Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1)

by Lea Griffith

  Several moments passed as Sophie tried to get a rein on her emotions. Talking about her mother never helped the pendulum of her feelings.

  “She’s dying, Gigi. And it’s slow, and she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. And how the hell would Gavin know anything about Mama? He’s not been around in over a year now.” Bitter words with an acidic taste, she cleared her throat, hoping to keep any more from coming up. She’d grown up with Gavin, but he was a stranger now. A very distant stranger.

  “He’s kept tabs, Phie,” was Gigi’s response. Offered in an equally hushed tone, the words held a warning of some sort, but Sophie was beyond trying to figure out anything related to Gavin at this point.

  “Listen, Gigi, I appreciate the call and everything, but I’m going to try to go back to sleep, okay? I didn’t get much rest, and I have some work to do later.” Sophie lay back against her pillow and threw an arm over her face, dreading her friend’s response to that.

  “No, you don’t. You’re going out with me tonight if I have to drag you by the hair of your head to do it. I’ll be by around seven. There’re some good bands at Music Midtown tonight, and I paid a good lot of money for these VIP passes, you hear me? You’re going and we won’t talk about Gavin or your mother or Mr. Locke—um, wait—we may talk about him, but the rest we’ll take a break from, deal?”

  “I don’t—” Sophie began.

  “I don’t care what you don’t. You’re going. And you better be ready or I’ll dress your ass, which will put you in an even worse mood, capisce?” Gigi snapped and then eased it with a small laugh. “You’re going with, Phie. No ifs, ands, or buts. Bye!”

  She hung up before Sophie could naysay her. Sophie sighed, loud, deep, and long. Sometimes it sucked when your friends were right.

  * * * *

  He hadn’t slept worth a shit. He’d gotten home around one thirty and gone immediately to bed, unwilling to take a shower because it might rinse her lavender scent off. He was pathetic. Everything about her lingered in his mind, in his mouth, and on his skin. He’d needed a distraction so he’d popped in Band of Brothers DVDs and watched them until four or five.

  Sleep had finally pressed on him, but he’d tossed and turned—the feel of her lips a phantom caress on his and giving him no surcease. Six months ago, he’d been blissfully ignorant of the scope and depth of this type of lust. A part of him wished he’d never been made aware of it.

  Last night had been a huge mistake on his part. There were some boundaries you didn’t breach, and the boss slash employee line was one of them. But with Sophie Hanson all rules were forfeit. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. Her taste, her smell, her sighs, her moans—they were going to keep him up at night now.

  Giving up on rest, he looked at the clock and got out of bed. He threw on some shorts, grabbed his Nikes and his iPod, and headed down to his home gym. Maybe some treadmill time would bring a little peace.

  Thirty minutes later and he was zoned. Sweat dripped from him, music blared, but still his flesh felt too tight; his heart beat too fast. He focused on the dull light outside the room’s only window. It didn’t work. He counted backward from a thousand while listening to eighties heavy metal music. No dice. Finally, he gave in and let his mind wander back to yesterday.

  Coffee on the shirt causing it to plaster against her ivory skin and outline her nearly perfect set of breasts. Black hair, falling from an intricate topknot, sliding sinuously against her neck. Lips, rouged and plump from her biting them—she did that when she concentrated hard or was nervous. All these images flashed through him and he gave up, turning off the treadmill and grabbing a towel.

  He sank onto the weight bench and wiped his face. He’d gone to her house last night after dropping Gloria off, drawn there by invisible strings. Gloria had been pissed he’d left her with nothing more than a good-bye, but the truth of the matter was, she evoked nothing in him. He looked at her and saw only Sophie’s face transposed over her features. He’d been offended by her choice of perfume; it wasn’t lavender. He’d been offended by her red hair; it wasn’t black as midnight silk.

  Poor Gloria had tried to work every wile she had on him to no avail. He’d remained unmoved. He sighed, tipped up a bottle of water, drained it, and threw it on the floor. He lay back on the bench, his gaze trained on the bar above him but seeing Sophie.

