Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) (14 page)

He had hurt her so damn badly. She shut her eyes, willed the want that rose in her chest to wither, and she notched her chin in the air. When her eyes opened, he was staring at her like a wild lion looking for any weakness to pounce on.

Screw. That.

“You’d do well to turn around and leave my house before I call the police,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

“I’m not leaving, Sophie.”

His deep voice made her want to scream. Several moments of silence stretched between them, long and arduous, filled with all the things she’d seen the other night. He must have sensed she wasn’t budging because he took a step forward. She raised her hand to stop him as she took a step back.

He recoiled but stayed where he was.

“I just came to check on you.”

She grunted. “As you can see, I’m fine. Now leave.”

“Sophie, I—”

She interrupted him. “Ryan, um,
Mr. Locke
, I would like for you to leave my home. I don’t want you here.” It didn’t get any plainer than that. What the hell was he doing here? Because the whole “checking on you” was a pretty lame excuse. Where had he been days ago?

“If you’d let me finish…” He held his hands out palm up. Supplication?

Yeah right
. Those same big hands that had caressed her so sweetly had also been all on Gloria’s ass the other night. The image popped in her brain and she inhaled sharply, hand going to her abdomen. It didn’t still the ache there.

He started toward her then. “Are you okay?”

“No, no, no,” she muttered as she backed up. His gaze zeroed in on her face, the look making her insides quiver. “Leave, Mr. Locke.
Please
.” She almost sobbed it. Or maybe she did. If he touched her she would be gone.

“I can’t.” Confusion threaded his tone, as if he couldn’t believe it himself, and then he reached for her.

He drew her into his arms, crushing her to his chest. She stiffened and denial was a hot poker in her brain. How dare he?

He caged her against him, refused to relinquish his hold, and overcame her puny struggles. She turned her head and rested her cheek on his sternum, and she tried, so damn hard, to stay rigid against him. But his warmth was magic, and she weakened under the onslaught of emotional overload and fatigue. His heat migrated into her skin, sank into her bones, and she floated on it, irrationally allowed it to soothe her.

“Please don’t cry, Sophie.” He kissed the top of her head. “I can’t leave. You’re in me too deep now,” he whispered.

His words floated through her mind. She attempted to catch them and make sense of what he said, but it was too late. His heat had taken her wits and made putty of her bones. Was she crying? She didn’t know. She was cognizant only of the fact that his hard body was holding hers up, offering shelter from the pain of the last week.

“Your tears rip me to pieces.” His guttural words trembled inside her heart, hung there, and fell off a precipice.

Everything else forgotten in this moment of pain, bitterness, and loss, she turned her face up to his and sought comfort in him. His eyes were shards of sky in his face. Lines that seemed deeper than when she’d seen him last carved grooves into his handsome visage. He spoke her name, and then he wasn’t saying anything as his lips lowered to hers.

She met him more than halfway, her body taking what her mind refused to acknowledge. She was focused on the one thing that could make her forget her loss and his betrayal. That she was receiving comfort from the one who’d hurt her was put somewhere she wouldn’t have to examine it.

His mouth hovered, his breath washing over her, ruffling the hair that had fallen around her face. She lifted her lips that scant inch and lost herself.

*

She shattered him. Ryan hadn’t been lying when he’d said her tears ripped him to pieces. Every one of them was an anathema to him, a reason to want to slay anything that harmed her. That he’d caused part of this wasn’t lost on him. In fact, it was the razor that helped her tears complete the slice and dice of his soul.

She’d entrenched herself in his heart. Hell, she’d made the motherfucker beat again, damn it. Forced him to realize he even had one.

His mouth touched hers, and he was gone in the sweetness of her. Her flavor exploded on his tongue, and he framed her face with his hands, holding her still for the onslaught of his kiss. He’d needed her over the last week, so much at times it had been a knife in his chest to not pick up the phone and demand she come to him.

