Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) (6 page)

Her friend wouldn’t give up until she had the information she wanted. Sophie had a pretty good feeling the other woman knew damn good and well who’d been over last night.

“Sophie.” That little tick in her friend’s voice was like a foghorn this morning. It was a flashing yellow light that screamed “warning.”

Just tell her
, Sophie’s head told her.
She’ll find out sooner or later
.
Keep it close
, her heart encouraged. Like a devil and an angel sitting on her shoulder, the two schools of thought warred.

“Tell me.” From warning to testy demand now, Gigi’s voice was giving her a headache.

Sophie whined a little. Not enough though. “You don’t ever give up do you? Like a freaking pit bull, I swear!”

“That’s right, so just tell me. It was him, wasn’t it?” Gigi giggled.

“Shut up, G,” Sophie grumbled.

“No, you shut up. Or better yet, open your mouth and tell me who was over at your house at midnight.”

“Arrrgh! Mr. Locke. There, damn it, you happy?” She wanted to slam the phone down and hide under the duvet.

“I’ll only be happy if you tell me you got busy with Mr. Sexy McSmex-Sex. Because if you didn’t I’ll be really disappointed.” Another giggle followed by a sigh.

“Mr. what? You’ve lost your mind, G. I didn’t get—”

“Don’t lie to me girl. I can hear it in your voice. You suck at lying.”

“If you’d shut up for two damn seconds, I’d tell your ass it was none of your business,” Sophie said through gritted teeth.

“Make me,” Gigi taunted.

“I’ll break your face, Gigi. I swear it on Coddy George’s life.” A vacant threat. Sophie loved her Betta fish too much to sacrifice him on the altar of her lies.

“Whatever. Anyway, I have confirmation he was there now, don’t I? So how long did he stay? Did he hit it?” Gigi’s voice was hushed but she obviously struggled to hold back her delighted laughs.

“What the hell are you, my pimp? Gigi, I’m going to hang up and go back to sleep, okay?” She started just to hang up, but G’s next question stopped her.

“Gavin said your mom’s in bad shape, and Pops said you were pretty torn up when he took you home last night.”

A hush fell over the line. The teasing from seconds ago gone as if it’d never happened.

Several moments passed as Sophie tried to get a rein on her emotions. Talking about her mother never helped the pendulum of her feelings.

“She’s dying, Gigi. And it’s slow, and she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. And how the hell would Gavin know anything about Mama? He’s not been around in over a year now.” Bitter words with an acidic taste, she cleared her throat, hoping to keep any more from coming up. She’d grown up with Gavin, but he was a stranger now. A very distant stranger.

“He’s kept tabs, Phie,” was Gigi’s response. Offered in an equally hushed tone, the words held a warning of some sort, but Sophie was beyond trying to figure out anything related to Gavin at this point.

“Listen, Gigi, I appreciate the call and everything, but I’m going to try to go back to sleep, okay? I didn’t get much rest, and I have some work to do later.” Sophie lay back against her pillow and threw an arm over her face, dreading her friend’s response to that.

“No, you don’t. You’re going out with me tonight if I have to drag you by the hair of your head to do it. I’ll be by around seven. There’re some good bands at Music Midtown tonight, and I paid a good lot of money for these VIP passes, you hear me? You’re going and we won’t talk about Gavin or your mother or Mr. Locke—um, wait—we may talk about him, but the rest we’ll take a break from, deal?”

“I don’t—” Sophie began.

“I don’t care what you
don’t
. You’re going. And you better be ready or I’ll dress your ass, which will put you in an even worse mood,
capisce
?” Gigi snapped and then eased it with a small laugh. “You’re going with, Phie. No ifs, ands, or buts. Bye!”

She hung up before Sophie could naysay her. Sophie sighed, loud, deep, and long. Sometimes it sucked when your friends were right.

* * * *

He hadn’t slept worth a shit. He’d gotten home around one thirty and gone immediately to bed, unwilling to take a shower because it might rinse her lavender scent off. He was pathetic. Everything about her lingered in his mind, in his mouth, and on his skin. He’d needed a distraction so he’d popped in
Band of Brothers
DVDs and watched them until four or five.