  What was it about her that called to everything in him? Ryan was a loner by nature. His one and only friend during childhood had been Hayden. He’d made other acquaintances in the service, but for the most part, he preferred being alone. SEALs had been difficult for him. He’d had to work with four, sometimes five or six, other team members, and while he bonded on some level with them, he never let anyone get too close. Hazard of his early years maybe, but that’s the way he was. Only Hayden had ever tripped that “let’s be friends” wire, and now Sophie was tripping a completely different wire altogether.

  He shook his head, pissed off that she’d gotten under his skin so that he was now pretty much stalking her all hours of the day and night. He picked up the bar with its weight measured on each side, bringing it to about two-fifty total, and began pumping iron. He breathed deep as he alternately pushed the bar up and brought it down to repeat it again and again.

  Repetition was good for the soul. So why couldn’t he repeat with Gloria? Why was Sophie intruding on his peace and his nice, calm, normal life? He shouldn’t have gone to her house last night, and yet he’d been unable to stop. When he’d seen her house blacked out, he’d thought her asleep. One call to the hospital had confirmed she was still there. So, like a complete moron, he’d waited on her porch for her to come home.

  He couldn’t even say why he’d done it. Truly had no idea why he’d dropped Gloria off, needy and wanting, and pretty much flown down the highway to get to a woman who acted like he didn’t exist most of the time.

  The bar was getting heavy, his muscles straining and burning. He pushed on, wanting the numbness that would eventually come with his efforts. He needed to get some sleep so he didn’t make mistakes like what he’d made last night. But she stayed right there, behind his eyes.

  He put the bar on the rack and sat up. Six months he’d had a hard-on for this woman. Six months he’d tortured himself by watching for her and wanting her to initiate some kind of contact. And now that she had, or maybe he had, he struggled with it. Why not just take what he wanted?

  He sighed, got up off the bench, and headed to shower. He could probably sleep now, maybe, if he took himself in hand and finished off what she’d started last night. But the truth haunted him. Stepping into the shower, he realized he could jack off all day long and it wouldn’t ever be the same as being inside Sophie. Why couldn’t he take what he wanted?

  Because he wanted her too damn much.

  Chapter 6

  Monday started off the way a thousand others had for Sophie. She was not a morning person, and most of the time she ended up stuck in early traffic because she couldn’t get her ass in gear. Today was no different. She pulled into the MARTA station, already late, and boarded her train.

  Twenty minutes later she was disembarking at Arts Center Station and headed toward One Atlantic Center where ATC’s offices were located. Normally, this wasn’t a bad walk, but today it was raining, a chilly, wet, late-autumn drizzle. She’d brought her umbrella, thank goodness, and a smile creased her face as she remembered Friday’s fiasco in the lobby.

  Gigi hadn’t ridden with her this morning. She’d called in sick, which was a relief for Sophie. They were supposed to have gone to the Music Midtown Festival Saturday, but her friend had come down with a stomach bug and begged off. Sophie’d been fine with not going out.

  More than fine, actually, as she’d sat on her sofa all weekend wrapped in Ryan’s suit coat. And this morning, while she didn’t wish Gigi sick, she was glad she’d had to answer no questions about Friday night.

  She smiled as others passed her and hurried across the wet pavement to work. She’d
brought his coat, already mourning the loss, with every intention of returning it. If he came to her house again, she’d end up in a really bad situation. Job loss at this point in her life would be disastrous.

  “Good morning, Ms. Hanson,” the doorman said from his perch beside the revolving doors.

  “Good morning, Chapman,” she responded merrily as she entered the contraption and came out relatively unscathed on the other side.

  “Sophie, watch out!” a loud voice called from her right.

  She turned just in time to see something of a brownish, liquid nature headed straight for her.

  “What the—” She flinched but didn’t move fast enough.

  “Oh, shit, Sophie, I’m so sorry!”

  Sophie closed her eyes, sure that what had just happened hadn’t really happened. She opened them slowly, aware of a discreet cough from someone standing near her. Looking down, she discovered that what had happened had really happened. She moaned. Well, more of a whine slash cry slash screech than a moan.

