by Mary Campisi
“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this...or as much as I want you.”
Chapter 9
Rhyder wanted her! Goodness. She tried to clear her head but his words kept intruding. Would I act like such a fool if I weren’t? Would I stumble over my words and run out on you like a schoolboy so I wouldn’t touch you? And then, the part that made her hot and cold and jittery. I’m through trying to pretend I won’t enjoy it and not just a little... A lot.
She was scared… Scared to let him see how much she wanted him… How much she cared.
Rhyder eased onto the couch beside her, clasped her hand. “We’ll take it slow. Whatever you want.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed each knuckle. “There’s no rush.”
She nodded, lost in that gentle voice and those dark eyes. How had she never noticed the soft side of him, the one that could soothe and ease fears? “Okay.”
“We’re not that different, are we? Both of us hiding behind intellect and our very own brand of sarcasm.” He eased her hand open, kissed the center of her palm. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Roxie. I won’t hurt you.”
Could she believe him? People never meant to hurt each other, but they did it all the time. The world was full of good intentions and promises gone bad. If she truly opened up and let him in, what then? Would he break her heart? Could she risk that? The more time she spent with him, the more she realized she’d made observations and assumptions that weren’t accurate or justified. He was kind and he cared, and there was a gentle side of him that he didn’t let many people see. But she’d seen it and now that she had, she wanted to see more. Roxie let out a soft sigh, stroked his jaw.
“I’ve never met anyone quite like you. Strong-willed, feisty, determined, yet there’s something about you that’s soft and vulnerable… Innocent.” He cupped her chin, leaned in and brushed his lips over hers.
She wanted more, much more. “I want you,” she whispered seconds before she teased his lips open with her tongue, dipped inside and tasted. Oh, sweet deliciousness. When he groaned, she flung her hands around his neck, pressed her body to his and moaned. Not a quiet moan either but an I-need-you-and-I’m-going-to-have-you moan. He eased her onto the couch, lifted her T-shirt...traced her ribcage, the edges of her tangerine bra, the almost-cleavage before he settled on the front clasp of her bra. Pleasure surged through her: white-hot, desperate. Oh, but the man had the most wonderful fingers and when he finally released the clasp and covered a breast with his hand, she squirmed against him, moaned and whimpered. She wanted this man and it had nothing to do with a baby. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed against his hardness, rocking back and forth in a pure sexual motion.
Next came the zippers and clothes shifting as he inched down her tights, then her panties. He lifted his head, let out a raspy, “We need to slow down.”
“Do we?” Roxie smiled, reached for his glasses and laid them on the table next to them. “I’m not so sure about that.” She ground her hips against his. “Are you?”
He blinked hard, the cords of his neck tense. “Maybe we should go to the bedroom… Maybe we should—”
She yanked down his boxers, cupped his hardness, stroked, once, twice, three times. “We’ll make it to the bed next time. Do you have a blanket or something you want to put under us?” Rhyder was very particular about messes and this was definitely going to get messy.
“I’m not moving unless—” he raised himself and thrust into her, his gaze locked on hers “—it’s to do this.”
Oh, dear sweet hot heaven. Roxie jerked against him. “I love the sound of that.”
He smiled seconds before he covered her mouth with his, moved inside her with long, steady strokes. He caught her moans, her sighs of pleasure, her need. She dragged her hands along his back, crossed her legs over his waist, tried to pull him closer. Could they even get any closer? This joining was intense, powerful. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He stroked and teased and pleasured her as the pressure built and she burst with ten thousand jolts of white-hot deliciousness.
Rhyder broke the kiss, his dark eyes glittering as he moved over her, deep, deeper, seconds before he let out a groan and spilled himself into her.
She didn’t think about position or duration, temperatures or any other heading on the spreadsheet she’d created for this process. All she thought about was Rhyder and the beauty and perfection of their lovemaking. He’d collapsed on top of her and when he tried to lie beside her, she held him close, whispered, “Stay.”
“I don’t want to crush you. I’m not as light as you think.”
She locked her arms around his back, murmured, “Stay.”
He kissed the tender spot of her neck, let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Okay, but only for a minute or two.” A minute or two later, he was asleep, his calming breath a lullaby as she drifted off to sleep.
Roxie woke in Rhyder’s bed, his arm around her waist, her head on his chest. How had she gotten here? Had he carried her? She’d been sound asleep. He would have had plenty of time to study the naked imperfections she tried to ignore. Rhyder was long and lean with sleek muscles but he wasn’t mountain-man strong. He had to have lifted her and she bet he got a surprise when he realized she was heavier than she looked. Ugh. Naked, imperfect, heavier than appearances…
Well, she’d have to get used to him seeing all of her imperfectness because he didn’t seem the sort of man to make love to a woman in the dark. And she didn’t like that idea either. She’d never worried about it before, but she’d wanted Rhyder to think of her as almost perfect. He desired her; that had been obvious from his comments and the way he touched her. Of course, from his own admission, it had been a while since his last encounter. Maybe it would have been like that with anyone as need fueled by abstinence fueled by...
“Roxie? What’s going on in that brain of yours? You’ve been groaning and sighing for the past eight minutes. Want to tell me about it?”
