by Lea Griffith
“Well then let’s eat.” Sophie laughed nervously when he made no move to lead her to the dining room.
He raised his hands and settled them on her cheeks, cupping them and lifting her face as his head descended. “We will, but first this, Sophie.”
She tried to pull away, fearful of the depth of her need, but he held firm, and as his lips took hers, Sophie’s thought was that hunger for food was the farthest thing from her mind.
*
Just a taste, he told himself as he plundered the velvet of her mouth. Then her sigh vibrated through her body and he was left hanging by a thread of sanity. She did this to him, left him with zero control and no desire to reach for it as her body trembled beneath his hands, the movements tiny but thrilling to him. She was his. Her body recognized him, automatically softened for him. All wasn’t lost.
The thought brought him that measure of sense he needed to control his body. He pulled his lips away and rested his forehead on hers. He was breathing like a racehorse, and she wasn’t much better. Each inhalation brought their chests in contact, and her nipples under that unbelievably hot sequined dress she was wearing were pinpoints against him. He wanted them in his mouth, his tongue stroking and licking, his teeth lightly biting as she moaned beneath him.
“You’re hell on my self-control.” He pulled away, and her hazel eyes were bright, reflecting the fire within them.
A look ghosted over her face, bewilderment and pain. She didn’t look away from him though, not his Sophie. And she was his. He wasn’t giving her up no matter how stupidly he’d acted. After a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire, she gazed up at him and smiled. It was small, but his heart dipped and his mind prayed she was as forgiving as that curve of her lips.
“Mr. Locke, I cannot be held responsible for your lack of self-control.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me lose control. Believe me. As it’s a singularly unfamiliar feeling, I’ve yet to decide if I like it or not. But now’s not the time to discuss it. We have food to eat.”
She lifted her hand and traced his lips, her touch light but a source of striking heat. Move away, Locke, before you take her. It had to be her decision. He’d hurt her and he’d not made explanations yet. He’d used his body earlier to try to win her back. Now he realized he had to satisfy her heart first.
When the hell had he begun thinking like this? The day you hired Sophie Hanson, dumbass.
He led her to a table that looked out over a small pond behind the cabin. The Botanical Society had been more than accommodating when they’d allowed him use of the cabin normally reserved for honeymooners. It’d involved a substantial donation and a promise to leave it in better shape than he’d found it, but watching her face as she’d walked toward him earlier made it all worth it.
“It’s lovely, Mr. Locke,” she said, her voice quiet.
“Ryan,” he responded gruffly.
She inclined her head and said, “It’s lovely, Ryan.”
His breath clogged in his throat. The lights that twinkled in the trees reflected in her eyes and made them glow. Goddamn, she was beautiful.
He seated her and took his own, motioning for the waiter to serve them. He’d really spared no expense in getting the cabin ready. To get it accomplished, he’d enlisted his secretary’s help and Emma had been all too efficient. She’d even gone the extra mile, having someone string Christmas lights through what looked like every damn tree within a mile. The inside of the cabin had been clean, but she’d had it gone over again.
Ryan had done the rest. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of setting the menu. We’re having chateaubriand, roasted baby potatoes, carrots, and a mixed green salad.”
She chuckled. “How can I argue with that? What’s for dessert?”
You. “Chocolate mousse cake.”
“You’re evil.” She laughed.
The sound lightened his heart. Gone were the shadows in her eyes.
“Anything’s possible.” He poured their wine and watched as she carefully sniffed the vintage and took a sip. She licked her bottom lip and closed her eyes.
He wondered if that’s how he looked as he sipped from her body.
“Did you just growl?” Her voice was soft, head cocked to the side.
His gaze shot to her face. He let his lips curl and shook his head ruefully. “Yeah, I probably did.”
The look on her face told him she thought he was crazy. He was. Straight gone over her.
“Okaaay. Well, the wine is delicious. Um…” He let her words sit in the air between them as his heart beat faster with her every breath.
The waiter interrupted the yawning silence. Setting their plates in front of them, he asked if there was anything else. Ryan waved him off.
“You’re free to go,” Ryan told him. The waiter nodded and disappeared, the thunk of the door closing the only sound to mark his leaving.
He pointed at her food. “Dig in.”
She did and there was no more talking for a while. The silence was comfortable this time, not charged with their mutual need.
She set her fork down. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a while. My compliments to the chef.”
“You’re welcome.”
She threw him a startled glance. He laughed. “You look surprised. Didn’t think I could cook?”
She snorted. “Didn’t think you had to.”
“It’s something I enjoy but I only do it for important people.”
“Oh.” Her face was a cross between confused and hopeful. It enchanted him, that look. It made his chest tighten.
“Yeah—oh. So, would you like desert? There’s the mousse, or if you want I’ve got some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in the freezer.”
“How did you know I like Ben & Jerry’s?” A smile lit her face now, the confusion gone.
“I could lie and say I have magical powers of discernment. Truth is I saw it in your freezer the other day.” He shrugged.
Her brows drew down and she set her wineglass on the table. “Well, I always prefer the truth.”
