Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) (5 page)

“Are you okay?” he asked when she finally met his gaze.

She shrugged, afraid if she spoke she’d break, and that she couldn’t do just yet. She took a deep breath as she continued to hold out his coat.

“Can I come in?” His voice was gravelly, like he was holding back a yell.

She shook her head and found her voice. “Probably not a good idea. I appreciate you letting me borrow your coat earlier. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.” Another deep breath followed by a rough swipe of her hand against her cheek. “I’m glad the deal ended up a go. Oh, and thank you for letting me leave early today.” She was rambling, unable to stop. The words poured out of her from a place she couldn’t shut down.

“And thank you for the coat. Wait, I already said that didn’t I?” Finally, her voice broke and so did the dam holding back her tears. He stood there solemnly, concern evident in the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the furrow of his brow, and the tone of his voice. She was so drawn to him and yet knew next to nothing about him. His presence, combined with her long ordeal at the hospital, was pulling her under. One sob turned into another and her shoulders shook, her chest cracking wide open with the pain she’d held inside for so long.

“Come here,” Ryan said roughly as he stepped into her foyer and pulled her into his embrace.

*

She fit so right against him, made him feel ten feet tall even as his heart softened at her agony. She mumbled incoherently against his chest, and he soothed her with nonsensical phrases. Every once in a while he heard a “damn it” or “I can’t deal,” but mostly it was just sobs that broke a heart he hadn’t been sure he had anymore.

He held on to her, one arm wrapped around her slender waist, the other hand cradling her head against him as she cried for all she was worth. The smell of lavender tickled his nose, and he buried his face in her hair, his hand tightening on her scalp and his arm pulling her closer. His body reacted to her nearness, muscles hardening, cock rising, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. This felt right, her in his arms, though the reason was all wrong.

Eventually, her full-body sobs quieted to soft hiccups. He held her through them, and when she calmed to just an occasional sniffle, he pulled away from her so he could look into her eyes. Oh, he still held her, but he allowed just enough for her to raise her face to his.

She was right there, lips red and swollen, begging to be kissed.
Goddamn.
This was the wrong time for this. And that didn’t stop him as he leaned toward her, met her halfway, and felt her lips part under his.

She was sunlight and ocean, lavender and vanilla. She tasted like heaven soaked in salty tears. For a man only used to hell, she tasted of salvation and forever. He moved slowly, afraid to scare her off because if she stepped one more infinitesimal inch toward him, he’d be unable to stop. But he couldn’t bear the idea of taking his lips off hers.

She sighed and then did the unthinkable. She pressed closer, lifting her arms and draping them around his neck.

He was lost.

He took control, meshed his lips so tightly against hers not even her sigh could escape. He stroked her tongue with his, forcing her mouth wider as his plundered her warmth and demanded she give like for like. His chest against her chest, pelvises nearly aligned, his only consuming thought was to get her underneath him. She affected him like a shot of whiskey, potent. Her taste was heat pouring down his throat and suffusing his limbs with pleasure. She moaned, or hell, maybe he moaned—her taste had overloaded his synapses. His hands held her head in place for his lips to do with hers as they would.

He pressed forward until her back met the wall and held her there as he took her breath and pulled her scent and taste into his body. Hair soft on his hands, lips even softer, her sighs and greedy demands ratcheted the tension in his gut and need in his groin. He moved against her, pressing his cock in the notch of her cleft as he spread her legs as far as possible with his knee. He couldn’t get close enough to her because all he wanted was to feel her flesh, taste her skin, and hear her moan his name.

He kissed her cheek, her ear, her neck, and her head fell back, her sweet breath fanning his brow as he gloried in the softness of her skin. She grabbed his shoulders, settled her hands in his hair, and guided him where she wanted him.

He loved it. She was fire and heat and everything he knew she’d be. He wanted inside her. He
needed
to get inside her. Fire built, pulled his skin tight, and hardened his flesh until he wanted to scream at the injustice of the clothing between them.

