Weak? The man within a breath of her was anything but. He was strong and brave, and unlike her, he took care of those he loved without being asked to; without a sense of obligation or a selfish search for redemption.
A chill shook her inside, warring against the spreading heat. Maybe sensing her hesitation, he withdrew his arms from her, not moving an inch backward. The message, clearer than the Polynesian Ocean Sea. It was her choice.
“This is crazy. I should walk away from you,” she said, in a low voice. “I just can’t.” The same way she wasn’t going to fall in love with him.
He planted a couple of kisses on her nose, and another arrow of lust surged in her system, smothering. She tip toed, offering him her lips which he didn’t take right away. Instead, Ryan started a trail of feather-light kisses on her cheeks, the curve of her jaw. Each time he approached her mouth, a tight knot pulsed, sizzled, in her sex. Each time his tongue licked near the curve of her lips, her body roared with need, and she clenched her hands on his shirt, scrunching the rich fabric under her palms.
At last, he brought his lips to hers, in a bone-melting, toe-curling kiss that encouraged her to link her hands around his head, pulling him to her. There was no way she wouldn’t have him now. He swallowed the moan forming in the depths of her throat, and she tore his shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere. Pleasure coiled low in her belly.
Delving his tongue in her mouth, teasing her with nips, he lifted her in his arms and strode to the bed. He eased her on the mattress, and she positioned herself amongst the tiny soft pillows. A tap on the empty spot next to her should have been enough to have him roll on that heavenly mattress with her. It wasn’t. Disentangling from her, he removed the remaining pieces of his creased shirt and soon, his pants and boxers dropped to the floor. She smothered a whimpering sound, the thrill of excitement surging through her, faster than a big fat discount at a shoe sale. Her eyes basked in the sight of that beautiful man, smiling at her with a rock hard erection. Licking her lips, she made a smacking noise.
Kika shifted on the bed, rumpling the sheets, the high temperature taking over her ability to stay still. With a cocky snicker, he joined her on the bed. The way his hands hovered over her dress warned her he had no hurry.
Over the cool kimono fabric, he scorched her with teasing kisses on her chest, down her belly, the tantalizing sensation torpedoing through her. Longing for more. He cupped her sex, his fingers outlining her swollen lips.
“No underwear. Someone wanted to get lucky tonight.”
She arched on the bed, spreading her legs and offering herself to him like a twenty-four hours, all-you-can-eat buffet. “This is Vegas, after all.” Her voice turned into a coarse plea, and the amused sound from his lips told her that it was too late to save face.
He slid down on her body, his open mouth following the trace of his exploring hands. She shook her head from side to side, clinging to the last thread of sanity. A rush of heat rippled inside her. That dress was going to suffocate her if she didn’t remove it. Stat.
She motioned to sit upright, but he pushed her down with one swift movement, and she plopped down on the bed with the grace of a sack of potatoes. “Ryan.”
“Patience is a virtue.”
One I don’t possess. “I’m not into the mood for being virtuous.”
“Good, because I’m about to do something naughty.” He scooted on the bed and dipped his head between her legs. With his hands, he spread them, and her toes curled against the silky linen. She threw her head all the way back against the pillow.
He grazed his teeth on the inside of her thigh, the contrast of his sharp teeth against the softness of her flesh liquefying her sex. A moan escaped her lips, and he retaliated with a nip on her thigh. Oh, he was good…
She needed more. Her body ached for more. The sheen of sweat spread through the thick fabric of her dress. Her breasts strained so hard against the bra, she was afraid they’d rip it apart. Breathing in hitches, she savored the moment he caressed her sex, the circular movement of his fingers over her engorged lips magical.
He slid two fingers inside her pussy, and she clenched her inner muscles around his long fingers, never wanting that moment to end. He stroked her with steady movements, the thrusting and retreating rhythm sending a merciless thrill of pleasure through her.
“Ryan.” This time her voice didn’t ask. It demanded.