“Sophie—I didn’t mean … damn it.” He ran his hands through his hair, and she followed the movement with her gaze. “Do you want dessert or shall we go back to the living room?”
“I’m good on dessert. Maybe later. Or not.” She put her napkin on the table and got up on her own to stride into the living room, not looking back to see if he followed.
He cursed low and followed her.
She stood by the fire, the red-orange flames throwing light off her dress, sending sparkles through the muted light of the room. She was fucking gorgeous. Long, slim legs were made longer by the stilettos she wore. She turned, and he was blessed with the sight of her ass hugged tightly by the dress. Her back was bare, its trim lines taunting his fingers and lips. She’d pulled her ebony hair up into a soft style, tendrils of the silken skeins drifting against her neck and shoulders.
Please turn to me. Give me a chance.
He cleared his throat and stepped to within feet of her. “I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you. If you believe nothing else of me, believe that.”
She turned then, anger a bright flag on her cheeks and a dark shadow in her eyes.
“You know, you said that earlier at my house, yet that’s just what you’ve done, Ryan. You’ve hurt me.”
He nodded his head, acknowledging the truth even as his heart demanded he deny it, offer up the reason behind his asinine behavior.
“There’s no excuse, Sophie. But I need to explain. Will you sit down?”
“I don’t need to sit down, Ryan. But if you do,” she waved to the couch, “by all means, have a seat.”
Dismissed. That’s how he felt, and it angered him, made the man in him roar; made the lover in him, the one who knew she owned him now, stand and rage.
She must have realized she’d roused something dark in him because she wrapped her arms around her middle and took a step back.<
br />
He traveled forward until her back met the wall beside the stone fireplace and he was within a hairbreadth of her. He closed his eyes, felt a shudder work its way through him, and placed his face to the crook of her neck.
“Listen to me, Sophie.” He nipped at her collarbone, and she inhaled sharply. “Please.”
“Go on.”
He lifted his head, drilled her with his gaze, demanded she open her heart and hear him.
“I hurt you, Sophie. That morning when you brought me coffee, after one of the most beautiful experiences of my life, I hurt you. You don’t know…” He trailed off, unable to give voice to his past.
“I don’t know what, Ryan?”
He felt her hand flutter at his shoulder before she squeezed, comfort in the gesture.
He took a deep breath. “I can’t—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was startled, and sometimes the past is hard to let go of. I’ve never slept with someone overnight, and I wasn’t there with you in that room at that moment. When I’m startled, I react. It’s how I’ve been conditioned, how I’ve been trained. Do you understand?”
He didn’t give her time to respond. He just continued to look deep into her eyes as he struggled to find the words to explain his actions.
“I couldn’t believe I’d hurt you, baby. So precious, so beautiful, so fragile, and I’d hurt you. It was unacceptable that it was my arms, my hands, that had caused you pain when all I found myself,” he laughed harshly, “still find myself, wanting to do is cherish you.”
“Ryan, don’t—”
“Listen to me, Sophie. I have to get this out. You need to hear this.” His voice was rough as pain ripped into him.
She placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes bright. Her pain mingled with his, and it was almost more than he could handle. His body roared at him to take her, ease her hurting with his touch, but his mind reined him in.
“I couldn’t hurt you again. I had to get you away from me, but your eyes, they offered me forgiveness I didn’t deserve. I wondered if I’d hurt you again if you startled me, and the thought was a spike in my chest, Sophie. I had no choice but to get you as far away from me as I could.”
“Ryan, don’t—”
“Sophie. Listen. What you saw with Gloria, that wasn’t me wanting her, that was desperation. I had to get you away from me, and in that moment it seemed the best way. She was there, and I took advantage of it.”
She hung her head then and dropped her hands. He wanted to snarl at the loss of contact, but he pressed closer, their bodies touching now, his need to bellow calmed somewhat.
“When I saw—”
He winced. “Don’t finish that thought, Sophie. Let me speak. Let me get this out.” He waited until she looked up at him again. “She’d come to my office to ask me why I wasn’t answering her calls, why I’d left her high and dry the night of the benefit. It was you. I’d left her because of you, but then I’d hurt you, and she was there. She made a move toward me, and I heard you coming down the hall, calling my name. I pulled her down on my lap and I—”
Her fingers on his mouth stopped his words. Tears pooled in her eyes, hovered like sparkling gems, and then fell onto her cheeks.
“I can’t do this. Please stop,” she begged him.
“I have to tell you. That wasn’t me wanting her. I haven’t wanted another woman since I met you six months ago, Sophie Hanson. I haven’t been with another woman since you walked into my office and interviewed. You’ve kept me up at night. I don’t sleep right, and I want, Sophie. I want. You—under me, on top of me, against me, around me. Any way I can get you, I want you.”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, and he pounced. The ache of hurting her, the look on her face when she’d seen him holding Gloria, it all congealed. In that moment, he did what every other man in the history of time has done; he tried to ease her pain with his body. He dived into her, taking her mouth and letting her take his mind.