He trailed a hand along her back, settled on her thigh where he proceeded to make tiny circles with his fingers. Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle. Oh goodness, the man certainly made it difficult to formulate a thought. “I think I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Which means we probably have to talk about it.”
More circles, more sizzle. “How did I get to bed?”
He let out a soft laugh. “I carried you, how else? Did you think you sleepwalked?”
She shook her head, the hair on his chest brushing her cheek. “No, but…”
“But I don’t look like I could carry you? My physique is not in line with Ian’s or Anson Welliver’s?”
She lifted her head from his chest, squinted into the semidarkness. “No, that’s not what I meant. And please do not bring other men into this bed.”
“Apologies, that was uncalled for...” He tightened his hold on her. “I carried you, Roxie. I thought of making love to you again, but then I’d have to wake you...” His lips twitched. “Or would you have preferred to wake up to me making love to you?”
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle. The man didn’t even have to touch her to make her want him again. Thankfully, the dimness in the room might have hidden a few of her imperfections. “Well, now you know I’m not perfect. I’m sure you spotted the appendix scar and the blotchy patches of skin. I have bouts of eczema, but only—”
“Roxie. Stop. What are you talking about?”
What was he talking about? “Of course, you noticed all of it, including the fact that my right breast is—”
“All I saw was your beauty.”
She waited for the punch line or the but and when neither came, she said, “You did?”
“You’re beautiful, Roxie. Why would I care about a scar or blotchy patches or uneven breasts?”
“Because you notice those things? Because you might judge?”
“They make you who you are.” His voice dipped, covered her. “Beautiful.”
She fought back the emotion his words made her f
eel. If he kept talking like that, the tears would start pouring out like a gusher. Had anyone ever spoken such sweet words to her? No, she was sure they hadn’t. “Thank you.” Roxie placed tiny kisses along his stubbled jaw. An unshaven Rhyder without glasses or clothes was pretty darn irresistible and presented a totally different picture from the one who sat behind a desk, clean shaven, spectacled, and starched. She sighed, continued kissing his jaw, moved to his neck.
“Since we’re sharing, I had a different picture of the first time we made love.”
“You did?” She sucked a spot at the base of his neck, inhaled his scent.
“I did.” He cleared his throat, stroked her back. “I thought it would be in a bed with candles, wine, maybe rose petals strewn about—”
She lifted her head, made a face. “You would toss rose petals on your bed like confetti and not flinch in agitation as they landed everywhere?”
He shrugged. “It was an idea.”
“Ha! I would love to see that.”
His lips twitched. “Forget the rose petals. I’d at least planned a bed...and music. I was thinking jazz.”
“Hmm. I would have enjoyed jazz, but the bed wasn’t necessary.”
Pause. “The pace was a bit too...frenetic.”
“Frenetic.” She toyed with the word, considered its many implications, settled on the one most applicable to Rhyder. “Ah, is this about control? Are you trying to tell me you like to be in control?”
“I’m not saying that.” He trailed a hand along her arm. “I’m saying I don’t like to be out of control.”
“I see. So, you never like to be out of control?” She sat up, tossed a leg over his waist and straddled him. “Ever, not even a little bit?” Roxie eased onto his erection, began to move.
“I...I...can’t think when you’re doing that.”
“Would you like me to stop?” She moved faster.
“No! Don’t stop.” He reached for her, pulled her toward him, devoured her mouth, his hands stroking, kneading, exploring with a passion that was way past frenetic.
Roxie moved with him, moaned with pleasure and delicious need and when she climaxed, she shouted his name. A real shout, too, not some whimper without feeling behind it. He seemed to like that because his breathing grew short and choppy, his movements deeper, faster.
“Roxie,” he groaned seconds before he arched his back and filled her.
She snuggled against him, breathed in his scent, and whispered, “Now that was frenetic.” When he groaned, she murmured, “But I call it fantastic.”
Chapter 10
Sex with Roxie was incredible. No, it was surreal. Mind blowing. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before and he’d experienced a lot. Roxie had a mission and it was to get pregnant whenever, however, wherever. Rhyder had always believed he was immune to women and could control situations and outcomes involving them. In most cases, that was true. Correction: in every case that was true, except with Roxie. She was a dynamo wild card with intellect and rapid-fire deduction that matched his…maybe surpassed his and that was not something he’d ever encountered before. But there it was sitting between them, chipping away at his self-importance. Roxie Revito was a genius with wit, sarcasm, and a brain that worked a split-second faster than his. Did he like it? No, he did not. Was he going to pout and refuse her invitations for cerebral sparring and unlimited sex?
No. Absolutely. Not.
He told himself it was all about the sex and the baby, and the desire Roxie created was fueled by the fact that it would end—eventually. They hadn’t discussed if they’d end the arrangement the second her pregnancy test turned positive or if they’d continue... And what about seeing each other aside from doctor visits and baby shopping or whatever expectant parents did? Would she leave his place and move back to her condo? Not that she’d technically moved out of her place, but she hadn’t slept there since the first night they’d had sex. Would there be no more meals together, no more casual and not-so-casual conversation, no more curling up in his recliner and watching old movies? Who would have thought Roxie would love Humphrey Bogart and Jimmy Stewart? Or that she’d be a Sherlock Holmes fan, too?