  “Damn, Sophie, the floor was wet and ah, gosh, I’m so sorry,” the man in front of her said miserably.

  Grab onto the sunshine, Soph. You can do it.

  “Ah, geesh, it’s raining and the floor was slick and I just—it just slipped. Well, I slipped and then my coffee went flying. I’m sorry. I’ll pay to have it cleaned for sure,” Dave Willoughby, a translator and report writer like herself with ATC, promised.

  There’s no sunshine today, Soph. You’re shit outta luck.

  “Sophie?” His voice held a mournful quality that made her eyes want to water for some reason. Or maybe she was tearing up over the loss of yet another silk shirt. This one at least wasn’t white.

  “No worries, Dave. I’ll handle it,” she responded in a whisper.

  “Huh, Sophie? What’d you say?” Dave leaned closer, gaze now trained on her chest.

  “What the hell happened here?” a newcomer on the scene demanded.

  And the hits just keep on coming.

  “Mr. Locke, how are you this morning, sir?” Dave abandoned his perverted leering of her wet chest and stared up at their boss, blatant adoration on his face.

  “I asked what happened.” Ryan’s voice was both annoyed and amused.

  The amusement got her goat. She looked over at him, standing there so damn hot in a gray suit with a crisp white shirt, cuff links shining, gaze, oh lookee, trained on her chest.

  His gaze lifted, met hers, and yep, that was definitely amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes and sparking that magnificent blue gaze. Anger shot through her, tightening her fists, making her straighten up and throw both men a derisive look before she turned and walked to the elevator.

  “Sorry, Sophie,” Dave called out, his voice wimpy and not really all that damn repentant.

  “Ms. Hanson, wait up,” Ryan urged. Well, Mr. Locke, because apparently they were back to formality in the watery light of day.

  She continued to walk fast, her heels clipping the floor, driving so hard into the marble beneath her feet she wouldn’t have been surprised if she chipped it. Heat suffused her cheeks as people passed her by, clearly focusing on her wet shirt. Damn it! Another ruined shirt.

  “Ms. Hanson.” So much hard demand echoed in his voice that she found herself wanting to obey the inherent command, but she overcame.

  Oh, yes she did and she walked right into the elevator, quickly punching the button that would take her up, up, up to the sixtieth floor and her office.

  “Elevator’s taken,” he said in a low voice as he joined her and the doors closed. The person who’d thought of getting on with them harrumphed.

  She felt him turn to her, felt the heat of his gaze as it traveled over her. She went cold and then hot as he moved closer. She continued to look at the dial clicking off the floors. Ten, eleven…

  “Your shirt’s wet.”

  Ya think? “Thank you, Einstein. I don’t think I would have realized that had you not pointed it out.” She slammed her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out. Horror brought her gaze up to his; tension snaked through her.

  Way to go, Sophie. Way. To. Go.

  Her gaze skated away from his. Twenty-three, twenty-four… Dear God, would this thing move no faster? She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer. She needed this job, but wow, if her temper didn’t cool off, she’d be in the unemployment line for sure.

  His chest moved up and down, and a sound similar to choking emanated from him. She ventured a look up and found his remarkably handsome face lit up by a smile.

  He was laughing at her? So much for controlling her temper.

  She reached over and pushed the button for the sixtieth floor several times, harder each time.

  “Ms. Hanson?” Deep and resonant, his voice freaking moved her. It surely did.

  She pressed harder, faster, on the button.

  “That’s not going to get us there any faster. In fact—” He was cut off by a siren.

  “What’s happening?” she asked as the elevator stopped suddenly. The lights went out, followed immediately by the emergency lights throwing a dim glow in the car.

  A disembodied voice proclaimed, “The elevator is experiencing a temporary difficulty. Please allow fifteen minutes for security to override the problem.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered as she turned away from him and took a deep breath. Fifteen minutes alone in an elevator with her way too sexy boss was akin to running naked on the field at a Braves game. Not advisable. Nope, not wise at all.

  “Is it so bad really?” There was a note in his voice she wanted to name but couldn’t reconcile to the big, sexy man who’d bum-rushed her at her house Friday.

