Easy Ride

by Suzanne Ruby

  He explored her lovely, wet folds until he found that perfect spot. His tongue flicked and circled and consumed her clit with thick-yet-gentle intensity. As soon as he slipped one finger deep inside of her, she released an unmistakable moan and dug her nails into his shoulders.

  If only he could make her come a second time this way. He wanted her moans of pleasure to echo off the brick walls of this amazing prison. But as soon as she willingly spread her legs even farther apart and looked down at him with the sweetest pained expression, he knew she needed the same thing he needed.

  Now.

  The condom he had pocketed for their five o’clock meeting at the club was still tucked inside his pants pocket.

  Of course, he hadn’t intended to break the cardinal rule. At the same time, he recognized his utter inability to resist her and decided to at least be sensible about the possibility. Thankfully, the day had unfolded the way it had, with her canceling.

  Once sheathed, he sat on the couch and shifted her back on his lap. Facing him, even though he’d willingly explore the other alternative.

  She took the lead and eased his full length deep inside.

  From there, he took over, guiding her hips in slow and measured moves, assuring she got the friction she needed in all the right places while her breasts softly swayed before his hungry eyes.

  “Oh, baby,” she moaned under her breath.

  Her glorious brunette mane fell every which way across her face, chest and shoulders as she threw her head back. Her velvet walls contracted around him as he pressed deeper into her. It took everything he had not to join her.

  Instead, he put on the proverbial brakes.

  Look at me.

  She opened her eyes slowly, as if awakening from a peaceful sleep, then leaned in and kissed him. Deeply. She teased his tongue with hers until he nearly exploded. But he didn’t want this to be over for either of them. Not yet.

  He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, then resumed moving her hips. He found that perfect pace, that perfect spot, that perfect position that she’d revealed to him and endured his own unbearable pain of needing release until she unleashed the deepest moan. He continued with the same motion and took her there again with even greater intensity, judging by how much hotter and tighter and wetter she suddenly felt.

  She stayed on top for the several beyond-glorious seconds of his release that followed. They remained in the same position and held each other in an otherwise loose embrace until their breathing returned to normal.

  He eased out of her gently, and she rolled onto the sofa beside him. With what little energy remained, he got up and walked over to a closed door.

  “That’s the closet. The bathroom’s over there,” she managed to say.

  He found his way and almost threw the condom in the toilet, but course-corrected at the last minute. By the time he came out, she had wrapped herself in the blanket again, her satin pajamas still in an apricot puddle on the floor.

  “I was about to ask directions. I promise,” he said.

  “I’m sure you were.”

  He pulled his underwear and jeans back on, along with his shirt. The whole sequence screamed “booty call complete” since she hadn’t invited him to spend the night.

  He’d taken a huge chance by showing up unannounced. The next move was hers.

  He sat beside her, and she leaned into him again.

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  The blanket slipped, exposing one of her bare shoulders.

  He could definitely go another round tonight. After an extended recharge time, of course. But he was pretty sure the bare shoulder was an accident, rather than an invitation.

  “I interrupted your delicious soup, didn’t I?” he said.

  “You interrupted more than the broth, which was cooked to perfection, by the way. You also interrupted my dessert.”

  “Dessert?”

  With her index finger, she traced a line from his chest to his navel, and then down the length of his zipper.

  Oh, that.

  “I’m the guest, you’re the hostess. Next time you’re at my house, I’ll serve whatever dessert you want. I promise.”

  “Okay, then. I’m coming over tonight,” she said, but her yawn indicated otherwise.

  “Let’s make it tomorrow night. You’re exhausted. And I’m depleted, if you catch my drift.” He was about to pull the blanket back over her, but Baby jumped on the couch and claimed it. Which gave him an idea.

  “How ’bout I take Baby home with me so you can get some rest?”

  She took her time considering the offer. In fact, she took a little too much time.

  “Not tonight. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get too attached, since we’re trying to find her a forever home.”

  Too late. He was already attached. To both of them, apparently. Which meant he better leave before he fell any deeper. Leave it at booty call, until otherwise notified.

  “Dinner tomorrow? I’ll take you out. Show you off,” he said.

  Stupid is back in the race, and is now ahead by three furlongs.

  “Sure. Unless the migraine makes an encore. I’ll call or text.”

  “Perfect.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and stood to leave.

  Not exactly perfect. He was going for an enthusiastic “yes.”

  At least her handy excuse made it easier to walk out the door tonight. He already had one foot out of this city, in theory, which felt like a much bigger step than it had before. But any kind of “yes” from area code 850 would put both feet on solid ground.

  Equestrian training ground, to be specific.

  If he wanted to lead a respectable life ever again, it was his only option.

  11

  THE BLANKET KIRBY had stayed wrapped in all night might as well have been a tangled web of unanswered questions.

  The migraine had mercifully dissolved, and any lingering doubt about her desirability had been put to rest by this gorgeous man.

