CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Reva

When Lydia’s in bed, I’m ready to go hide in my room and read or watch the Style Network. But Ridge stops me.

“I need to speak with you,” he says.

Well, shit. He’s going to fire me. I argued with him about how to raise his daughter. I put Lydia in a position to see conflict between her father and me. And I basically made him apologize to his daughter. I was right—I’m sure of that—but I was also high-handed and out of line as an employee. And I don’t think the moral high ground is going to do much for me in this situation.

I cross my arms and wait for him to let loose.

“I’m concerned about Lydia,” he begins.

“They’re just scrapes. She’ll have a scab on the right knee, but…”

“Not that. There’s a situation at work. I told you before that I changed Lydia’s school due to safety concerns regarding some federal contract work I did that involved organized crime. The threat didn’t materialize for a while. I’d almost begun to believe nothing would come of it, but last week I had a phone call.”

“What sort of call?” I ask.

“Some of Rativan’s men had taken Catherine. My ex-wife.”

“Oh my God. Is she okay?”

“Yes. They released her. But it was clearly a warning that they can locate and get to anyone connected to me. I’m increasing security on Lydia and curtailing her outdoor activities. I basically want her confined to the house unless she’s at school. There are too many variables in parks, restaurants and places of that nature where she’s surrounded by the public.”

“For how long?” I ask.

“Until I tell you otherwise. I have to track down the source of the attack on Catherine and determine whether this is the act of one of Rativan’s henchman or if he’s pulling the strings from the inside. So, until I’ve nailed down the nature and origin of the threat, my daughter is to be kept at home where she’s heavily guarded. I’ll explain this to her without mentioning Catherine or anything like that. I’ll also be increasing your entertainment budget for the time being so you can order more craft supplies or books or that soap making kit she’s been wanting. Feel free to order in food, but know that the guards will intercept it at the gate and bring it to you. No delivery people will be admitted on property.”

“Right,” I say, “This sounds…scary.”

“It is. I wanted you to know that there’s an active threat, that it’s a lot to take in, but you need to be extremely vigilant with Lydia. I don’t want her outdoors even in the yard. I don’t want her at a frozen yogurt place or the movies. It’s time to double down and keep her safe. Windows locked, security system on at all times. You know the location of the panic buttons in the main rooms and Lydia’s room. Use them if you need them to summon guards. Keep them on your speed dial.”

“Do you think they’ll come here?”

“I have to assume they will. I can’t afford to take the risk.”

“I’ll—thank you for telling me. I guess, I mean, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“I overreacted, Reva. I do that when it comes to my daughter. No more risks right now, not even small ones like a bicycle. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I say, “It’s thoughtful of you about the soap-making kit for her. I’ll order it tonight.”

“Thanks,” he says, starting to turn away.

“Wait,” I say, “I just want to tell you that, even though I’m sorry about how I handled it, I’m still right about Lydia and not making her afraid of everything. I realize it’s necessary to lock things down right now and be careful. But she needs some independence. When Benny, my brother, when he was growing up, I was guilty of trying to do things for him a lot. His therapist actually called me out on it for tying his shoes. She said he needed to wear Velcro shoes until he could manage the ties himself because it wasn’t good for him to have to depend on me for basic self-care. The thing was, and this was before I taught him about standing up to the bullies, just FYI. I wanted to protect him from the whole world. I didn’t want him to try and fail because failure hurts and it’s hard to process. I figured his life was hard enough without struggling with his fine motor skills to get dressed. Except, like she said, that’s kind of the point of occupational therapy and the goal being autonomy.”

“So the therapist was mad at you for babying him?”

“Yeah, really pissed. She said I wasn’t undermining her therapy work, I was undermining my own brother by teaching him not to trust himself. It really knocked me back, made me think. Because that’s so important, being able to be independent in small ways, even adapting tasks to make them more doable for the individual. It’s one of the things that would be just the cornerstone of my learning center if I ever get to do it. That you start small but you can do great things no matter who you are. Being independent, taking pride, building confidence.”

“Sounds like a terrific idea,” he says.

“I mean, didn’t you have more freedom than Lydia does when you were her age. I mean, before your parents broke up…” I trail off as it occurs to me that bringing up his painful childhood was pretty insensitive.