  She turned back to him, eyes searching his stoic features for the truth of that note. Nope, wasn’t there. For Ryan Locke to be insecure about anything would probably take the end of the world. The elevator stalling because she’d mashed that button like a crazed person didn’t qualify.

  “I’ll bite. Is what so bad?” Sophie let her exasperation flow through her tone. Honestly, there was no way to control it at this point.

  He shook his head, blue eyes veiled as his face tightened. He didn’t answer her. Dollars to doughnuts she’d pissed him off, and yeah, she was probably up a creek without a paddle now.

  He dropped his briefcase and umbrella, gaze intent as he took a step toward her. She instinctively stepped backward until she met the cool metal of the elevator wall. It was only a couple of steps, but he stalked her. His big hand came up and drifted over her hair before he stepped flush against her and cupped her face.

  Shock ran through her. The tingle that began in her extremities raced up her body, settled in her abdomen, swirled, and became molten. Where his body touched hers, heat seeped in, making her sag against him and go breathless. He lowered his head, his breath minty and sweet, his eyes hard and determined.

  He was less than a millimeter from her lips when he spoke.

  “Ms. Hanson, there’re two things I need you to do. One, stop getting your shirt wet, and two,” he paused, “stop biting your lip.”

  She gasped and it brought said lips to his. Electricity sparked between them. He groaned before he took her mouth like a man dying of starvation. He flicked her lips with his tongue and just dived in. Her womb clenched, and she grabbed onto his shoulders, tried to climb into his body.

  Sophie couldn’t reach around him, his shoulders were too broad, his frame too large for that, so she settled for digging her hands into his hard, oh-so-delicious pectorals as she struggled to inhale him.

  Tongues dueled, teeth gnashed, mouths offered supplication and were taken. She tasted him, sharp, hot mint that made her eyes roll back in her head. Both of his hands cupped her face now, and his pelvis had aligned with her lower body as he pushed against her, taunting her with his hardness.

  The man was freaking large everywhere. The feel of his shaft rubbing against her made her mewl, the sound uncontained and wild to her own ears. S
he didn’t care. She wanted him. Desperately. Had never wanted anyone, hell anything, with this driving, all-consuming intensity before.

  His lips devoured hers, and after what seemed like only a split second, he rose away from her slightly. His breath teased a few stray strands of hair that had fallen into her face. His breathing was rough, every lift of his chest causing an ache in her own. Her nipples rasped against his, the wet lace of her bra creating an unbearable friction as his heat soaked into her.

  She looked up, barely able to control the need to pull his head back down to hers. Something indecipherable passed over his features, and the movement of the car brought her back to reality.

  She peered around his shoulder and noticed they’d reached their floor. Horror twisted through her as the doors to the elevator car slowly opened and revealed their office.

  Holy shit. His secretary, Emma, looked up from her perch behind a desk, and her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. She looked around nervously, got up, and headed toward the elevator in a way that was clearly alarmed.

  Sophie was stunned into immovability. Ryan leaned back, his head swiveling to the open doors but not bothering to—shit, he can’t move. She was practically wrapped around the man. She had her right leg hooked over the back of his left one and her hands were gripping the front of his shirt as if her life depended on it.

  Chagrin was a blade across the back of her skull. Her heart pounded as fear rushed through her. She released her grip like he’d burned her, and she quickly dropped her leg as she tried to make herself small, so she could hide behind his big body.

  He shot her a look so full of smoke she was surprised she didn’t combust on the spot, but the situation was dire at this point. She heard voices headed their way. Emma made it to the elevator and punched a button. The doors began to close just as a stunningly attractive redhead came into view.

  “Emma! Where’s—” The woman’s voice was muffled and cut off completely as the doors closed all the way.

  The elevator lurched into motion and she sagged against the wall, needing the support now that he’d moved away from her. Thank God she’d been saved further embarrassment. Emma seeing her wrapped around their boss was bad enough. Anyone else would have tipped it straight to mondo-bizarro land and she would’ve been toast. Speech was beyond her at the moment.