All of it gone once the pregnancy test turned positive.
Or was it?
It didn’t technically have to be, did it?
She’d implied and he’d assumed but a lot had happened since then. He could pretend he didn’t care what happened, but that was an even bigger lie than the one he told himself about the reason his parents weren’t part of his life. BS, all of it. There was something about Roxie that captivated him, especially when she let her guard down and he could see bits of who she really might be: vulnerable, alone, desperate to belong. Just like him.
They’d been together nine days and while he missed a few creature comforts such as sleep, clean kitchen counters, and periods of silence, it was a fair trade for what he got in return. Contentment. Peace. Roxie. Spending time with the woman was both energizing and exhausting—
Thwap! A scrap of red hit the side of his face, landed in his lap. Next came black lace. “What the—”
“Damn you, Rhyder Remington! We’re gonna have some rules!” Roxie hurled a wad of royal blue at him. “No other women until the deal’s done.”
Other women? He lifted the scrap of red—a bra, sheer, at least three sizes larger than Roxie’s. He tossed it aside, studied the black lace panties. Again, these were too large to belong to Roxie.
“Start talking.”
He ignored her, lifted the royal blue nightie, studied it. Somewhere in the vague space that used to be his organized brain before Roxie entered his life, he recalled a woman attached to the fabric. Ingrid? Isabel? Iris? Rhyder tossed it aside with the other items that brought no recall of the women or the occasions attached to them. He glanced at Roxie, took in a flushed face, the pinched lips. “Are you upset over a few scraps of material that bear no relevance to our agreement?” He could have added or any relevance to the identity of the owner but chose to remain quiet. Offering such information would reveal more than he cared to, such as the truth: the only woman who held his interest and intrigued him as much as she confused him was Roxie. No way would he offer that. “Roxie, are you really going to get upset about this?” The scowl and the flared nostrils said she was.
“Those scraps of material are called lingerie, and I found them in your bedroom, in the back of your closet.”
“In the back of my closet? I could ask what you were doing there, but I’m more curious about how they got there. I’m very particular about my clothing and I would know what’s in my closet…” Unless it was the cleaning lady and her extreme organizational capabilities who found them and put them there. Hadn’t she mentioned something about a few articles of clothing that didn’t appear to be his? But that was months ago. He rubbed his jaw, homed in on the lingerie. His cleaning lady’s comment had created a bigger problem than the fact that he didn’t remember the women who’d been attached to the damn things. More interesting still was Roxie’s reaction to the possibility that he still entertained women, despite their arrangement. Rhyder grabbed the lingerie, stood and made his way to the kitchen where he opened the trashcan and tossed them inside. “There—” he brushed one hand against the other “—disposed of and gone.” He didn’t need to turn to know she was standing inches away.
“Just because you’re throwing them in the trash does not mean they’re forgotten… Or forgiven.”
“Forgiven?” He did turn now, stared at her. “Are you implying I require forgiveness?”
A double nod and a clipped, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying.”
Had her voice trembled just now and were her eyes a little too bright? Had he hurt her? Did she really think he was seeing someone? What to do? He could be honest and risk giving her a bit too much information and therefore immeasurable power over him or he could let her believe the women who belonged with the lingerie had meant something to him…that he remembered the color of their
hair...the feel of their skin...their names. For someone who did not subscribe to attachments and certainly not relationships, both admissions would cause him monumental grief. “Roxie…” He reached out to touch her, but she stepped back, sniffed.
“Just tell me the truth. Please?”
The truth? Interesting concept there, especially regarding relationships when he’d dodged them most of his life. But this woman deserved better and not just because of the agreement, but because while he dreaded to admit it, she meant something to him. Probably more than she should. “All right, the truth. I believe my cleaning lady found those because I recall something about items she’d come across that didn’t belong to me. I have no idea why she kept them.” He blew out a sigh, shook his head. “I can assure you no one would have been coming to collect anything.”
“Did she collect those things recently?” Her chin shot up, arms crossed over her small chest.
She wanted to know if he’d been with other women since they’d settled on their agreement. If he were being honest, then he expected her to be honest as well. “Are you asking if I’ve been with another woman since you asked me to have a child with you?”
Those eyes narrowed, sparked. “Those were not the exact words I used. If you recall, I asked if you’d be willing to make a small donation.”
“You recall the conversation the way you want, but I heard it a different way. Semantics, that’s all it is. Besides, what does it really matter once I’ve agreed? If we’re being honest, then I want my own truth. Were you jealous when you thought I might be seeing someone?”
“Of course not!” Her eyes grew brighter. “I don’t care who you see once we complete our deal.”
She was a liar. One look at that face told him she didn’t like the idea, but she wouldn’t admit it. Not Roxie. That made him angry, made him want to have his own yelling fest, but what good would that do other than show her he cared a little more than he should? “You’re being honest with me? I mean, as a future mother and role model, you have an obligation toward a higher code. Creating stories and hiding facts about what you think or how you feel…not good. You wouldn’t do that, right?”