  What hadn’t gone away was a certainty that he was hiding something about the club. He had blatantly dodged her comment about the other guys sleeping with their clients. If nothing was going on, why wouldn’t he simply deny it? And if the club was really on the up and up, how did he get access to her address?

  Talking in my sleep? Doubtful.

  Maybe tonight she could pursue more answers, even though at this juncture she wasn’t sure what she’d do with the information. Her emotions were hopelessly entangled, and her head was a total mess. No migraine required.

  At least she’d unearthed one truth when she got the confession from Madison. Hopefully, she’d snag a second with the saddles. Eventually, she’d tell Adam what she’d discovered. He deserved to know the truth. But telling him how she’d known about Madison in the first place? That would require a level of disclosure she couldn’t give until her investigation of the club was complete.

  She’d sent an email to Todd Kelly right after Adam had left last night, inquiring about any Hermès saddles he might own. Todd’s response was waiting in her inbox by the time she woke up. Madison had given him one for his birthday last year, and bought one for herself. She allegedly used some of her trust-fund money for the purchases. Todd had asked her to return them. Too extravagant, he said. Besides, they specialized in Western, not English saddle. Of course, that hurt her feelings, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her further. Todd decided to let it rest for the time being. Now, it seemed, Kirby was stirring up the dust again. Fortunately, Todd was being an excellent sport about it.

  She fixed a cup of coffee, shot a reply to Todd requesting he check the serial numbers, then sat back and sipped the brew from the same mug in which Adam had served her the chicken broth.

  His vanilla-and-pine scent lingered on her skin,
and her entire body still ached at the thought of the way his hands had guided her hips with such confidence and precision. How he’d introduced her to multiple orgasms for the first time in her life.

  Her thoughts zeroed in on the places he had touched and kissed. Especially the way his tongue and fingers had probed and explored her depths with tender enthusiasm.

  She reached for her cell phone and texted, Are we on for tonight?

  His response was immediate.

  Definitely. Pick you up at 7.

  What should I wear?

  Your prettiest, most easily removable dress.

  The subsequent thrill from his response stayed with her as she showered, dressed and drove to the station. The high lasted up until the moment she reached her desk, only to find Seth sitting in her chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m snooping.”

  Panic settled in her throat, heavy and spiked with dread. Had she failed to log off again? What, exactly, had she put in her notes about Adam?

  She practically ran around behind him, only to find nothing but a blank screen.

  “Ha! Gotcha,” he said.

  Her heavy exhale spoke volumes. She couldn’t have disguised her relief if she’d wanted.

  “You do have something on The Deep. Care to fill me in on the child-molester-turned-prostitute?”

  She shoved her purse into a drawer.

  “I’m investigating the club, not the man,” she said, even though that wasn’t true. She was juggling both. “There’s nothing solid to report at this time, aside from some good-looking guys playing therapist to broken-hearted women. I promise to keep you posted.”

  “Adam Drake is a known offender. And, news flash, there’s even more to his story. In fact, I’m thinking of launching a separate investigation.”

  She braced herself for yet another revelation.

  “What do you mean, ‘more to his story’?”

  “Apparently, some expensive saddles have gone missing, and Drake is the prime suspect.”

  Yes, I know.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  Seth smiled and backed away. “Oh, no. I’m not giving away any more secrets. Not when you’ve been, shall we say, less than forthcoming.”

  “I am already aware of the saddle situation, and the allegations by the Beckers. I’m also aware of your other secret.”

  Well, at least one of his secrets. The guy probably had a closet full of them, but the only one that interested her was how Todd Kelly had tried to get Seth to issue a retraction, and Seth had ignored the guy.

  No matter what Seth had seen on her computer—and judging from the blank screen, he hadn’t seen anything—she could call him out on his lie, if necessary. She was tempted to confront him now, but she couldn’t afford to be impulsive. She still had several truths she was chasing down about the club, about the saddles. About what exactly was happening between Adam and her, and was it real or fleeting. She didn’t need Seth pressuring her or complicating matters. What she did need was more time.

  And only one man could make that happen.

  * * *

  KIRBY KNOCKED ON the door frame of Bettencourt’s office.

  Even though his open-door policy was widely known, she never felt comfortable barging in and taking a seat, as she’d seen Seth do a million times. Maybe it was because the news director always had a frantic, don’t-bother-me look about him, from the top of his too-thick, too-white hair to the bottom of his running-shoe soles.

  When he didn’t look away from his computer screen or say a word, she asked, “May I talk with you for a minute?”

  Bettencourt swiveled to face her and peered over the top edge of his reading glasses. “Ah! My favorite prodigy. Of course.”

  She closed the door behind her and eased into one of the two chairs opposite his desk.

  “I wanted to update you on The Deep,” she said.

  “What do you have so far?”

  “Mostly suspicion.”

  “For good reason, based on what information your lead offered.”

  “I’m still working on it, but I don’t have enough facts to prove it’s even a story worth telling.”