*
His pain stole her breath. She wanted to tell him she’d known he hadn’t meant to hurt her that morning, but then he’d done something that had damn near destroyed her. Hearing the pain in his voice and seeing it on his face, feeling his pain as it mixed with hers was overwhelming.
His mouth touched hers, and she gave him absolution. Her head screamed to go slow, but her heart rushed at him, offered itself up and sighed when his tongue stroked hers. She was lost to this man.
His hands clenched on her hips, and she pressed into him, her own hands finding purchase on the flexing muscles of his back. She may have sighed aloud, or maybe it was a groan. Her body demanded she get closer. He grabbed her ass, lifted her against him, and she did groan then.
“Please,” she begged.
“Yes,” he responded, and his voice sent tremors through her body. Her womb flexed, and need pooled low and hot in her abdomen.
“Touch me, Ryan.” A command, a plea, it was all the same.
“Forgive me, Sophie,” he whispered against her lips as his hips pushed against her own.
“Love me, Ryan,” she whispered right back.
“I do.”
She gasped. Then he used his body to show her all the ways that was true.
Chapter 15
“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” His voice was hushed in the dark room.
She yawned and stretched, her body settling into the curve of his with an ease she accepted rather than fought.
“Well we haven’t been here, exactly, but I think I know what you mean.” She laughed, and it was husky to her ears.
He shifted against her, his dick deliciously hard at her back. His hand glided over her hip, up her side, and cupped her breast. She drew in a quick breath and moaned. He could quicken her body with little to no effort. She recalled the first time she’d ever seen him.
She’d walked into his office after going through initial preemployment testing, and she’d been struck dumb. He’d been large behind the gray slate desk that dominated a corner of his office. Light had been streaming in behind him from the windows, highlighting his broad shoulders, but it had been his ice-blue eyes that had made her feel like a butterfly pinned to a wall.
Her body had responded instantly, and she’d known she was in trouble. She’d taken the job never realizing those first feelings of danger and attraction would smolder and flame into what was between them now.
He’d loved her through the night, and outside, while the lights still twinkled in the trees, the black of night was lightening to gray.
“It’s snowing.” He punctuated the words with a kiss at her shoulder.
“I’m not sledding.” She chuckled.
He laughed. “You promised, naked and everything.”
“You’re not funny, Mr. Locke,” she whispered and turned on her back, lifting her arms to drape them around his neck.
He wasn’t smiling, and her heart stopped.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sophie. I won’t ever do it again.” His voice and eyes were solemn.
She pressed a finger against his lips, stilling his next words. “Shhh. Promises can be broken. The only way you couldn’t hurt me is if I felt nothing for you.” Her gaze searched his face. “And the truth is I feel way too much for you to be able to keep that promise.”
“Goddamn, you undo me.” He slid a hand to the side and came back with a rose. Red, beautiful.
“I’d like to try,” she said as his lips descended.
He placed the rose next to her head, and as he kissed her, stroked her, loved her, peace settled in her soul, and she gave everything she was to him. She sighed as he entered her, whimpered as he shifted and flexed, building the fire until it could go no higher. She exploded with him, his name the last thing from her lips as she floated back to earth.
Something whispered against her skin, and the smell of roses permeated her nostrils. Awareness was slow. How long she’d slept she didn’t know, but the feel of silk on her skin and the sound of her name in the silence of the r
oom brought her fully awake.
The room was lit now by dull light, and she turned her head, seeing snow falling fast from a gray sky. It looked cold outside, but inside, warmth was all along her body. Her lips curved as she shifted and spread her legs. Ryan settled between them, his flesh a steel prod against her softening womanhood. Her hips rose, seeking. His pushed forward as his head fell to her chest.
“I can’t stop. Your body calls to me.” He lifted his head and gazed at her intently.
“I don’t recall asking you to stop,” she returned with a smile.
She turned her head and noticed that all over her body and all over the bed were rose petals.
“Ryan?” The question was there. Would he answer?
“This is one promise that involves no pain.”
Heat spiraled through her. “What promise?”
“All the nights I’m going to spend deep inside you, Sophie. This is the second beginning of those.” He kissed the tip of each breast and rose above her. “Look at me.”
She responded to the demand. “Yes?”
He entered her slowly, moving until he was seated to the hilt, their pelvises aligned. He fit her perfectly. She drew in a shuddering breath.
“Always, Sophie. You’re mine.”
His arms flexed as he held himself above her, and she grabbed his shoulders, threaded her fingers through his hair as she closed her eyes and acceded to his claim. She didn’t know if he needed the word, but she did.
“Yes.”
* * * *
“I grew up in a house that was literally hell.” He pulled her closer into the curve of his body. Nothing separated them. She fit him—her back to his chest, her hips snuggled against his, one of his thighs between hers. She rested on one of his arms but the other was wrapped around her.
Sophie didn’t say anything, but she’d opened the dam in his soul and deserved to know what he’d told no one else. She deserved to know what she was getting.
“One of my earliest memories is my mom crying softly as he hit her. Looking back, I know she didn’t want me to hear what he was doing to her. He would grunt as he hit her, and as a grown man now I know he was throwing everything he was into those punches.” His voice was ragged.