Sleep had finally pressed on him, but he’d tossed and turned—the feel of her lips a phantom caress on his and giving him no surcease. Six months ago, he’d been blissfully ignorant of the scope and depth of this type of lust. A part of him wished he’d never been made aware of it.

Last night had been a huge mistake on his part. There were some boundaries you didn’t breach, and the boss slash employee line was one of them. But with Sophie Hanson all rules were forfeit. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. Her taste, her smell, her sighs, her moans—they were going to keep him up at night now.

Giving up on rest, he looked at the clock and got out of bed. He threw on some shorts, grabbed his Nikes and his iPod, and headed down to his home gym. Maybe some treadmill time would bring a little peace.

Thirty minutes later and he was zoned. Sweat dripped from him, music blared, but still his flesh felt too tight; his heart beat too fast. He focused on the dull light outside the room’s only window. It didn’t work. He counted backward from a thousand while listening to eighties heavy metal music. No dice. Finally, he gave in and let his mind wander back to yesterday.

Coffee on the shirt causing it to plaster against her ivory skin and outline her nearly perfect set of breasts. Black hair, falling from an intricate topknot, sliding sinuously against her neck. Lips, rouged and plump from her biting them—she did that when she concentrated hard or was nervous. All these images flashed through him and he gave up, turning off the treadmill and grabbing a towel.

He sank onto the weight bench and wiped his face. He’d gone to her house last night after dropping Gloria off, drawn there by invisible strings. Gloria had been pissed he’d left her with nothing more than a good-bye, but the truth of the matter was, she evoked nothing in him. He looked at her and saw only Sophie’s face transposed over her features. He’d been offended by her choice of perfume; it wasn’t lavender. He’d been offended by her red hair; it wasn’t black as midnight silk.

Poor Gloria had tried to work every wile she had on him to no avail. He’d remained unmoved. He sighed, tipped up a bottle of water, drained it, and threw it on the floor. He lay back on the bench, his gaze trained on the bar above him but seeing Sophie.

What was it about her that called to everything in him? Ryan was a loner by nature. His one and only friend during childhood had been Hayden. He’d made other acquaintances in the service, but for the most part, he preferred being alone. SEALs had been difficult for him. He’d had to work with four, sometimes five or six, other team members, and while he bonded on some level with them, he never let anyone get too close. Hazard of his early years maybe, but that’s the way he was. Only Hayden had ever tripped that “let’s be friends” wire, and now Sophie was tripping a completely different wire altogether.

He shook his head, pissed off that she’d gotten under his skin so that he was now pretty much stalking her all hours of the day and night. He picked up the bar with its weight measured on each side, bringing it to about two-fifty total, and began pumping iron. He breathed deep as he alternately pushed the bar up and brought it down to repeat it again and again.

Repetition was good for the soul. So why couldn’t he repeat with Gloria? Why was Sophie intruding on his peace and his nice, calm, normal life? He shouldn’t have gone to her house last night, and yet he’d been unable to stop. When he’d seen her house blacked out, he’d thought her asleep. One call to the hospital had confirmed she was still there. So, like a complete moron, he’d waited on her porch for her to come home.

He couldn’t even say why he’d done it. Truly had no idea why he’d dropped Gloria off, needy and wanting, and pretty much flown down the highway to get to a woman who acted like he didn’t exist most of the time.

The bar was getting heavy, his muscles straining and burning. He pushed on, wanting the numbness that would eventually come with his efforts. He needed to get some sleep so he didn’t make mistakes like what he’d made last night. But she stayed right there, behind his eyes.

He put the bar on the rack and sat up. Six months he’d had a hard-on for this woman. Six months he’d tortured himself by watching for her and wanting her to initiate some kind of contact. And now that she had, or maybe he had, he struggled with it. Why not just take what he wanted?

He sighed, got up off the bench, and headed to shower. He could probably sleep now, maybe, if he took himself in hand and finished off what she’d started last night. But the truth haunted him. Stepping into the shower, he realized he could jack off all day long and it wouldn’t ever be the same as being inside Sophie. Why couldn’t he take what he wanted?

Because he wanted her too damn much.

Chapter 6

Monday started off the way a thousand others had for Sophie. She was not a morning person, and most of the time she ended up stuck in early traffic because she couldn’t get her ass in gear. Today was no different. She pulled into the MARTA station, already late, and boarded her train.

