It took her a moment to realize he meant about the night before, not about Ara’s death or the way she still expected people to go out in the world and never come back. He looked composed this morning, with little sign of the tormented and tormenting man she’d come to know so thoroughly the night before. Back with that charming veneer of the gentleman. Something she now understood as exactly that—a façade he’d painstakingly developed in creating his new identity.
“No. I’m just not that awake yet.”
“But you’ll stay awhile longer.”
“Well, I think I’m only paid up till sunrise,” she joked. And instantly regretted it at the pained offense that flashed in his eyes and then disappeared.
“Is that how it is?” He shoveled off the covers and strode out of the room, gloriously naked body flexing in the morning light.
Good going, Tina. That seemed to be her cue to vamoose. With a resigned sigh—not quite understanding the mix of emotions jangling in her heart, which seemed to be the norm lately—she slid out of the delicious sheets also. Taking a moment, she sat on the edge of the bed, pushing her hair back from her forehead and wishing he’d brought down her clothes, too. She felt like she could sleep for hours yet. Maybe she’d treat herself to Starbucks on the drive home. After she made her discreet exit.
Ryan, however, came back in the room and it seemed the temperature went up a couple degrees or the barometric pressure dropped with his crackling energy. She flinched at the impact of it, ever so slightly, but he noted it, frown darkening. “Get out your tablet,” he told her.
“What?” She felt three beats behind. Should have accepted the offer of immediate coffee.
Ryan held up his own tablet. “Yours is in your purse. Get it out.”
Feeling a little jittery, she took the easiest course and turned it on. Catching up now, she wasn’t surprised to see he’d added a number of activities, including coffee and brunch, only, no sex—along with a ludicrous dollar figure.
“You don’t have to do that.” Feeling guilty, she glanced up to find him staring fixedly at her.
“Accept it,” he bit out.
“Ryan, I—”
“Here.” He snatched it out of her hands and accepted it for her. Then tossed both tablets aside. “Now. How do you like your coffee?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me this morning.”
“What’s wrong is I scared the shit out of you last night and now you’re skittish as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.” He had his fists on his hips, jaw set, still stark naked, his cock long and relaxed while the rest of him vibrated with tension.
Despite everything—or maybe because of the high emotional pitch of the moment—she giggled.
“It’s not funny, Celestina.”
“A long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs?”
He shook his head, his expression relaxing slightly. “My mama used to say it.”
“Southern girl?”
“West Virginia.” He blew out a breath, raked his hands through his hair. Then looked at her. “Where I grew up.”
Okay. Apparently she wasn’t the only one feeling jumbled up. “It comes out, you know, here and there—mainly when you’re mad.”
He stared at her, truly taken aback, as he so rarely was. “It does not.”
She nodded. “I can safely say I’ve never heard ‘useless as tits on a bull’ before in my life. And you once used ‘reckon,’ too.”
Setting his jaw, he shook his head, as if to negate what she’d said. “I should find that tutor I hired and get my money back.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s part of who you are.”
“Maybe.” He looked unconvinced.
“Let’s do this. I’m going to use the bathroom and put some clothes on. Why don’t you start that coffee and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”
He continued giving her that long look, pressed his lips together, then nodded. “I’ll grab your clothes from upstairs. Sorry I didn’t think of it.”
“It’s okay,” she said again. She stood up, still feeling wobbly, and put her hands on his shoulders, then gave him a light kiss. Because he seemed to need the reassurance, she repeated it. “Everything is okay.”
In that moment, she even believed it herself.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Everything is okay.
He didn’t know how they’d gotten to this place where Celestina soothed and cozened him instead of the reverse. Of course, he also had no idea what had come over him the night before. Why he’d confessed so much—and then why he’d given in to taking out those dark emotions on her tender, inexperienced body.
He didn’t blame her for wanting to run this morning. He also had no intention of letting her do it. She’d had her chance the night before. For better or worse, now she belonged to him. It would just take some time for her to come to terms with that. Though he’d be careful not to put it in those words, outside of scenes.
You belong to me. The words echoed through his brain in his father’s voice, accompanied by the sounds of fists on flesh and his mother’s pleas.
Not like that.
As if speaking of that time had further unlocked some part of him that had been hidden behind a door, memories rose up in his mind, unwanted pop-up windows of his past, interfering with his thoughts. Appalling that he’d slipped and used those hick clichés of his mother’s. Her West Virginia drawl, the one he’d worked so hard to excise from his own speech, trailed through his head, like lingering shreds of Appalachian fog.
When you find the girl for you—you treat her right, you hear? Don’t you ever hit her. A real man doesn’t do that. You be better than that or I’ll haunt you. I swear I will.
Well, she’d never said anything about whipping a woman or burning her skin with candle wax and fucking her until she passed out, right? Or maybe she’d never haunted him before this because he hadn’t found the right woman. Superstitiously, he crossed himself as he hadn’t in decades, sending a prayer for her to stay in her grave. I’ll haunt you. I swear I will.
