I’d like to attribute the blame, in part, to the shorts Ruby is wearing. They barely cover her ass. In fact, they just cover her fine, sculpted ass. I’m currently fighting with my hands to stay tucked behind my neck rather than reaching out and copping a feel. As an athlete—or a former athlete—I can appreciate how much time and effort goes into an ass as tight as Ruby’s.
I’m not being a pig. Not intentionally. But she’s freshly showered and, based on her casual attire and her complete lack of makeup, she’s not concerned about impressing me. I like it. A lot. She’s different from the women I’m typically subjected to, especially with my mother’s recent interference in my dating life.
I drag my eyes up, away from the perfect globe of her ass, hugged by tiny shorts, to the curve of her waist, up over her cleavage, along her neck to the line of her jaw. I get caught at her mouth. Her tongue peeks out just a little, a tongue I’ve had in my mouth before. The memory is a little fuzzy thanks to the cold meds and scotch combo, but I still have it—and I’d like to see what else that smart, sassy mouth of her can get up to.
But not tonight.
This is my new mantra. I’m sure I can keep my hands and my mouth to myself long enough to get my ass on that plane tomorrow morning. Normally I’m pretty decent with self-control. For as many years as I spent playing professional rugby where female fans will happily shed their clothes with little more encouragement than a smile, I didn’t take advantage of opportunities for endless hookups. I mean, obviously, I took part in hookups, but I was discreet, and I didn’t leave a trail of fucked fans across the globe.
First and foremost, it wouldn’t have reflected well on my family. I’ve seen enough scandal to understand the ripple effect it can have. I’ve watched the way my parents are with each other, and while there may not be an overwhelming amount of affection, my father has enough respect for my mother to keep his wandering eye to a minimum. That’s not always the case in their circle. I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who believes that status or money absolves me of morality.
But there’s something about Ruby Scott that makes me want to behave badly. Very badly. Which is why I’m imagining yanking those shorts down and bending that sweet, tight ass over her ugly chair and fucking her until it breaks.
I check the clock. It’s only seven. I have ten hours to manage myself. I just have to make it to the morning when I’m on a plane with an ocean between us to make it easier to keep my dick in check. It really shouldn’t be as difficult as it seems.
Ruby gives Francesca a couple more strokes before she prances over to her chair—which I moved so she could sit in it if she wanted. She flops down, sprawling out over the ugly lounger. She’s a gorgeous picture. Her long, toned legs hang over the arm. Her toes are naked, not painted. She’s not manicured or primped at all. It’s refreshing. That’s what Ruby is: refreshing.
Pretension is almost ingrained in my family’s DNA. Although it seemed to pass me by, it’s what I’ve been raised to endure and expect. Ruby’s the same, at least based on her last name and who her father is, but like me, she seems to be missing that awful genetic component. The chair she’s sitting in tells me that. Where she was living tells me that as well. The whole shower fiasco tells me she’s been out of the circuit for a while, and I want to know exactly how she got where she is, and why she’s made the choices she has to get here.
Unfortunately I don’t have time for that tonight. My goal this evening is to make sure she’s going to take care of my pets and not ruin my condo while I’m gone. Based on what I’ve seen so far, I have a feeling I’m dealing with a bit of a live wire when it comes to the lovely Miss Ruby Scott. For now I’m trying to figure her out.
“I ordered Italian for dinner, I hope that’s okay.”
Her eyes go wide. “Pizza?”
“Um, no.”
Her face falls a bit.
“Authentic Italian. Spaghetti Bolognese, chicken Parmesan, bruschetta, meatballs, pasta primavera, that kind of thing. I didn’t want to disturb you once you were in the shower and not being attacked by the jets, so I just got a bit of everything.”
“Ha ha. All of that sounds amazing.” She pats her stomach. “I hope I can handle it.”
“How’re you feeling? Have you been able to eat?” The flu bug I’d had lasted for days. Enough days that I worried I wouldn’t be able to get on the plane tomorrow. But I’m fine now. Although I’m down a good ten pounds still. Ruby’s small. She’s compact and tight, all muscle and lean lines. I’d like to see how she feels under me. Or on top of me. Shit. This woman makes my imagination want to go on a detour to the land of perversion.
“I’m okay. A steady diet of Gatorade and saltines seems to have gotten me through the worst of it.”
“I’m sorry I did that to you.” I’m also sorry that I’m currently imagining all the things I’d like to do to you.
Ruby shrugs and motions to the condo and the chair she’s sitting in. “You’re more than making up for it now. I really appreciate this.”
“It benefits us both, right? You have a place to stay until you find a new apartment and I have someone to take care of Francesca and Tiny.”
Ruby smiles. She has a pretty smile, with white, straight teeth, except for one eyetooth, which is turned just a touch. I like the small imperfection. After years of playing professional rugby, I have a lot of those.
The buzzer goes off, signaling the food has arrived and someone will be on their way up shortly. “That must be the food.” I sit up and Francesca makes a snuffling noise as I lift her from my lap, turning away from Ruby so she can’t see the adjustments I make.