He replaced his fingers with his lips. She snaked her legs around his neck, and bucked her hips, her upper body starting to curl as waves of pleasure battered her. Without delay, he intensified the thrusting of his tongue, and flicked her clit with his thumb. Mercilessly. Recklessly.
A throaty sound from the depths of her lungs announced the climax consuming her, flooding her, destroying her, only to begin anew and shake her again. He kept on kissing her clit, caressing the back of her knees with his fingers.
Time stilled until her breathing slowed, and the ripples of pleasure ceased. With fingers lighter than the current state of her soul, he pushed her up on the bed and removed the dress. She followed his lead, lifting her weightless arms as he pulled it from her head. A merciless cold wave hit her body, turning her skin into a goose bump mess.
Why did a part of her fear the release wasn’t purely physical?
***
Ryan leaned over her, stretched his hand to the bedside table, and reached for the condom packet. The dim lighting allowed him to watch her curling her lips. Sliding his gaze lower, he focused on her full breasts, the soft indentation to her waist, the thin strip of dark hair disappearing between her shapely legs.
A sensation of warmth flooded him, bombarding his every cell with the tingling need for release. She was exquisite. Fully bare, not just naked without clothes, but bare to him. Was she? He swallowed. Hard.
He rolled on the condom and positioned himself, the tip of his cock teasing her sex. The rush of blood thickened, and he threw his head back as he plunged inside her, deep and strong. Adrenaline spiked. The pounding from his length reverberating in his heart, and overwhelming his poorly oxygenated brain.
She linked her legs around him, pulling him closer, sending shivers through him. He propelled toward her, and made an effort to move in and out of her, not wanting to distance his pulsating length from her wet flesh for a second.
“Ryan, I’m going to—
He intensified his rhythm and rocked his hips into her. The pressure of pleasure built inside of him to the point of no return. With a sexy, long moan, she climaxed, clenching her nails in his shoulders, nipping on his neck. It was like she wanted to take him, all of him, as she convulsed under his weight. The sound of sweaty bodies smacking added to their panting breathing.
He drove himself into her one last time, the peak drilling him, cell by cell. He wanted to give all of himself to her, even the swirling emotions he couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to—not right now.
He pulled her to him. The afterglow of sex manifested through the sweat washing over his body, their breathing more serene. He enjoyed running his fingers in her tousled hair, and also her legs entangled with his, her side to his side. Her hand on his chest, rubbing over his skin.
Peace filled him like it hadn’t in a long time. He’d dated a couple women after Lynn, but never imagined them becoming something else. They hadn’t affected him like Kika, not by a long shot. Come to think of it, did he ever feel this satisfied after having sex with Lynn? This complete? His heart contracted, a pang of concern twisting it from side to side. Better not take that route. If he started to care for Kika more than he had for anyone, what could come from it? He let out a sigh, the frustration consuming him.
“Worried?” she asked.
A need to know more punched him hard in the gut, even if knowing her could lead to dangerous outcomes. Especially when he wasn’t sure what the future held for her, or for them. She’d made it clear she wanted to start over somewhere new, with her sister. Without him.
He swallowed hard. “Tell me abou
t Freddy.”
Her deep intake of breath opened a small gap between her stomach and the side of his thigh. Aware she’d slip out of that question if he gave her enough time, maybe even out of his bed, he put his arm around her and snatched her closer.
She started a soundless drumming pattern on his chest, her fingers the only part of her moving. “Freddy was my brother. We were triplets.”
He loosened his grasp on her, the caress on her back barely an outline. “Were?”
She shifted in his arms, the restlessness of her limbs preparing him for what was to come. “He died six years ago. Cocaine overdose.”
Overdose. The revelation pumped frosty snow in his veins. Did her experience with her brother make her out of his reach, or did it give her the understanding a person like him needed? A rush of guilt thawed some of the cold. This isn’t about me. He ran his fingers through her hair. She was finally opening up, and how selfish was it to ponder the repercussions her past would play in the future? Her future. Not ours.