“Coffee smells good.”
His turn to jump, startled out of his morose thoughts by Celestina’s smooth voice. She’d showered and combed her damp hair behind her ears. Wearing worn jeans—with holes in the knees that she’d no doubt come by honestly, not as a fashion statement—and a faded In-N-Out Burger T-shirt, she edged herself onto a stool at the kitchen island, giving him a cautious smile.
More than anything else, he hated that she acted spooked around him now. Though she should, being a smart woman.
“Do you take cream in it?”
“Yes, please.”
He adjusted the machine, letting it brew the cup, uncertain what tack to take next. He’d been so determined to make her stay, to talk things out with him, but now he wasn’t sure what to say.
“That has to be the most amazing coffeemaker I’ve ever seen.”
Okay, small talk worked. “It’s a Jura Capresso. Incredibly self-indulgent and expensive. Totally worth every penny.”
“It looks almost steampunk.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh.” She waved a hand in the air. “The girls like it. Kind of Victorian-era, if technology continued as all steam-driven. Lots of shiny brass, cogs and wheels, that sort of thing.”
He set the mug in front of her. “There. Tell me that’s not the best cup of coffee you’ve had in your life.”
She sipped. Hummed and sipped again, dark eyes widening at him over the rim. “Oh my God.”
“Told you.” He found himself grinning, the pop-up windows of memory still for a moment.
“No wonder the machine is so expensive.”
“The best things are
worth the price.”
Her smile dimmed and he kicked himself for bringing up that reminder between them. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he stared down at his own mug. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten pissy about paying you to stay.”
“I’m sorry I made that terrible joke. I was just...”
He looked up when she didn’t finish, to find her picking at the strings around one of the holes in her jeans.
“Afraid of me?”
Her gaze flew up to his, full of some emotion. “No. I think you need to get over that idea. I’m not afraid of you. I thought I proved that last night.”
“I think I proved that you should be afraid of me. I have no excuse for what I did to you.”
She cocked her head slightly. “It was all in the possible scenarios I agreed to. You can look.”
“I know, but I didn’t do it for the right reasons. It wasn’t about you that last time. Last night was supposed to be about giving you release. Not about...”
She raised her eyebrows at his realization. “Not about giving you release from your own brand of survivor’s guilt and pent-up emotions?”
Was that what they’d done? No wonder he felt like a wreck this morning. He took a long drink of coffee, grateful for the soothing burn of it, wishing he could pour some directly into his brain.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know that already,” she continued. “You explained it all so well to me—and it seems we’re kind of alike that way, but for different reasons. Some pair we are.”
“Apparently you’re much smarter than I am.” What an idiot he was.
“Or...” She cupped her mug, looking thoughtful. “I think sometimes it’s just much easier to see someone else’s issues. We kind of muck about in our own so we can’t see them clearly, but someone else’s are in focus, from the right distance.”
“I don’t have ‘issues,’ Celestina.”
Her serious expression broke into a wide delighted grin. “Oh, Ryan, honey—you have serious issues. You just have a much higher gloss on top of them.”
He glared at her, which didn’t dim her smile the least bit. “A gloss?”
“Sure. All that charm, the manners, the suits and the sophistication. Glossy.”
“I’m beginning to regret making you stay for coffee.”
That worked to kill her delight at his discomfort. She set down her mug and slid off her stool. “I’ll go then.”
Shit. “No, wait.” He went around the counter and stopped her by putting his hands on her hips and holding her there. She looked up at him, uncertain again. “I’m doing things all wrong this morning.”
“Well, I guess we’re a pair in that, also.” She gave him a tentative smile. “It occurs to me that I haven’t done a morning-after in pretty much forever. I’ve forgotten how.”
“They usually aren’t this...” Fraught. “Everything goes differently with you, Celestina. Never quite how I have planned.”
“Good. That makes me feel better.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “It makes you happy to see me discombobulated?”
“Yes, actually. I like knowing I’m not the only one making things up as I go.”
“I don’t like making things up as I go.”
“I can see that. You always have a plan, don’t you? A strategy worked out ahead of time.”
“It’s a business skill. Always have your decision made before you walk in the room. That’s how you keep other people from pushing you around.”
“And I’m business.” She said it not in a mean tone or like she was hurt or disappointed, but in acknowledgement of a bare fact. Which it was. He’d set this up as a business arrangement from the very beginning and it would be foolish to deny that. Even more foolish to contemplate that he’d been lying to himself all along. That this chemistry between them, his endless craving for her that seemed to extend far beyond sex, had nothing at all to do with something as cool-headed as business.
“It will make you no doubt happy to hear that I’m not at all sure what you are.” He eased her against him, needing the contact, wanting to strip her naked and have her on the kitchen counter. Strictly against the rules. Talking. They were supposed to be talking. No sex. He’d put it in the damn tablet.
“Ryan...” His name came out throaty and she licked her lush lower lip.
With a groan, he threw the rules out the window and kissed her.