She gasped as he bit the tendon along the side of her neck, arched deeper into the contact, and pulled at his hair, whispering his name.

He groaned, hands moving to the side of her head against the wall as he tried to find some calm in the midst of their raging storm. Lucidity was effervescent, tiny mystical filaments along the edge of his sanity. His every thought, his every intention, to strip her bare and have her, here, now.

A shrill ringing permeated the red haze of his lust. His fingers stilled for a moment as he struggled to go slow, take his time as he played on her skin. Then her breasts were in his hands, the soft, plump flesh begging for his lips, and he realized she was pushing against him.

How the hell had he gotten her shirt open? Oh, shit, he’d ripped the buttons, torn right through the cashmere of her sweater and the stained silk of her shirt to get as close as he could to the flesh beneath. Her head was still thrown back, but her hands, which had been gripping him moments ago, now pushed against his shoulders, trying to put space between them.

He growled, low in his throat, a primal reaction to her feeble attempts to move him away from her. Unacceptable. Untenable. Not going to fucking happen.

Her voice came to him from far away and he looked down at her. Her green-gold eyes stared up at him, glassy and bright, a furrow on her brow, and her lips were moving. In response he settled his on hers, the blasted ringing continuing to fill the air, but all he could think about, all he could focus on, was being inside her somehow.

Their clothes were still on—her mouth would do for this second. He closed his eyes against the plea in hers, moved in for the kill, and finally … finally, the ringing of a phone got through to him.

He raised his head, her name a sigh on his lips followed by, “Who the hell calls you this late at night?”

She pushed at him again, this time more strength in her effort, and rubbed the back of her hand across her lips. Her chest, goddamn, her gorgeous lace-covered breasts, heaved up and down, the rouged nipples taunting him under the ivory lace.

She mouthed something he didn’t catch, and he shook his head, tried to clear it of the immediate lust pounding through his body. It took a few seconds, but he managed to push back from her, breathing like a racehorse, unable to hide the monstrous erection that tented his suit pants.

He tipped his head as she looked him up and down, her hazel eyes darkening as passion rose in her cheeks again. She held up a hand, in an apparent effort to ward him off, but she had no idea. The moment she’d offered up her lips and he’d kissed her, she’d sealed her fate.

But she still hadn’t answered his question.

“Who the hell calls you this late at night?” he demanded, his tone gruff, more than a little nasty.

God love her, she pushed her back off the wall and looked up at him, her mouth drawn down in a frown. Her action brought them closer for an interminable second. She gave in first, sidling sideways and shooting him a mean look.

The phone continued to ring, its blaring upsetting the natural quiet of the house. He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly in the direction of the sound.

“I don’t know if it’s getting lost between you and me, but I asked a question.” Even
he
winced at his tone, but damn it, he couldn’t contain the proprietary feeling shuttling through his bloodstream.

This was him. She’d better get used to it.

Arms crossed, eyes glistening with a defiant sheen that beat the hell out of her earlier tears, she looked pissed. It sobered him a bit and he ran a hand down his face. It was late and the damn phone continued to ring.

“If you don’t answer it, I sure as hell will,” he warned her as he entered the large room off the foyer where the sound was coming from.

“You will not answer my phone. You’re my boss, not my … well, not my … you’re my boss, damn it!” She walked quickly to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

He pushed into her space, not missing a single nuance of her expression. Pain flashed, tightening her mouth, making her eyes go dull. She closed them and rubbed a hand across her brow as she listened to the voice on the other end. He went on alert. Someone was hurting her feelings. He raised a hand to reach for the phone, and she shot him a look of disbelief.

“I can’t, Gavin.” Her voice tugged at his heart. The one he hadn’t thought he had until today. “No and look, I’m not talking about this with you right now. Just stop it, okay?”

Silence for a few moments, an angry tone clearly heard even from his few feet away.

She took a shuddering breath, and a tear leaked from her eyes. Ryan had had enough. He took the phone from her.

“Don’t call here this late again,” he said in a low voice right before he hung up and ripped the cord out of the wall.