“I should probably learn all the codes and stuff, shouldn’t I?” Ruby leaps out of the chair, landing soundlessly on the hardwood. She’s incredibly graceful. I imagine that must translate nicely into bedroom activities.
I manage to pull my head out of the gutter long enough to give Ruby a rundown on the entry system. “Any deliveries are intercepted by front desk security.”
“Don’t you have to go down and get it?”
“Generally, whoever is working the security desk will bring deliveries to the door unless otherwise requested.”
“That’s so awesome. I used to have to wait for the stupid elevator or run down four flights of stairs if it was taking too long, or out of order, which was often.”
“I don’t think you’ll find that to be an issue here. Since we’re on the penthouse level we have a dedicated elevator, so waiting is rare.”
“You could totally be a hermit living here, couldn’t you?” she asks.
“If I didn’t like people, I suppose I could.”
Ruby cocks her head to the side, and her smile holds a hint of devious curiosity. “Do you like people?”
“It depends on the people.”
“But you like me.” She makes a face, as if she’s embarrassed by her own statement.
“What I know of you so far, yes.” I smile at the flush that creeps into her cheeks. “While I’m gone I’ll give you access to services I use so you’ll be able to get what you need.”
Her tone hardens a little, as if she’s offended by the courtesy. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re staying here, there will be things you require, both for yourself and Francesca and Tiny. I won’t have you spending your own money taking care of my animals.”
Her gaze drops to her feet. “I guess that makes sense when you put it that way.”
I have to wonder a little about her financial situation. She comes from money; however, that reveal at the restaurant is another reason I caved and offered her a place to stay. At least my family was supportive of my decision to pursue rugby as a career. It doesn’t seem as though she has even that.
“I have groceries delivered every Friday, although the order is tailored to my taste. I was going to cancel it, but since you’re here . . .” I trail off. “I’ll show you how to make changes after dinner.”
“Sure. Okay.” Rub
y wears an unreadable expression. I’m unsure what to make of it, and I don’t get to ask because there’s a knock at the door.
Which reminds me that Francesca needs to go back in her cage. “Would you be able to put her in my room while I get this?”
“Of course.” Ruby flits over to the couch, scoops up Francesca, and carries her down the hall.
I wait until she slips into my bedroom before I open the door, accept the takeout, provide a generous tip, and lock up. If I’m being honest, I’m a little nervous about leaving Francesca. Especially since ferrets are illegal in New York, which is part of the reason I ended up with her in the first place. Someone brought her to one of my father’s hotels without fully understanding the implications. Or maybe they had, since they’d smuggled her in. She was improperly caged, so she got loose, chewed through wiring, caused all kinds of damage, and disappeared into a vent. Her owners just left her. She’s lucky she’s alive.
My father’s plan was to give her to Animal Control, which probably would have terminated her. I told him I’d take care of it. And I did. Just not the way he expected me to.
Within twenty-four hours I’d had a cage delivered to the condo and I’d set up a habitat for her. The few people who have access to my condo are aware of the delicate situation and are compensated for their silence. It sounds far more mafia than it is.
When I took her in as a refugee I hadn’t expected to be traveling. I’ve been fighting my dad on this trip for weeks now, but there’s no getting out of it. I know how he works. If I have a hope in hell of getting what I want in the future, I have to give him what he wants now, which is weeks of travel and research so I can learn the company ropes and be another cog in his machine.
I unpack all the containers. It’s the best Italian takeout in this city as far as I’m concerned. Their pizza is also amazing, but I thought it was safe to order something I knew Ruby would like, hence the pasta primavera.
I pull a bottle of white from my wine fridge and a bottle of red as well, in case she prefers one over the other. She mentioned liking martinis, but I’m not adept at making those, so wine will have to do. I’m also not sure how fully she’s recovered from her illness. I know it took me more than a week to recover.
I debate whether I want to set the table, or the island. The table is a bit too formal, I think. Casual is better. I pour sparkling water and set places for both of us. Then I wait for her to return. For some reason I’m nervous. As if this were a date, not two people reviewing pet care instructions.
A giggle filters down the hall. A very pretty, feminine giggle. I follow the sound, which gets louder the closer I get to my bedroom. What the hell is she doing in there? A million and one highly inappropriate scenarios blow through my mind.
I push the door open and what I find isn’t really all that far from what I was imagining. Just with more clothing. Not much more, though, considering Ruby’s outfit.
My suits have been moved from my bed to the dresser and my suitcase lies open on the floor. She’s in the middle of my bed—my unmade bed—on her knees. Her shorts have ridden up, one side higher than the other, exposing some cheek. A lump moves around under the sheet and she follows it around, giggling every time Francesca bolts in a new direction. It’s a game I play with her sometimes. It’s a game I’d like to play with Ruby. Naked.
“Dinner’s ready.” My voice comes out a little gravelly.
Ruby’s head snaps around mid-giggle. “She loves playing under—”
I wonder what my expression must be for the words to die on her tongue like that.
“The sheets.” I finish for her, my voice still too low. “I know.”