“When I was in kindergarten? Yeah, I had all the freedom in the world. My mom cooked dinner every night so I had to be home in time for that, but otherwise she and my dad were pretty busy fighting all the time. I didn’t have a lot of restrictions on me. Once I was home, there was dinner and I had a bath and Mom read to me. That was the good part. But I learned to stay away before dinner because my dad got off work at four and that gave them a good two hours to argue while she was cooking. Being home for that wasn’t pleasant. I probably could have juggled knives and neither one of them would have noticed.”

“Oh shit,” I say. It hurts my heart to think of him as a lonesome child with no one keeping track of him or making sure he was okay. I can see that he felt unloved, unwanted. It wrenches me. I want to hold him, but I resist.

“No, it’s fine. I want better for Lydia. Her safety is of the utmost importance to me. Her independence and confidence will come later, once the immediate threat is passed.”

“Before this trouble with organized crime, she was very sheltered, right?” I press.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think that’s a good plan for the long term. It undermines her. She has to be able to trust herself in new situations.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, but I don’t think it’s your place to determine what’s best for her.”

“No, but I love her. And I want a happy life for her, safe, yes, but also satisfying. She has to learn that chances are worth taking. That means she’ll fall sometimes, and she’ll fail, but it’s better than never trying,” I say vehemently. I am wound up about this—it’s linked so closely to Benny for me, and respecting him enough to let him try new things.

“I tried a lot of things in my youth that I wouldn’t want for her,” he says ruefully.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry no one took care of you. You’re doing better than that for Lydia, but if you overdo it, that’s its own kind of damage. I know you well enough to see that’s the last thing you’d want for her.”

“Why do you think I hired you, Reva? Instead of any of the others? Because you stood up to me. Because I wanted her to see in her own life and her own home that it’s good to stand up for what you believe in, that no man no matter how much money he has or how much control he has is a god who shouldn’t be contradicted. I want her to speak up for herself, even when it’s against me. It’s aggravating as all hell when you do it and when she does it, but I won’t raise her to be sweet and silent. I could have had any number of very compliant nannies, but none of them were the kind of person I want her to take as a role model.”

I’m so moved that he says this, that he wants a strong outspoken daughter, that he admires something about me that I thought just irritated the hell out of him. I shake my head, feeling somehow unworthy of such regard. Of such a compliment.

“Oh, Ridge. There are so many reasons she needs a better role model than me. I let someone take advantage of me last year—”

“The boyfriend with the credit card?” he says. I’m stunned. He knew all along and trusted me anyway, with his daughter and with his money.

“I was irresponsible and too trusting, and it was a huge mistake.”

“Obviously, but you’ve learned from that situation, I presume.”

“Yes, I’ve learned to keep my credit cards to myself for one thing, and to ask questions. I thought it would be insulting or hurt his feelings if I questioned him. I should have asked anyway and checked up on him, whether it made me uncomfortable or not.”

“Yes,” he says, “and he wrecked your credit, which will make it harder to get a bank loan for your learning center.”
“So I’ve paid dearly with my reputation as well as my FICO score. A less credulous role model would be good for her. Someone more skeptical and smarter,” I admit.

“It’s a nice counterpoint to me. I don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even yourself,” I say without meaning to.

“Least of all myself. It’s funny though,” he scoffs, “I think I’m the only one who can keep Lydia safe, but I can’t even trust myself around you. I make the stupidest choices and say the very worst things.”

“Maybe we bring out the worst in each other. I think that’s a personality conflict,” I say a little sadly.

“I think it’s worse than that. It’s a case of opposites attracting, which is—”

“Explosive?” I say.

“Destructive,” he corrects, “I think that was the problem my parents had. They were too different so they made each other miserable. And me too.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, and I uncross my arms and hug him.

It was supposed to be comforting and friendly. I forgot for a moment that the attraction between us, which I’ve grown accustomed to as background noise when we’re in the same room, flares white hot at the slightest touch. The embrace that was meant to be a clasp of my arms around his shoulders, brief and reassuring, phases into something fiery once our bodies are in contact. I try to pull back, to draw away from him as soon as I realize what I’ve done. It’s too late. Nothing that is merely friendly or polite can exist between Ridge Carter and me.