His actions were not appreciated. She gaped at him like a fish out of water, her gaze snapping fire at him once again. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat in a staccato rhythm. He wanted to put his mouth right there, make it beat hard for a different reason.

“You had no right to do that!”

“I have every right. Get used to it.” He let steely resolve echo in his words and tone.

She sputtered, gaped a few more times. She wanted to say something and for once in almost six months he was glad he was her boss. If it kept her from saying something smart-assed or mean to him, he was all for abusing the privilege. In fact, hallelujah for it.

She pointed to the foyer. “I think you need to leave.”

He stepped so close her nipples grazed his shirt. She looked up at him, fear, need, and anger crossing her features to loop and replay over again. “Tonight has changed things between us. Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly, licked her lips, and he winced. The woman had no idea what she did to him.

“I understand you’re my boss, and I’ll probably lose my job now,” she whispered.

“Somebody’s going to lose something, I’m sure. Whether it’s your job or my mind has yet to be determined. But don’t be afraid, Sophie,” he leaned down, his lips a hairbreadth from hers, “I’ll give you something infinitely more precious to replace any loss you suffer.”

With that he turned away from the temptation of her pink lips and helpless sighs. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he walked out of her house. He waited on her porch until she locked the door and then went to his car. All of her lights had gone off before he turned the ignition. Even then it took a long while for him to put the car in gear and pull away.

He felt like he’d left a part of himself inside her house. He breathed in deeply as he acknowledged the truth.

He had. He’d left
her
there.

Chapter 5

Sophie had slept poorly, unable to get settled after her unsanctioned “staff” meeting last night. Jeebus, what was she thinking allowing him to kiss her? Or maybe she’d kissed him? And after, he’d pissed her off demanding to know who was on the phone like it was any of his damn business. She groaned. However the hell it’d happened, it had happened. Recriminations weren’t going to change that fact.

She ran a finger along her lips, remembering the firm feel of Ryan’s against hers. She’d not been expecting him at her house. Add in the fact that she’d been run through the wringer at the hospital over her mother’s condition, and it had created a perfect storm. She’d been weak—easily led.

Who was she kidding? She’d totally leaned into him. She’d begged for his kiss.

She trailed a hand along her neck, fingers skimming much as his had done to her last night. Her nipples beaded under her tank, and the rasp of the soft cotton against her distended flesh caused warmth low in her belly. Her fingers lightly grazed her breasts and the ache intensified. She bit her lip, craving the feel of Ryan’s lips on hers, the feel of his callused hands stroking her skin.

She shifted on the mattress, kicking the heavy duvet cover aside as the intensity of her desire slowly crept over her. She lowered one hand, grazing her panty line, and the phone rang. She pulled her hand away as if she’d been burned, and hot tears stung her eyes. Her body ached.

It was still relatively dark outside. The forecast had called for off and on showers and the grayness was apropos in that moment. She reached for the bedside phone, dreading finding out who was on the other end. Was it Gavin? The hospital? She picked up the receiver but stayed silent.

“I can hear you breathing, girl. Now what the hell’s going on?”

Gigi. Great.

“I’m still in bed, G. What’s up?” Her words held a bite. She loved Gigi like a sister, but sometimes her best friend was a pain in the arse.

“I don’t care where you are, I want to know what’s going on. You didn’t call me when you got home last night and then Gavin called—”

“He did what! Son of a monkey’s uncle, I can’t believe the little shit called you.” Sophie’s voice rose, anger beating at her like a devil-bird.

Gigi huffed. “Look, he’s concerned. Said some dude picked up the phone and said not to call that late or something. So who was over?”

Silence. She couldn’t force his name past her lips. What had passed between them in her foyer may have meant nothing to him for all she knew, but to her it had been precious. Too precious to share right now. So what he’d been an alpha asshat demanding to know who was calling her; he’d
touched
her.
Kissed
her.

“Please don’t make me come over there,” Gigi warned into Sophie’s silence.