Chapter Twenty-Eight

“I have a confession to make,” Ryan announced, as he set two plates on the kitchen table then opened the cardboard box of pizza.

“Confess.” She held out her hand grandly, inviting him to talk – something he was increasingly enjoying doing with her.

He snagged a slice of the cheese pie that he’d ordered from Gigi’s, his favorite pizza shop, and placed it on Sophie’s plate. With the salad tongs, he scooped out some of the Caesar salad for her then for himself, too.

He sat down, joining her. “You already know my secret about being completely unable to cook.” He held up one finger to make a point—a point of self-defense. “Though I am unbelievably proficient at calling the pizza place.”

She nodded approvingly. “Gigi’s is the best in Vegas. I absolutely approve of your dinner choice. Cheese pie, Caesar salad, and a chardonnay.” She picked up her fork and dug into the salad first. “So, tell me.”

He took a bite of the cheese pie, rolled his eyes in pleasure, and pointed to his chipmunk cheeks to say wait just a moment. When he finished chewing, he made his confession: “I ate the peach pie you made.”

She smiled broadly then took a drink of her white wine. “I’m so happy to hear that. It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s divine, isn’t it?”

“That’s exactly what my grandmother said about it. Divine.”

She tilted her head curiously, asking, “Your grandmother?”

“I brought it to her house after you gave it to me. I had some with her.”

Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to show her processing this information—that he was a man who brought pie to his grandmother. Maybe he’d made a strange choice to go see her last night, but it had made as much sense to him as anything had then. So he quickly added, “She told me that I should never give up a woman who could bake like that.”

Sophie raised her wineglass, a toast of sorts to his grandmother. “Smart woman. Sounds like you’re close to her?”

“Definitely. She and my granddad pretty much raised us after Mom went to…” He let his voice trail off.

Sophie nodded immediately, letting him know she understood. “And that brought you all closer, I imagine.”

“It did. I was almost fifteen when we moved in with her and my granddad, my dad’s parents. I guess that kind of thing can either rip you apart or bring you closer,” he said, more easily than he’d ever expected to be able to voice such words. Perhaps because the deadbolt was undone. The door was open, and the heavy weight of years of closeting secrets had lightened. His heart felt freer than it had in ages, his head lighter. Funny, how he’d never known that talking like this, to someone who wasn’t in the inner circle, would feel oddly peaceful. “In our case, mostly it brought us closer,” he said, and took another bite of his pizza, savoring the delicious cheese and the tasty crust.

She took a drink then asked, “Mostly?”

Yes, mostly. Because he knew exactly how his grandmother felt about his mother. The past’s hard grip resurfaced, like claws clamping down on his throat, and his newfound voice. The familiar urge to lock up his history kicked in. But he fought back. “I say that because she doesn’t know I actually visit my mom still.”

“Ah, I understand,” Sophie said softly. “I imagine it would be hard for her to accept that’s something you want. But it’s clearly important to you to see your mom.”

My God, it was like morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Talking to Sophie was lightness, it was patience, and it was safety. He barely had to explain a thing. She simply understood it all. She got it, and him. But he didn’t want Sophie to think he was a liar. “It’s not that I hide it from my grandma, per se. And I think she knows on some level, because she’s aware that I go there for Christmas and other times. But I don’t tell her about all the visits. I didn’t tell her I went earlier in the week, for instance. Or that I’m going again next weekend. Guess it just didn’t seem like something it was important for her to know.”

“How often do you visit?”

“I try to see her once or twice a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less.” He sighed heavily. “She gets her hours cut now and then because she acts up.”

“Acts up?”

He looked away, focusing on the steady breathing of his dog on the floor by an air conditioning vent, on the regular up and down motion of the Border Collie’s chest, his black and white fur fluttering lightly. “She’s not…,” he said, tapping the side of his skull. “She’s…” He let his voice trail off again. A lump rose in his throat. This was so hard to say. “She’s not all there,” he said, practically kicking the words past his lips.

Not only was his mother branded a murderer, not only was she the orchestrator of a gang-led shooting, she was also barreling down the path to insanity. He saw the evidence each time he visited her.

Sophie reached for his hand, threaded her fingers through his, and held on tight. “It all must be so hard,” she said softly, and then she quickly moved on. He could kiss her—for the segue and for knowing one was needed. “Who are you closest to among your siblings? I only have one, obviously, so it’s an easy answer for me. But you’ve got three. That must be a different story.”

A small smile returned to his face. He could do this. He’d made it through the harder topic. His brothers and sister were way more manageable. “On the surface, I guess Michael, since we run a business together and we were in the army together. And we are a great team when it comes to the company. But Michael and I don’t always see eye to eye. About my mom,” he added.

“How so?”