His hand catches my wrist, hauls me against him. I feel the electricity, the inevitability of what is happening. I promised him to be professional, to keep my distance. This is my doing. I touched him and set this off. It’s bigger than both of us and unstoppable. I feel the tug low in my belly, the need for him, the thirst that is slaked no other way than this. I look at his fingers around my wrist. My eyes flick back to his. They are dark with purpose, as I knew they would be.

He’s impossible to resist. His face dips toward mine. I part my lips in anticipation because he’s going to kiss me and I don’t want to waste a single second. As soon as his mouth brushes mine, I’m lost. As if I weren’t lost already. I touch his face with my free hand, the rasp of his unshaven cheek making my palm tingle. The tip of his tongue is in my mouth and, oh yes, I had forgotten how good this part can be. The part where he kisses me. I would do almost anything if he’d just keep kissing me this way forever.

Ridge pulls me to him, his arm around my waist. He released my wrist so I hold his face in both my hands. His gorgeous, handsome face. I kiss him back with all the passion, all the yearning I’ve felt for him. His hands on my body are glorious, making me feel alive again. I try to pull him toward the couch, the scene of the crime as it were. He shakes his head.

“Not this time, Reva. This time I’m taking you to bed like you deserve,” he says against my lips, his voice primal, a growl that sends a delicious chill through me.

He knows what he’s doing, what we’re doing. He means to have me, and to take me to his bed. I feel a jolt of pure happiness at what lies ahead. Because he won’t be stopping to change his mind or say he got carried away. I know he hates himself for succumbing to our attraction the first time. This time, we have our eyes wide open.

“I want to do this,” I tell him, half breathless as he moves me to his bedroom.

“So do I. It’s all I’ve wanted for as long as I’ve known you. There’s no getting around it, Reva. If we’re going to live in the same house, this is going to happen. We can try to keep it a secret. We can try to avoid it, but I’m not sure how successful that will be.”

“Not very, if this is any indication,” I laugh shakily as he does away with my shirt and pulls down my leggings. He kicks the door shut.

“Why are you always wearing these damned leggings?” he mutters.

“Blame your personal shopper. She picks them out. So comfortable.”

“They’re a menace,” he says, and I laugh.

Then it’s my turn to unbutton his shirt and slide it off him, to take off his belt and push down his pants. I love how gorgeous he is, how every bit of his incredible body is a testament to his self-discipline, his drive and determination. It’s the first look I’ve had at all of him. Our hasty coupling on the couch was more about getting quick access to all the necessary bits than it was about stopping to admire him. So I do. I pause to look at his body and appreciate it. I kiss his shoulder, his neck. My hands travel across the expanse of his chest. I kiss his shoulder again.

“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than that spot right there,” I say.

His palm curves around the back of my neck and guides my head to his shoulder. I fit there so perfectly that I sigh and relax against him for a moment.

“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have in that spot,” he teases.

I tilt my face up to kiss him. He moves me to the bed, but slowly, with kisses and caresses. I want him as breathlessly as ever, but I don’t feel rushed this time. I feel savored. So I take my time with him, running my hands over his arms and back, grabbing his butt as he kisses me.

“I think groping me is considered a form of harassment,” he says, playfully nipping at my top lip.

“No, you’re my boss. So if there’s any harassment going on, it’s your fault,” I tease him. I know the power imbalance has bothered him, the forbidden nature of our tryst. So I play with that a little to tease him. “The way you look at me, the way you’ve got your mouth—ahhhh—on my nipple right now—totally inappropriate,” I say.

“Do you think you should call human resources?” he says, his teeth lightly scraping my nipple, “Or should you just tattle to Caroline so she can poison my coffee tomorrow.”

“I thought I’d see if you can do more than harass me. I think if you can go all night, I could be persuaded to drop any claims against you.”

“What about what I want to hold against you?” he says, nipping at my neck, “Or inside of you?”

“Yes,” I say, breaking character, hands in his hair.

He is above me now, Ridge’s face inches from mine. I can feel his chest heaving as he breathes hard—the chemistry between us is insane. I feel like if he touches me, I’ll be lost completely. I hold his arms, my hands on his biceps. “Wow, these are nice,” I say stupidly as I squeeze them.

“I’m glad you like them.”

“I’m sure you lift weights so you can, I don’t know, intimidate people, but there are other benefits.”

“Like the stamina to hold myself up for a long time while I drive you to the edge,” he says. A thrill runs through me at the words. I look up at him and smile.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I say, making the worst understatement of my life.