  As soon as she phrased it that way, she regretted mentioning it. That wasn’t even the point she’d intended to make, coming in. Was her conscience looking for an emergency exit?

  “Well, it has only been a few days, hasn’t it? But I have to be straight with you, Kirby. Seth has been champing at the bit to take on this piece. This is the type of story he lives for. If you don’t feel you’re up to this, I’ll let him take a stab at it.”

  The suggestion set off major alarms. Handing the assignment over to Seth would be the worst thing she could do to Adam. And to her career. The Deep was her lead. Her story. Period.

  “I can handle it. Problem is, Seth seems to think there’s major dirt on my contact. If he goes after that angle, it could compromise my ongoing investigation. That’s my biggest concern, and why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Is that what he’s up to? He didn’t come right out and say it, but I knew there was something churning around in that head of his. He’s not exactly opaque.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Bettencourt offered up a half smile, then removed his reading glasses and leaned forward on his elbows.

  “Look, Kirby, Seth can’t help himself. He chases blood, literally and figuratively. He’s got an extraordinary nose for this business. But what makes him great at his job is the same thing that trips him up. He’s too impulsive, whereas you’re the furthest thing from it. I need to merge the two of you, and then I’d have the perfect reporter.”

  The thought of merging with Seth, even figuratively, was enough to make her dry-heave. But what Bettencourt was implying was even more disturbing.

  Had she really become too cautious? Was coming in here to voice her concerns a mistake? A sign of weakness, when she’d tried so hard to be strong and objective? Besides, she’d been impulsive once. It didn’t turn out well for her. She had the emotional scars to prove it.

  Kirby sat up straighter.

  “I refuse to air false information or pure conjecture. I’m simply asking for enough time to secure any evidence. If it turns out that there isn’t any evidence to secure, I’ll properly wrap up the assignment and put it to bed. For now, I want your assurance that Seth won’t be allowed to investigate my contact.”

  Bettencourt put his cheaters back on and peered over the top of the frames.

  “Okay. I won’t hold you to a hard deadline, but keep digging. Dig until you strike gold because it’s there. I can smell it. This whole club concept has ‘debauchery’ written all over it. Get this one right, and your star will outshine Seth’s. But that’s just between you and me.”

  With that, he swiveled back around and returned to his task, as if what he’d said wasn’t a big deal.

  It was a huge deal for Kirby. The vote of confidence alone made her feel as though she’d already struck gold.

  The extra time would allow her to get as much information as she needed on The Deep. It would also give her time to find out more about the missing saddles, even though she was almost 100 percent sure Todd Kelly would come through with a match.

  Get this one right? No worries there. She had every intention of getting it right.

  All of it.

  * * *

  “LOVE IS MAKING you soft, man,” Fabian said as he slapped Adam on the back.

  His sweaty back.

  “On the contrary, Fab. I’ve been quite hard lately.” He added a smile for the full effect.

  Fabian acknowledged the innuendo with a smirk and a nod.

  Adam walked to the free weights and grabbed a pair of forty-five pounders.
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  Fabian grabbed the same weight, but he couldn’t even accomplish one curl.

  “Don’t laugh,” Fabian said as he replaced the weights in the stand and seemed to contemplate his limit.

  “Grab the pink ones, cupcake,” Adam said, referring to the five pounders. “Let me know if you need me to spot you.”

  “Very funny, Ride. I don’t have the same motivation as you. Besides, I don’t have to look as good for the ladies. The leftovers aren’t that picky.”

  “Damn, Fab, could your standards be any lower?”

  The statement brought back thoughts of last night, when one of Adam’s clients ran her fake nails over his biceps and down his arm while commenting on how strong he was. Instead of feeling good, if had felt creepy.

  He replaced the forty-fivers with some fifties.

  Fabian shook his head. “So, what’s she like?”

  “Who?” Adam asked, his mind still in the nightmare client’s clawlike grip.

  “Kirby.”

  Adam didn’t want to go there. He’d tried hard to separate this relationship thing with Kirby from the club part of his life. If only he’d met her a couple of years ago, when he had an honorable career.

  “I don’t really know much about her.”

  Except that she’s smart, funny, has the most beautiful face and the tightest, most responsive body.

  An inconvenient hard-on threatened to reveal the trajectory of his thoughts before he could fully enjoy it.

  “How booked am I for tomorrow night?” Adam asked. If anything could reverse a hard-on, it was a heavy workload at The Deep.

  “Booked solid. Didn’t help that you’re flaking out tonight. I had to reschedule a few, with no room to spare. Many tears were shed, my friend.”

  “Maybe you could take my place, since they aren’t that picky.”

  “Very true. Or Gentleman John can fill in for both of us. Literally.”

  Adam snorted.

  “I’m glad rebooking the ladies didn’t cause you too much grief, Fab. Wouldn’t want you to have to actually work or anything.”

  At least Adam had tonight to look forward to. Hopefully, by the end of the evening, he’d know a lot more about Kirby, which was an extralarge reason to take her out rather than have dinner at his place again.