need of an orgasm in her life, although she didn’t want it. She didn’t know how she was going to stop her two-timing body, but she couldn’t give in to his demands after his callous treatment. However, her sensitive pearl, absent of his touch for days, spoke a thousand words. It wanted him and responded accordingly. Her knees buckled, and if it wasn’t for him holding her steady, she would have landed on the floor.
“What gives me the right?” His rough voice revealed his arousal. “This gives me the right. This is my pussy,” he declared as he ripped her panties from her hips as effortlessly as he would to tear a square of tissue paper. Then he used his thumbs to open her plump lips, baring her folds. “You gave me the right when I tasted you for the first time. When we fucked until neither of us could walk. My bad for not staking my claim then.”
So now he remembered his so-called claim. Seriously? A war was brewing within her. On the south side, her throbbing sex insisted she utter any words necessary to placate Rye’s ego. If he then sucked her clit until she lost her mind, the release would be considered collateral damage. Up north, her brain issued the order to maintain control, and her pride assumed a defensive stance, prepared to body slam her libido if necessary. Sacrifices had to be made, and above all, she must not give in.
He lowered his head and licked a path from her moist slit to the hood of her sex, creating shocks of pleasure along the way. It felt so good she almost voiced her love right then and there, would almost door say anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop licking her pussy. But he did. Just when she was on the edge and only needed a little nudge to cross into pure sensation, he pulled back.
He lifted his head and nuzzled her stomach, right below her belly button. “Did he touch you like this, smell your sweet scent?”
“Why do you keep asking—”
Before she could finish her question, he moved her to the bed and propped her knees on his shoulders. Then he opened his hot mouth on her very center and inserted his tongue into her slit. Her scream was so tall it reached the vaulted ceiling. She’d never felt anything as primal, sexy, and mind-blowing as the tongue-fucking he was giving her. Her entire body sizzled, was on fire, and he seemed resolved to wrestle away the tiny thread of control she’d preserved. She was just as determined he wouldn’t. Not a word crossed her lips. Hold out. Don’t beg. It was all she could do to obey her dwindling will. Even though she was a desperate mess.
He pushed his finger into her grasping, needy opening. At the same time he pulled her clit into his mouth and worked his tongue in waves against it.
“Ahh,” she cried out, voice hoarse and tormented. Mad with lust, she shoved her heat in his face. With absolutely no shame, she curled her fingers in his hair to bring his mouth down harder, trembling as she raced toward completion. He pulled his head away again.
“Did you give my pussy to someone else?” he growled.
Somehow she manag
ed to salvage her pride, and instead of begging for his mouth, she asked a question dragged from the recesses of her mind. “Just because I fucked you the first night, you think I fucked someone else just as easily?”
He lowered his head again. “Tsk-tsk, Lacey,” he chided against her aching clit, making the agony worse. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, we never really just fucked. You should have known we’ve also been making love.”
Love. All this time they’d been making love, and hearing him say it melted the ice around her bruised heart. Quicker than a sink full of water just unplugged, all the fight went out of her. One beautiful, wonderful word made her willing to give him what he wanted so he would make love to her right now.
“The answer is no. Rye, no. He never touched me. I never wanted him to touch me. I don’t want anybody else. All I could think about was you.” The words rolled off her tongue with aplomb though she willed his head back to her quivering center. She was strung out and needed a fix, relief only he could provide.
Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He swiped his tongue against her wet, swollen lips and ended with a Hoover-force suction on her clit. For long, agonizing minutes, he devoured her, sending a gush of wetness to her folds, which he soaked right up.
Her orgasm was the most intense, concentrated physical reaction she’d ever experienced. Every nerve ending in her body decided to gather at her core to stand and applaud, paralyzing her body with ecstasy.
“Please, please, please,” she moaned, but she didn’t know what she was asking for. All she knew was her pussy had transformed into a pleasure station, doling out sensation even as she tumbled from her high. Yet she wanted more, needed his hardness, his weight on top of her.
Taste of Lacey Page 10