“He never visits her, and he doesn’t like that I do. So we’re close, but sometimes that causes problems. Shannon has gone with me a bunch of times to Hawthorne, so in some ways, I’m closer to her. She still talks to my mom and gets her letters. But,” he said, stopping to take a drink of his wine, then setting it on the table, “that’s not what defines us. That’s not what our family is all about. I mean, it did for a long time in the eyes of strangers. But we’re more than that. We all support each other and love each other and look out for each other. A few years ago, once we were all back in Vegas, the four of us got together and bought our grandparents a house. The one they live in now. It was our way of giving back to them after all they did to help raise us right and make sure we didn’t turn out more fucked up than we were,” he said, with a light scoff. “We were pretty messed up, Sophie.”

She shot him a gentle smile that said she understood.

“We kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but it was hard to buy a surprise house, since we wanted them to like it. Colin’s the money guy though, so he was able to get it all going. The idea was his in the first place. He mentioned it to me once when we were shooting hoops. And, back to your question, sometimes it seems like I’m closest to him. He’s the youngest, and Michael’s kind of taken on a fatherly role. Colin and I feel more like we’re equal brothers. With Michael, sometimes it feels like he still thinks he has to look out for all of us, even though he’s only two years older.”

Sophie laughed. “Let me tell you, I completely understand that older brothers can be a total pain in the ass,” she said with a knowing smile, and he matched her grin. Something was changing between them now that the veil of secrecy had been removed. Her brother had once been the cause of a rift, and now she was able to make a joke about the guy.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. I’ll keep your brother out of this, so I don’t get in trouble again with the woman I want.”

“You’re not in trouble at all,” she said, returning to her pizza.

“Now about that peach pie. It was your mom’s recipe. Was she a baker?”

She shook her head. “She was a teacher. But she was an amazing ‘pie mistress,’” she said, stopping to sketch air quotes. “That’s what my dad called her.”

“And he ran the fruit stand?”

She nodded. “What about your dad?”

“Cab driver, then a limo driver. For the last year, he was going to night school. Taking some accounting classes to try to get a better job. Mom was a seamstress,” he said finishing off another slice. “And, don’t laugh, but she had a dream to make dog jackets.” He glanced over at Johnny Cash lying on the floor. “She’d probably make one for him if she could. But they don’t let inmates have sewing machines in prison,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking up. For the first time in ages he’d managed to make a joke about his sad family history.

After they cleaned up, he pointed to the shopping bag with the dress in it in the living room. “I’m thinking now would be a great time for you to show me that peach dress.”

“I would love to give you a fashion show.”

She retreated to his bedroom, and while she was changing, he programmed in soft music on his stereo, hunting for the kind of songs she might like. He remembered “Fly Me to the Moon” was her ringtone. She might not want to hear that one again, so he chose another Sinatra number and let the crooner’s voice float through his house. He dimmed the lights in the living room. Stars winked on and off through the windowpane.

“What do you think?”

He turned around to see Sophie twirl for him, then stop and strike a pose. She looked extraordinary in a white pinup dress with a peach pattern, and the silver shoes she’d picked up at the Grand Canal shops.

“That you look edible. But I’m not going there just yet. For now, I want to do what we did on our first date,” he said, walking over to her and running his fingers through her soft, blond hair. She lifted her chin to look at him.

The look in her eyes just plain melted him as he wrapped his arms around her. He’d never seen a person so happy as Sophie simply to dance with him on the hardwood floors of his living room, as Sinatra crooned.

“I liked talking to you,” he said, his lips brushing her hair.

“I liked listening to you,” she said as they swayed.

“You make it easy.”

“It shouldn’t have to be hard. This,” she said, and he knew what she meant by “this.”

“Us,” he echoed. “And it’s not hard. It’s incredible.”

* * *

As he held her, she flashed back to some of her sweetest memories, her most potent images of love—her parents slow dancing together at night, and her mother’s words, too. “Make time for kisses, and meals, and each other, and dance under the stars and to the music, and dream together.”

This was her dream, and she was close, closer than she’d ever been, to having it.

* * *

Lick. Lick. Lick.

The next morning, a long tongue slurping across her cheek greeted Sophie. Yawning, she opened her eyes to find a black-and-white Border Collie kissing her face and wagging his tail.

He whimpered lightly, and Sophie glanced at a sleeping Ryan. He was flat on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow, an arm slung over his head.

She turned back to Johnny Cash. “Want to go outside?” she whispered, and he thumped his tail on the floor at the last word.

She slipped out of bed, and headed to the sliding glass door. The door was locked with a regular latch and a deadbolt. It took her a few seconds to wiggle them free, but she managed, and the dog shot out, racing across the grass and lifting his leg on a tree in the far corner of the yard.

For a very…long…time.