She raised her head, propped her elbows on the bed, and stared at him. The blue shimmers darkened, the same color of her matte black irises. “Some of it was my fault.”
“How do you figure?”
“When Luna and I found out he was using, we confronted him. He’d admitted to using since our mom died in a car accident a year before. We got our savings together and paid for a rehab center for him. We did an amateurish intervention ourselves, and explained he was going to rehab.”
“How did he react?”
She rolled on the bed and sat upright, her back against the frame, her arms clutching her folded knees. “He agreed. We’d booked him a flight and everything. He asked for one more night at home, since coincidentally that was our mother’s death anniversary. Luna didn’t want to let him have it. We had a big argument, and I sided with him. I said I wanted to be there for him, so we removed the drug paraphernalia out of his place and vowed to sleep all under the same roof. Luna and I were supposed to keep an eye on him. To make sure he didn’t change his mind.”
He sat next to her, ignoring the tingle in his fingers to reach out and touch her. “What happened?”
“Next day, we woke up and he was dead.” She fidgeted on the bed, moving her hips from one side to another. “He must have slipped something we hadn’t seen. If only I had sent him away like Luna had insisted—”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Can’t I? He’s dead.” She hid her face between her hands, then turned her face to him, glossy eyes on his. “When I said I wanted to be there for him… I wanted him to be there for me too. That was the first anniversary of our mother’s death, and… That night, I wanted all of us together, too. I didn’t want to lose him.” Silent tears streamed down her face, and instead of wiping them off her warm cheeks, he turned to his side and opened his arms, drawing her to him, whether she liked it or not. “I’ve never told anyone about that before.” A sob followed, and she hid her face in the sweep of his shoulder.
“Opening up doesn’t make you weaker, love. It makes you stronger.” His whisper sliced the night. “He was sick, Kika. And there’s no guarantee he would have had a stellar performance at rehab. He could have relapsed,” he said, in a quiet voice. His weekly AA meetings had taught him guilt wasn’t an emotion only the addicts experienced. Hell, hadn’t his own father’s over protecting ways showed him as well?
“At least he would have had that chance. I denied him that chance.”
“You believed him. Addicts can be very manipulative.”
A couple of sobs followed; their bare skin touched yet no sexual tension raced through his system. This wasn’t about sex, and he’d known that for longer than he’d admitted to himself. He was falling for her, and whether he’d get her in the end or crash face planted on the ground, the decision was no longer his.
Chapter Eleven
Restless, she swung one leg over the other and scooted out of bed. She picked up his shirt off the floor and put it on. “Are you talking from experience?”
“Yes, both for me and my mum.”
She looked at the panoramic view of the Strip, and by instinct she shut the drapes, the intrusive idea of the world witnessing their conversation more than a bother, a threat. “Your mother.”
He let out a long sigh, and scooted to the edge of the bed. Instead of rising up to meet her, he simply sat there, his gaze fixed nowhere in particular. “My father never wanted to see the signs. Always made jokes about how my mother liked her gin better than she did him. In a way he always hoped the problem would fix itself. That if he didn’t address it, it would magically disappear.”
She folded her arms and resisted the brewing temptation to blanket him in her embrace. “It didn’t?”
“No. I was in my teens, and she drank in the afternoon. She always pulled a strong front, and would go to ladies’ luncheons and all. Then it spiraled out of control. One day, after she had a fight with my father, for no reason I recall, she got into the car and drove.”
“Drunk?” she whispered.
He nodded. “She stormed out, and he didn’t follow her.”
“What happened?” A shiver zapped down her spine.
He surged to his feet, his fingers raking over his hair. “She lost control of her car and killed a couple driving on the highway. Was sentenced to prison. Left not long ago.”
A knot, dryer than the sand in a Moroccan desert, expanded in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she pushed out, and when the lodge of pain, his pain, rolled down her throat, warmth spreading through her, conquering her every cell.