“Then let’s get started,” he says.

Ridge sits back on his heels and runs his hands up my legs as if he has all the time in the world. I never thought of my legs as being particularly sexual. I use them to run, so I guess they’re in decent shape, but I didn’t think they were my best feature. But Ridge seems to like them as he strokes the curve of one calf, lifting my leg and kissing behind my knee. That’s a new sensation, and one I’d like to have more of. It’s wildly good. He goes so slowly, pressing his lips to my thigh, then taking time to trail his fingers up my legs and along my belly. It’s driving me crazy. I’m practically thrashing on the bed with frustration. It’s the pent-up desire plus my natural impatience, probably.

I give in to my impulse and sit up, bringing me face to face with him.

“I know you want to take your time, Ridge,” I say, my voice high and breathy, “But I need you. I can’t wait.”

“Anticipation is half the fun,” he says archly.

“Then we have different definitions of fun,” I accuse.

“We are opposites,” he says, crawling up the bed and leaning me back down, “Now be good and don’t move.”

“What?”

“I want you to lie still and enjoy,” he says.

“You’re so bossy,” I grumble.

“I’m your boss, remember,” he says.

Then his mouth is on my neck. It’s instant pleasure, a distinctive tingle starting between my legs as he kisses my neck, in no hurry at all. I’m dragging my hands through his hair, mumbling something that makes no sense. Ridge slides one hand along my rib cage, his thumb stroking the underside of my breast. I reach for him, for the hard length of him I know awaits me. There it is, his erection jutting stiff and ready for me. I take him in my hand, one long stroke, and I meet his eyes.

“Don’t you want me,” I say, my whisper playful against his lips.

The time for play seems to be over. He hitches my leg up to his hip. I feel him move the head of his cock to brush my aching, needy cleft. I try to push down, to open for him, to coax him inside. He holds infuriatingly still, so all I get is the tantalizing brush of the flaring head of his cock, the tip wet and hot and everything I want right now.

“I want you,” he says against my lips in response, “I never stopped wanting you.”

“Then take me,” I say, a challenge in my voice, “show me.”

“I’ll show you that you belong to me. You’re mine,” he says through gritted teeth. A thrill zips through me at the words. I want to be his, to belong to him.

The slow push of his first thrust parts my soft, eager folds. The heaviness of him, the pressure in my body makes me catch my ragged breath. I reach between us, slide my hand down my belly.

“I can feel you inside me,” I say as I press my fingers into my pelvis. I dip my fingers down to the place where we join. It feels amazing to touch his cock as he moves in and out, amazing to touch my own wet flesh as I receive him. I revel in it, in this rhythmic movement of his thrusts into my body, the way I stretch to accommodate his size. He feels huge within me. I whisper, “You’re so big,” in wonder. He kisses behind my ear.

“You know what a man likes to hear,” he says. I laugh at him then.

“No, it’s true. You’re so big. I wonder every time if it’s more than I can take.”

“You can take it,” he says, punctuating his words with a harder thrust. I moan as he brushes some spot inside me that makes my whole body start to tremble. I hold on to him, my arms going around his neck to anchor myself as I start to come apart. He kisses my cheek, kisses my lips. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says, “Just hold on to me.”

With his next thrust, I’m gone. I spiral out into a screaming jolt of ecstasy. He’s kissing me to stop me from making noise. I hold on to him, feel him come fast inside of me. His arms go around me. He scoops me up and rolls onto his back bringing me with him. I’m in his arms, panting in his bed. He kisses me, short, breathless kisses. Then he pulls a blanket up over us as I start to shiver. He strokes my hair. I love it. Even if the sex had been less amazing, this moment in the afterglow, in Ridge’s arms is the best feeling I’ve ever had. I’m completely safe and wanted here, his lips pressing against my hair. I nestle against his chest and shut my eyes.

I must fall asleep because I wake to the sound of what I think at first is a siren. It’s his phone.

“You don’t have to be careful not to disturb me. It’s a nice idea, but that alarm would wake anyone.”

“It’s meant to,” he says grimly.

Ridge slides me onto the pillow, pulling away. He reaches for the phone while I burrow under the blanket thinking how cold I am outside of his arms.

“I have to go,” he says, “there’s an intruder at Carter Security.”