But she’d been here alone and dealing with her mother’s death. How could he have fucked this up so badly? He’d only wanted to make her his. Desperation made him harsh, and his mouth moved over hers with a force he hoped would imprint who he was on her. Their tongues met and dueled, and he felt her need echoed in the taut lines of her body. She trembled against him, and he picked her up and strode to her bedroom. She curled into him, and he wanted to beat his chest in primal exultation.

But would she let him back inside? Would she take a chance after what he’d done to her? He had no idea. The way she turned to him now was simply an indication of her circumstance. She needed somebody, and he was there.

He frowned. No, she goddamn well needed
him
. She must have recognized the tension in him because she looked up as he stopped beside her bed. Shyness entered her gaze and she bit her lip.

He groaned. The. Death. Of. Him. He placed her on the bed and stepped back. Taking off his suit coat, he loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and ripped it off. Her gaze followed every movement.

He’d been in London since early last Thursday morning, having left after the fiasco at his office with Gloria. The Defence Ministry had needed training, and he and Hayden had flown over the same morning her mother had passed away.

If he’d only known. But he’d been so wrapped up in protecting her from himself that he’d done what he did with Gloria and left immediately after. Gloria had been furious. Her feelings had been inconsequential, but Sophie’s face as she’d watched him touch the other woman would be forever emblazoned on his memory. He’d hurt her so badly he’d actually felt the bite of the knife as it had slid into her heart. He could never atone for that. He could only hope she’d listen to him and try to understand. He was weak and had thought the only way to prevent hurting her was to push her away.

Gloria’s presence at the office that night had afforded him an opportunity to do that pushing, but if he had it to do over again, he’d not mess up in quite that way. There was no excuse. There was only the truth.

He’d checked in with the office earlier today and been told by his secretary that Sophie was out on bereavement leave. He’d called her friend Gigi, who’d been just a little south of hateful as she’d told him Sophie’s mom had died and she was alone. Grieving.

He’d had their plane fueled and been back in Atlanta nine hours later. And now here he was staring down at the woman who had stolen a vital piece of him, and he could only pray she gave him an opportunity to explain.

She reached for him, and it was an answer of sorts. Maybe God did listen to prayers. He came over her as she scooted backward on the bed. Giving her no time to escape, he pressed close, taking her lips again, sucking her bottom lip between his and laving the offended flesh with his tongue.

She drew in a stuttering breath and moaned. He allowed his hands to drift over her flesh, her cheeks, down her neck, to dip into the opening of her shirt. Down he progressed, over her hips and under her skirt, skating up her stocking-covered legs to rest at the top of her thigh-highs. He inhaled swiftly, her sexiness a shot to the brain more potent than any whiskey. His dick flexed, begging to be inside her warmth.

“Touch me,” she said into a silence broken only by their heavy breaths.

“Always,” he said, already rolling her stockings down. The muscles of her thighs tightened, moving sinuously beneath her ivory skin. He groaned, imagining them tightening on his hips as he pounded inside her receptive body. Soft. Just so fucking soft. “I need you, Sophie.”

Her eyes were closed. He wanted them open, but no matter how he touched her she kept them closed tightly. It was unacceptable.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded, punctuating each word with a lick at her knee, up her thigh, at the edge of her lace panties. Her smell tortured him. Lavender and musk, her musk, all woman and so incredible he licked his lips.

He rose up, looked down at her body writhing beneath him, and he wanted. He wanted more than he’d ever wanted with another human being. More than he’d ever thought possible.

He stilled, and she opened her eyes. Her gaze was bright with unshed moisture, but there was acceptance there, and she spread her legs, inviting him closer. Inside.

Ryan removed his pants and underwear in one fell swoop and came down on her, his hardness cushioned by her softness, her wet heat beckoning his rigid shaft.

“Look at me.” Another demand. She obeyed.

He lowered his head, keeping his gaze on hers the entire time, and kissed her, absorbing her and giving her him. She watched him, and as he took her mouth, he took her body. In and out, he rode her, the sounds of their mingled sighs and groans the symphony to which their bodies danced. He built her up slowly, the fire and tingle at the base of his spine a marathon to be run. He would not stop until he’d banished the shadows from her eyes.

