Taste of Lacey (7 page)

He didn’t bother to use the key to his parents’ house he’d thrown into his glove compartment. Once, he’d made the mistake of walking in unannounced, and the image of his parents naked
having sex
on the window seat in the breakfast room would never be erased. He hadn’t touched or looked at the bench the same since. Although he’d promptly run to the bathroom and gagged, he had to give it to his dad. The old man still had it. As disgusting as
it
was.

After the third ring of the doorbell went unanswered, he turned to walk toward the back of the house when he saw his mother coming around in full gardening garb.

“Rye!” Emily Ann McKay shrieked.

A wide grin spread across his face. His mother’s brown eyes sparkled while her chin-length blonde hair flowed with the wind. In his typical greeting, he picked her up and twirled her around easily. “Hi, Mom.”

“It’s so good to see you! I’d almost forgotten what you look like,” she said between kisses on his face.

“Mom, we talk all the time.”

“Yes, but this is the longest you’ve stayed away since you left for school. Your father and I think you must have a girl tucked away somewhere. A serious one this time.”

Chagrin heated his face. Only his mother could make him feel self-conscious. “Mom, I’m thirty-four years old. If anything, it would be a grown woman, not a girl,” he reminded her, but didn’t answer the subtle inquiry.

“Doesn’t matter as long as you’re here now. Your father is in his dreaded shop tinkering with some clocks, he says he has a deadline to repair, but I know he’s just smoking those stinky cigars. He does it on purpose so I won’t go out there,” his mother continued. “Did you get a new vehicle? I’m not sure I like dark gray. It looks so masculine. You must have picked it out by yourself, because a woman would never have suggested this pewter color. Goodness, you didn’t get rid of the Jeep, did you? You’ve had it for so long. What made you change? And you know, just when you’re coming home, we’re flying to Baltimore this weekend to visit your sister. Jensen is looking forward…”

Rye smiled and listened, as usual not allowed to get in one word, and followed his mother around the house to the workshop. A few years ago, after retirement from Lockheed Martin, Jackson McKay expanded on his hobby and opened a clock repair business. Jackson loved tinkering with intricate parts, and it gave him an excuse to get out of the house. Just as Rye’s mother had predicted, his father was kicked back in a lounge chair smoking a cigar and watching the activity on the lake.

Jackson jumped up in a guilty rush when Rye and his mother approached.

“Son, good to see you,” Jackson said before pulling Rye into a bear hug, no shame in sight. Rye had a two-inch height advantage, and his father was slim and wiry, but somehow Rye still felt a lot smaller.

“Hi, Dad,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I’m going to rustle up a snack while the two of you catch up,” his mother said before heading into the house.

His father sat back down, and Rye sat in a chair beside him. “Working on any new clocks?”

His dad, an older version of Rye except for the more seasoned skin and gray hair, gave his son a sly wink. “Hell no. I’m just back here to get away from your mother. She’s about to drive me nuts. Wants me to go to some luncheon tomorrow to raise money for the safe return of raccoons to the wild. You know what I say?”

“Fuck the raccoons,” they said in unison. Rye was long used to his mother’s over-the-top exploits and his dad’s opinion about them.

“So how long you home for?” his father asked before resuming his cigar smoking.

“A week this time.”

“You on vacation?”

“Not exactly. I had some business to handle. Needed several days to do it.”

His father’s piercing blue gaze studied Rye over half-lens reading glasses. “This business wouldn’t have anything to do with a woman, would it?”

Rye couldn’t restrain his smile when he thought about Lacey. “As a matter of fact, it would.”

His father’s hearty laugh made Rye laugh too. “Don’t worry, son. It happens to the best of us,” he said before snuffing out his cigar. With slow, careful hands, he clipped the end of it and replaced it in the humidor Rye had built years before.

“It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced,” Rye confirmed.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Just one thing. It’s Lacey.”

His father did a double take. “Bishop?”

“The very same.”