He picked up his pants and put them on with one swift movement, avoiding looking at her. “I’ve always blamed that habit. The drinking. Strange enough, after my twenties I started to drink frequently. My counselor said it was my subconscious need to go through what she went through and bond with her even by distance.”
“Have you…talked to her about this?” She walked a couple of steps toward him, hiding her fidgety fingers under her folded elbows.
At last, he turned his attention to her, meeting and holding her gaze. A pulse ticked in his neck. He might have shared this story in his AA meetings or with his counselor, but obviously this was no walk in the park for him. “She wanted nothing to do with me the first few years. But I visited her after rehab, and we talked. And now, it’s good. She’s trying to readjust to her freedom.”
Sour acid brewed in her throat and zapped down to the pit of her stomach. She licked the bitterness off her dry lower lip. “You’re so good, Ryan. At forgiving.” She still hadn’t forgiven herself for abandoning her sister immediately after Freddy’s death…and for never trying hard to restore their friendship and trust. Never…until now.
He snickered, but the contours of his face didn’t relax, his spine still locked into place. “Don’t paint me as this monk.”
“How was it seeing Lynn again?”
“Not bad at all. I’m happy for her. For a long time I thought my best days were past me. And she was part of some of them.”
“They can’t be past you, Ryan.” A conviction that made her heart pound ignited. She wasn’t sure of many things, including how she’d get out of this mess with her heart and soul unscathed. Ryan deserved better. That much she knew.
He stalked toward her. “How do you know?” He lifted his chin, his eyes challenging her.
“It’s a guess,” she lied and produced whatever neutral smile she got her nervous lips to pull off. The warmth from his admission about letting go of Lynn turned into an expanding heat. A heat that wasn’t going anywhere until it choked her. Just for a moment, she wished she could be part of his better days.
He ran his finger down her nose. “Are you good at guessing?”
She chuckled. “I suck at it.”
“Maybe you should just stick around. To see it that we both have better days. We can make it our mission.” A wink.
He took her hands in his, and lifted them to his lips. When he kis
sed her knuckles, she almost melted into a shameless puddle of affection. His gaze didn’t waver and searched for hers. Oh, how she would love to get lost into those baby blues. Carefully, she let go of his fingers and squared her shoulders.
“Ryan… I want you to talk to my sister. Maybe she can help us with proving Blake is involved.”
“Great idea. Why did you change your mind?”
“Because I kinda trust you.”
“Kinda?” He pulled her to him. “You sure? What if you have to pay a price for it?”
“Like you said…too bloody late.” She imitated his accent, hoping the playfulness would take some of the edge off of her. Which was worse—trusting him or admitting to it out loud?
***
“I don’t get it. Why do you expect me to tell him all I know?” Luna asked.
The early morning sunshine trespassed the closed blinds, and spilled over the otherwise gloomy living room. The setup, two love seats that passed for sofas along with the colorful rug, never looked tinier. Ryan sat upright on the skinny-legged black chair, his stretched posture making it clear he was paying attention to every syllable exchanged between them. Luna stood up and leaned against the kitchen threshold.
“I’ve already told you why.” Kika repeated what she’d said a minute earlier, after she’d introduced Ryan to her sister. Their night together had showed her he was worthy of her trust, at least on that subject. And if he needed more information about the real prostitution ring, her sister had to help him. Having him in their corner was way better than not. He could be the perfect bridge between them and the authorities. He was their ticket to freedom, even though the thought carried a dose of irony.
“No. You explained how he came about. How can we trust him?”
Kika’s hands fell in her lap. “That’s our only option.”
“Look.” Ryan leaned forward. “You’re small fish. If you help me, I promise I’ll keep you both safe.”
Luna folded her arms, lifting her chin. How long had it been since Kika saw her sister oppose an idea with so much passion? An acidy liquid spilled into Kika’s stomach. You know when. This time, she’d chosen to trust Ryan. The stubborn, pounding throb in her temple hoped to God she was right.
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