Sweat slicked their bodies, and still they moved together, his hips plunging slowly, hers rising to meet each thrust. Each retreat dragged his engorged cock along the tight muscles of her pussy and pulled strangled breath after strangled breath from her with each stroke.

“That’s it, Sophie. Feel me. Feel my cock taking you, owning you,” he whispered, licking along her lips, biting her lower one between his teeth and pulling gently.

The muscles along her vaginal walls clenched, his vision blurred, the need for release a hammer in his head.

“Goddamn, Sophie. It’s too good. I won’t last, baby.”

She didn’t respond, just arched her hips sinuously against his every thrust. Her skin glistened in the wavering light, the sun’s pink rays highlighting her black tresses and making her blue-brown-green orbs diamond bright. She hadn’t touched him. Her hands fisted into the quilt on her bed, and his skin ached with the loss. He wouldn’t push though.

That she was sharing her body with him was enough at this moment. He didn’t deserve any of this, not a second chance to win her love, definitely not to be inside the hottest, wettest, sweetest heat he’d ever tasted.

He moved faster, unable to control the impulse to push harder inside her. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her nipples hard, begging for his mouth. But his mouth was at hers, sipping, nipping, and drinking of her sighs and moans. She suckled on his tongue, and his balls drew up.

He reached down, angled her hips, and thrust harder, making sure each stroke was punctuated with a glide of his pelvis against her clit. Her eyes rounded, and she finally,
finally,
reached for him, her hands settling on his shoulders, nails digging deep.

He roared as release steamrolled him. Her pussy locked down on him, strangling his dick, refusing to let him go. It lasted forever as her walls milked him. She keened softly beneath him, her lower body still moving in the aftermath of their climax.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders, taking a chunk out of his heart as she did so. He let his head fall onto her chest as he struggled for breath. It took several minutes for him to calm down. He was still hard inside her, but her breathing had evened out. He raised his head and found her asleep.

He half laughed, half groaned as he pulled his flesh from hers. Even in sleep her pussy didn’t want to let him go. He shifted to his side, pulling her back to his front and sheltering her in the curve of his body. He pulled the quilt around them and within minutes followed her into sleep.

Chapter 13

“I don’t know when she changed. When what she wanted became more important than providing a loving, stable home for Gavin and me. I have all these memories of her, but the good eclipse the bad right now. She used to sing to us when we were tiny. One of my earliest memories was her singing “Handy Man,” by James Taylor, and me and Gavin singing along. She’d laugh and rock us, kiss us on the head, and sing some more—“Fire and Rain,” “You’ve Got a Friend,” as long as it was James Taylor, she’d sing it.” Sophie took a deep breath and snuggled deeper against Ryan.

It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the bathroom. He stroked his hand up and down her arm, warming her with the action. Comfort came from the craziest places sometimes.
Don’t think about that right now.

“It sounds like you knew she loved you,” he said into her silence.

“I never doubted Andromeda loved us. And she was a good mother in the beginning, but she was introduced to drugs when we were young, and then the parade of men started. After that, there were no more songs and no more loving mother. It became all about her and her next high.” Sophie was tired. More tired than she remembered ever being, and there was still so much to deal with. Right now, though, all she wanted to do was soak up his warmth at her back and rest.

“What about your brother?” he asked quietly.

“Gavin changed shortly after we moved here. He’s younger than me by a little less than a year, but he’s never really settled into real life. Andromeda’s withdrawal from us hurt him deeply. I don’t know that he ever recovered from watching her go through men and drugs. He moves from place to place, looking for the easy way through life. Gavin is definitely a different breed. We used to be so close. Now … we aren’t.” She sighed.

“Who took care of you? When she went on binges, who took care of you?” There was a depth to the question that Sophie didn’t want to dive into.

“We took care of ourselves,” she responded, and the memories cascaded, breaking into her mind like waves hitting the sand. She couldn’t handle the pain right now. She just couldn’t.