* * *
The kiss took her under, fast and unexpected. He tasted of coffee, cream and sugar, bitter and sweet together. This felt better, more like how they should have started the day, reconnecting physically instead of rehashing the emotional bog they both seemed to be wretched at navigating.
He ran his hands up her back under her T-shirt, stopping at the catch of her practical bra, then breaking the kiss. “I know it’s not in the rules, but I have to have you. Say yes.”
“Fuck the rules, Ryan.” She pressed into him, fastening her mouth to his and coaxing him into more of his hypnotic kisses, then groaned as he unsnapped her bra and caressed her freed breasts. Slightly sore—just enough to make every touch drill straight to her groin—her nipples hardened delightfully.
He stripped her shirt and bra over her head, then sank to his knees, ripping open the button and zipper of her jeans and yanking them, along with her panties, down her thighs. Holding on to his shoulders for balance, she still nearly fell over when he grasped her hips and drove his tongue into her pussy. With her jeans trapping her ankles, her thighs stayed pressed together, but that did little to stop him. He held her in a tight grip, finding and licking at her rapidly sensitizing clit.
“Celestina,” he said against her, slowing now, curling his tongue against her intimate flesh with lascivious pleasure. “Celestina.”
He kept crooning her name that way, making it a kind of chant in between licks and kisses, as if he worshiped at her sex and she were some kind of goddess he beseeched for mercy. Letting the warm rise of arousal flow through her, she ran her hands over his head, learning the shape of his skull and the texture of his hair as she hadn’t been able to before this. Showing him with her touch that everything would be okay.
With a groan, he tightened his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the barstool, then tugged her jeans off entirely, leaving her naked. Lifting her ankles, he hooked her knees over the chrome arms of the stool and scooted her bottom forward, so she was spread open for him to kiss and ravage in his leisurely way. As with his mouth-to-mouth kisses, he tantalized her with his sweeping tongue and occasional nips and scrapes, seeming to enjoy the act for itself. He lavished attention on every fold and hollow of her pussy, drinking her in, apparently for the pure pleasure of doing so. No sense of him driving her toward orgasm, just a slow and sensual exploration.
As a result, the tension built in her gradually, rising like the sun filling the kitchen with light. She let her head fall back and the lapping rays of warm fill her. “Ryan,” she breathed.
“Not yet. Wait for me.”
He stood and pulled off his shirt over his head, making his hair stand up in tufts. Kicking off his jeans, he fished a condom out of his pocket and rolled it on. Instead of plunging into her, however, he paused before her splayed thighs, tracing the soft skin from her knees to where her inner thighs met her pelvis. Feeling languid, she lay back, loving the way he looked at her. His gaze roamed up her body until he met her eyes, his a darker gray than usual.
“You are so beautiful, Celestina. So perfect for me in so many ways. I want to do right by you.”
“You are.” She lifted her arms to him and he leaned into her until she caressed his muscular shoulders. With a slow slide, he pressed his heavy cock into her, stretching her gradually, deliciously, eyes locked on hers. His face softened as he did, taking on a sensual, heavy-lidded look. She lifted her hip
s to ease the way and let out a long, humming breath as he pushed all the way home.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, holding there and dropping kisses on her upturned face, forehead, cheekbones. “So warm and lovely, soft.”
“You do, too.” She realized that made no sense as he was anything but soft, but he started moving inside her then, gently and sensually, as if caressing her from the inside out. This wasn’t the soul-shattering ritualized violence of the night before, but rather a kind of intimate embrace, intensely moving in its own way, his hands stroking her skin, his cock rubbing her from within. He permeated her every sense, muscles flexing under her fingers, the scents of coffee and their heated bodies, the susurrus of the ocean, echoed by their panting breaths. His eyes searched hers, gray as evening fog, and then his mouth settled on hers, filling the last corner of her emptiness.
She unraveled, coming apart even as he gathered up the threads of her being, holding her together in his big hands, buoying her through the gentle waves of the climax that dismantled her piece by piece.
Clinging to the rock of his body, she tore her mouth away so she could cry out, releasing a long, keening breath.
“Celestina,” he whispered and followed her over the edge.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Celestina’s hands slipped from his shoulders, her head dropped back showing the long, graceful arc of her throat and the satisfied curve of her full lips. Her body clasped him, hot and slickly velvet, cradling him in her hips as if he belonged there.
He wanted to extend the moment, the golden feel of it all, but the back of the stool had to be digging into her shoulders and he’d resolved to take better care with her. She murmured a vague protest as he slipped out of her, but willingly wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling up to him as he lifted her, and pressed a kiss to his throat. If he weren’t far beyond such things, his heart would have stuttered at the gesture, the spontaneous and unguarded affection in her kiss.
Post-coital glow made up for a world of sins.
He carried her back to bed, laying her on the tumbled sheets and settling in beside her. With a sound like a purring kitten, she curled against him, falling asleep. As had happened when they’d made love in the kitchen, her fall became his, and he let himself drop into the balm of sleep.
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