“Shit, son. When you do it, you do it big, don’t you?” His father whistled through his teeth. “She is one fine filly. Killer rack.”

“Dad!” Rye choked out a laugh.

“Just ’cause I’m sixty years old doesn’t mean I’m blind. All three of those Bishop women are easy on the eyes, especially Lacey. Seems you were the only one with blinders on.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“She’s stubborn like Lena.”

“Yep.”

“Smart like John.”

“Definitely.”

“How’re you going to handle it all?”

“The best I can.” Rye gave his honest answer. “I’m sure it’s not going to be easy.”

“No, it’s not,” his father said. “Have you ever seen a wild horse get tamed?”

Rye shook his head. “I’ve only read about it.”

“It’s not pretty. Amazing to see it happening, though.”

Rye grunted, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs at the ankles.

“You’re going to have a fight on your hands. Not only from her, but from people with a problem because you have a beautiful black woman by your side. Be ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You talk to John yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t wait too long.”

“It’s my next stop.”

“And son?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Sometimes you never really tame a filly. Sometimes you just hope she slows down and lets you jump on every now and again.”

Rye smiled. “Hell, as long as I get to ride.”

His father laughed, swatting Rye’s shoulder with his palm.

Rye’s mother returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches and lemonade, fussing over him and his father until they each had a heaping plate of food. Then she took a seat beside his dad and, seemingly without thinking, ran her fingers through his father’s mane. Rye had a feeling if he hadn’t been there, she would be in his father’s lap instead. God, this was what he wanted. With Lacey. The fighting and the loving. They bickered back and forth, but his parents couldn’t go a day without each other, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. Neither would he.

Chapter Six

Lacey heard Rye when he entered the brownstone twenty minutes earlier than planned.

“I’m on my way,” she yelled back after he called her name. She wore a huge smile as she made her way down the curved staircase. “I wondered if we were still…”

The expression on his face made her pause. His wide eyes and jaw half-open confirmed she’d made the right choice of attire. The plunging V-neck of the deep plum jersey dress dipped low enough to display a generous bit of cleavage; the hemline was high enough to prove her hard work on the treadmill was paying off. With minimal jewelry and four-inch stilettos, the total look was intended to drive him crazy. Smiling, she silently congratulated herself and continued down the stairs, stopping when her eyes became level with his. “Hi, you.”

Growling, he pushed one hand through the curls at her neck and then latched on to her behind with the other. Tingles of want tiptoed over her spine as he pillaged her mouth until she moaned her need. It was shameful how quickly she morphed into a burning flame when he touched her.

She felt an immediate sense of loss when he raised his head, breaking their kiss. Her disappointment diminished when he pinched the achy tips of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and hot desire streaked through her. She wanted more.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered against her neck.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper, curving her fingers around the small clutch in her hand.

“Where the hell is your bra?” He frowned as he shifted his gaze to her face.

“There’s a shelf bra built into my dress. Why?”

“Your nipples are poking through the material. I don’t want anyone else seeing them,” he said, his teeth clenched.

Great
. And now her pussy was throbbing. She’d never voice it, but she loved when he went all caveman on her. She’d looked forward to their date, but she was a second away from suggesting a night in. “It’s your fault. You got me all worked up.”

His expression remained tight. “You have with a cover or something?”

“Yes, I have a wrap,
Dad
.” She showed him the folded square of fine cotton she held along with her purse.

“Let’s go.”

She followed as he all but dragged her out the door.

“You didn’t!” She shrieked when she saw the new vehicle in her driveway

He gave her a half smile. “I did.”

She circled the silver-gray SUV and tried to wrap her mind around Rye with a new ride. He and that damn Jeep were soul mates. “I wouldn’t have figured you for the Range Rover type. It suits you.”

“You never figured me for your type either,” he reminded her.

“True, true. What made you do this?”

A slight flush tinged his cheeks, but he didn’t answer. He opened the door for her before circling and climbing in the driver’s seat. “It was time. Will this spare your hairdo?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“How hot and sweaty we get later.”