Twenty minutes later she was disembarking at Arts Center Station and headed toward One Atlantic Center where ATC’s offices were located. Normally, this wasn’t a bad walk, but today it was raining, a chilly, wet, late-autumn drizzle. She’d brought her umbrella, thank goodness, and a smile creased her face as she remembered Friday’s fiasco in the lobby.

Gigi hadn’t ridden with her this morning. She’d called in sick, which was a relief for Sophie. They were supposed to have gone to the Music Midtown Festival Saturday, but her friend had come down with a stomach bug and begged off. Sophie’d been fine with not going out.

More than fine, actually, as she’d sat on her sofa all weekend wrapped in Ryan’s suit coat. And this morning, while she didn’t wish Gigi sick, she was glad she’d had to answer no questions about Friday night.

She smiled as others passed her and hurried across the wet pavement to work. She’d brought his coat, already mourning the loss, with every intention of returning it. If he came to her house again, she’d end up in a really bad situation. Job loss at this point in her life would be disastrous.

“Good morning, Ms. Hanson,” the doorman said from his perch beside the revolving doors.

“Good morning, Chapman,” she responded merrily as she entered the contraption and came out relatively unscathed on the other side.

“Sophie, watch out!” a loud voice called from her right.

She turned just in time to see something of a brownish, liquid nature headed straight for her.

“What the—” She flinched but didn’t move fast enough.

“Oh, shit, Sophie, I’m so sorry!”

Sophie closed her eyes, sure that what had just happened hadn’t really happened. She opened them slowly, aware of a discreet cough from someone standing near her. Looking down, she discovered that what had happened
had
really happened. She moaned. Well, more of a whine slash cry slash screech than a moan.

“Damn, Sophie, the floor was wet and ah, gosh, I’m so sorry,” the man in front of her said miserably.

Grab onto the sunshine, Soph. You can do it.

“Ah, geesh, it’s raining and the floor was slick and I just—it just slipped. Well, I slipped and then my coffee went flying. I’m sorry. I’ll pay to have it cleaned for sure,” Dave Willoughby, a translator and report writer like herself with ATC, promised.

There’s no sunshine today, Soph. You’re shit outta luck.

“Sophie?” His voice held a mournful quality that made her eyes want to water for some reason. Or maybe she was tearing up over the loss of yet another silk shirt. This one at least wasn’t white.

“No worries, Dave. I’ll handle it,” she responded in a whisper.

“Huh, Sophie? What’d you say?” Dave leaned closer, gaze now trained on her chest.

“What the hell happened here?” a newcomer on the scene demanded.

And the hits just keep on coming
.

“Mr. Locke, how are you this morning, sir?” Dave abandoned his perverted leering of her wet chest and stared up at their boss, blatant adoration on his face.

“I asked what happened.” Ryan’s voice was both annoyed and amused.

The amusement got her goat. She looked over at him, standing there so damn hot in a gray suit with a crisp white shirt, cuff links shining, gaze, oh lookee, trained on her chest.

His gaze lifted, met hers, and yep, that was definitely amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes and sparking that magnificent blue gaze. Anger shot through her, tightening her fists, making her straighten up and throw both men a derisive look before she turned and walked to the elevator.

“Sorry, Sophie,” Dave called out, his voice wimpy and not really all that damn repentant.

“Ms. Hanson, wait up,” Ryan urged. Well, Mr. Locke, because apparently they were back to formality in the watery light of day.

She continued to walk fast, her heels clipping the floor, driving so hard into the marble beneath her feet she wouldn’t have been surprised if she chipped it. Heat suffused her cheeks as people passed her by, clearly focusing on her wet shirt. Damn it! Another ruined shirt.

“Ms. Hanson.” So much hard demand echoed in his voice that she found herself wanting to obey the inherent command, but she overcame.

Oh, yes she did and she walked right into the elevator, quickly punching the button that would take her up, up, up to the sixtieth floor and her office.

“Elevator’s taken,” he said in a low voice as he joined her and the doors closed. The person who’d thought of getting on with them harrumphed.

She felt him turn to her, felt the heat of his gaze as it traveled over her. She went cold and then hot as he moved closer. She continued to look at the dial clicking off the floors. Ten, eleven…