She looks around and then down, maybe realizing where she is. Her eyes go comically wide and she pulls the sheet back, scooping up Francesca and scrambling off the bed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—” She gestures to my bed. “I didn’t mean to. I put her down so I could manage the cage latch and then we started playing.”
I let her ramble for a couple more seconds before I crack a smile. “It’s fine. You’re good. It’s one of her favorite places to hide.”
“Well it’s such a big bed, and there’s so much room to play.”
I’m not sure if she means it the way my brain interprets it. Ruby carries Francesca over to the cage, her shorts still riding high on one side. Half of her left ass cheek is on display. It’s a very nice ass cheek. I’d like to get my hands on it or sink my teeth into it. I really need to get a handle on myself. And I plan to. Later. When I’m alone in this room and she’s locked away in hers.
I follow Ruby to the cage and watch as she latches it to make sure it’s done properly. There have been a couple of occasions in which I’ve mistakenly thought I’d locked it, but hadn’t. Francesca likes warm, cozy places. Something else she and my dick have in common. The difference being, if she escapes from her cage, she’s likely to find a hiding place I can’t easily retrieve her from.
“There we go,” Ruby says softly as she lowers Francesca into the cage. “Do you ever let her sleep with you?”
“Not typically. Sometimes she’s hard to find in the morning, and I can’t have her roaming while I’m at work.” She’s ended up under the covers with me in the middle of the night because I’ve fallen asleep while watching TV. She has a few choice places she likes to sleep, and since I’m not a big fan of boxers, it was a bit of a shock the first time it happened. Since then, I’ve taken to wearing boxers if I let her sleep with me since she seems to have a bit of a fascination with things that dangle.
“I imagine that wouldn’t be very good.”
“It’s okay because of the ferret-proofing I’ve done, but I still don’t want to invite mischief if it’s unnecessary.”
“No one likes mischief.” Ruby gives me a wide smile that says exactly the opposite. “I’m starving. Let’s see if I can keep food down!”
And off she goes, practically dancing her way down the hall. She doesn’t wait for me to make it back to the kitchen—I check the latch one more time, just to be safe. When I get there, all the containers are open and she already has a fork in one. She twirls it, gathering noodles. It’s a massive amount. She tips her head back, opens wide, and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, making sounds that I would definitely not isolate to food enjoyment.
She groans and turns to me, puts her hand up in front of her mouth, and says, “Dis ib so gub.”
“So you like it then?” I grab a fork and load up a plate, handing her one so she doesn’t feel compelled to eat out of the box.
She takes it, her cheeks coloring pink as she continues to chew the huge mouthful. She loads her plate. I’m surprised by the amount of food she piles on, considering her size, but I don’t say anything. I like a woman with a healthy appetite.
Once we’re loaded up with food she slides into the chair beside me.
“Wine?” I gesture to the open bottles on the counter.
“Oh. Uh, white, maybe?” She looks uncertain.
“Don’t feel obligated.”
“I don’t.” When I raise a brow, she brings her fingers up, Girl Scout style. “Promise. No obligations. I just haven’t had any alcohol since I became the Vomitron last week.”
“Vomitron?”
“It’s my superhero name. Not very badass, but rather fitting, all things considered.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast, so I could probably plow through two or three entrees no problem, but I try to scale it back so I don’t come across as uncivilized.
Ruby makes an uncomfortable noise. “I think I took too much.”
“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” I observe. She’s only managed to get through half the contents on her plate.
She pats her stomach. “It appears that way.”
When her shirt was sticking to her skin in the shower I noted the definition there. She’s in very, very good shape. I drag my eyes back up, which means I’m looking at
her chest for a second before I meet her eyes. “Did you leave room for dessert?”
It comes out heavy sounding, and a little raspy.
Ruby’s eyes flare and then her lids lower, so does her voice. “Dessert?”
“I always order dessert when I get takeout from this place. It’s in the fridge.”
“Oh. Right. I might need a little time for my stomach to settle before I can put anything else in there.” She rubs it a few times for emphasis.
I try to keep my eyes in safe zones, away from her chest.
She clears her throat. “Now that we’re cleaned and fed should we go through the house rules?”
“Right. Of course. Hold on.” I push away from the table and cross the kitchen to retrieve the binder I put together. Since I’m away for such an extended period I wanted to make sure I cover all possible scenarios.
“Wow. You have a binder?” Ruby looks like she’s trying not to laugh.
“There are a lot of things that need to be covered.”
“Uh huh.”
“Your tone implies you think this is excessive.”
She takes the binder from me and opens it. “How many pages is this? More than a hundred?”
“It’s ninety-eight. Francesca and Tiny have very specific needs.”
“Ninety-eight pages of needs.” She leafs through it and mutters, “I wish someone was this in tune to my needs.”
I bite my tongue and say nothing about how I’m sure I could attend to every single damn one of them if she’d like to go back to my bedroom and play “hide and seek” in my sheets with me. “It’s not all about Tiny and Francesca. It also contains codes, passwords, fire safety, where to locate things, how to use various technological equipment, public transit information, areas to avoid, that kind of thing.”
“Is there a section on how to make the bed? Do you have a diagram for hospital corners?”
The Shacking Up Series Page 10