His eyes darkened, and his gaze left a heated trail over her body. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m counting on it.” She sank into the luxurious leather seat as he backed out of the driveway.

Rye gripped the steering wheel and exhaled loudly as he took the downtown exit. “I went to see Kyle today.”

She grunted through “duck lips” as she reapplied her fruity gloss. She saw her brother at the weekly family luncheon, but otherwise, she avoided him. It was silly, but sometimes she felt like she wore a sign flashing I’M SLEEPING WITH RYE to anyone who looked hard enough. By no means was she ashamed, but the situation was complicated enough without throwing Kyle in the mix. “What were you guys up to?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I just figured I should tell my best friend I’m fucking his sister.”

Lacey saw red as heat rushed to her face. She whipped her head around and glared at him. “You what? It’s none of his damn business!”

“I didn’t want him to find out from someone else. He’s your brother and my best friend. We owe him some respect.”

“Wrong. I don’t owe him a damn thing. I am a grown woman, and I choose who I want to be with. You should have told me you were going to say something to him.”

“I wasn’t seeking your permission, Lacey.” The muscle in Rye’s jaw took on a life of its own. “We’re fucking, and now your brother knows. It’s not the end of the world.”

She closed her eyes briefly and willed her blood pressure to fall below stroke range. This was so not how she imagined their first date would start. “Were those your exact words? Couldn’t you have said something a bit more generic?”

“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t believe me anyway.”

“Why not?”

Rye’s laugh held no humor. “Because there’s no way in hell you would let a ‘bastard like me’ lay a hand on you.”

“Did he really say such crap?”

“And a few choice other things.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “My brother is difficult sometimes, but this is ridiculous even for him.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to get used to the idea,” Rye replied.

“Whatever. I can’t worry about it right now.”

* * * *

The Monarch was a historic hotel also known for its five-star dining and renowned jazz club. Having assisted with several weddings there, Lacey was familiar with the landmark venue, but tonight was her first go-round as a guest. Their date was already memorable with them coming here. Anticipation of the rest of the night made her stomach flutter.

“Evenin’ Mr. McKay,” the doorman spoke. He gave her a polite nod, which she returned.

“Good evening, Mr. Burgess,” Rye said, weaving his fingers through hers.

Her breath caught in her throat. As happy as she was to be with Rye tonight, especially with him looking so handsome in his navy suit and crisp white shirt, the public display of affection caught her off guard. Mr. Burgess was an older black gentleman, and for some reason, her nerves kicked in when his eyes widened at her fingers interlaced through Rye’s like piano keys. He smiled as they crossed through the entrance, though, and it seemed sincere, so she relaxed. Why she felt she owed a perfect stranger an explanation about being with Rye, she couldn’t say. Apparently she needed to get over herself.

The dimly lit restaurant was full, but the tables and booths along the perimeter were arranged in such a clever pattern it didn’t look crowded. As soon as the hostess seated them, the sommelier arrived and described in exquisite detail the spirits to complement the seafood specials of the evening. Lacey decided on a glass of the house white, and Rye opted for his usual imported beer.

“This place is beautiful,” she murmured.

“It’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, I noticed they called you by name. I suppose this is your hotel of choice?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Stop fishing, Lacey. I’ve never bought another woman to this place. The restaurant hosts all of Hanover’s luncheons and dinner meetings. I’ve been here often over the past fifteen years.”

“You’ve been with the company that long, huh?” she said, changing the subject. Even the suggestion of him with another woman made her want to eat nails.

“Yes,” he replied, giving her an intent look.

“What?”

“You look good enough to eat. In every way.”

“Rye!”

He laughed. “Did it make you uncomfortable when I held your hand earlier?”

She shifted in her seat but couldn’t seem to unlock her eyes from his. “No, I didn’t mind. This is the first time we’ve been out alone. It’s just taking some getting used to.”

“And it won’t bother you if people look at us a little harder because our skin colors are different?”