Pale pink fingers of light streaked across the morning sky as the sun rose. Taking a deep breath, savoring the fresh scent of a new day, Sophie soaked in the scene before her. Waking up at Ryan’s house, spending the weekend with him, exploring all that they felt for each other had been a day and night of rapture, of passion, and, most of all, of connection.

Fine, it had been only one night, but she knew with both her heart and her analytical mind that Ryan Sloan was changing. He was opening up. He was sharing.

For her.

She practically giggled at the thought as she watched his dog finish his business then tear across the yard and conduct some morning recon with his snout, checking out the fence, perusing the edge of the pool, and sniffing some bushes. She felt bubbly, effervescent even, because she was close to having that elusive thing she’d craved for so long. For her whole damn life. The very gem she’d hunted for and thought she’d found with Holden, only to be proven wrong by the lack of spark. With Holden, she’d let friendship lead, and in return she’d gotten a great friendship. But with Ryan, she let lust, hormones, and desire start the engine. She’d taken a chance by inviting him to the gala without knowing him. That was a risk, but it had paid off. Then she’d nearly lost out the other night.

But he’d reappeared and had come to the table ready. She didn’t need to peer into his mind, but she was thrilled by the glimpses of his heart and soul that he’d been offering. She felt special, she felt admired, and she felt madly desired. To have this kind of crazy, kinky, dirty sex with a man she was falling for…it was like finding a diamond on the side of the road.

It was almost too good to be true, and for a brief moment, her heart seized up. What if it all fell to pieces? What if this was just a bubble? A weekend of bliss and loveliness that would be punctured at midnight?

Ryan’s dog raced to her side, and Sophie pushed those thoughts away as she headed inside. After a quick bathroom trip to freshen her breath, she returned to the kitchen and decided breakfast for her man would be a fine idea. She rolled her eyes at the contents of his fridge—it was pure single guy. Beer. Mustard. A loaf of bread. She scanned the shelves and drawers for bacon, certain she’d find some. Personally, she couldn’t stand it. But what bachelor didn’t like bacon?

She found none.

At least he had a carton of eggs and some butter, so she set to work whipping up some scrambled eggs, and as she turned off the stove, a sleepy and sexy Ryan padded out of the bedroom with rumpled hair and a cute yawn.

“Is this a dream? Or are you really waking me up with a homemade breakfast?”

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist as she served the eggs. He planted a sweet kiss on her neck, and his breath was minty fresh. “It’s real,” she said. “If this were a dream, there would surely be bacon. I bet you love bacon.”

He shuddered. “Hate it.”

She turned and stared at him with one eyebrow raised. “I have never met a man who hates bacon.”

“Well, you have now, beautiful. I do not understand the fascination this country has with bacon.”

Her heart skipped a silly beat. “I have to tell you something, Ryan.” Turning her voice intensely serious, she whispered, “I hate bacon, too.”

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. A quick morning kiss. “You let my dog out to pee and you hate bacon. I knew you were my perfect woman.”

“Sit and eat or your eggs will get cold.”

After the meal, he pulled her onto his lap in his chair, and thanked her for breakfast. “And now I have a question for you. You told me yesterday you don’t have pool-boy fantasies,” he said, reminding her of her joke at the pool.

She nodded. “That is true. Nor stable-boy fantasies either, I might add.”

“Good.” He kissed her earlobe. His voice went low and husky, sending a shiver through her as he asked, “What fantasies do you have?”

That was an easy answer. She pulled back to look him in the eyes. “You.”

He grinned wickedly. “You don’t have to fantasize about me. You can have me. I want to know what you fantasized about before you met me so I can do it to you.”

She widened her eyes and stared at him, then gave the same answer. “You.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted someone like you. I fantasized about the things we do. The kind of sex we have is the kind of sex I’ve always wanted to have. Dirty, kinky, rough.”

He groaned sexily. “You told me in your car you’ve never had it like this before. How did you know you wanted it like that?”

“The same way I can code with my eyes closed and one hand behind my back. The same way I can tell which cards are most likely to be played next in a blackjack hand. The same way I know two seconds after I see a dress if I want it. I just know. It’s second nature.”

“And you just knew you wanted to be tied up? You wanted to be spanked? You wanted to be told what to do?”

She nodded eagerly. “If you’re making sure I’m still on board, the answer is yes. I want it this way. But if you want to know why, I think it’s because my mind feels so busy all the time. Like mild OCD. I always make sure I’ve turned off the stove before I leave my home, and I check twice that I locked the door. I’ve always felt like I have all sorts of information and facts and details clanging around in my head, back when I was in school, and then when I was running the company. And now, even though I love what I do, I feel like I’m juggling one million things. But when you tie me up, I’m living in the moment. And I’m loving the moment. And that’s why I fantasized for so long about being on my knees, tied up, or bent over the bed for a man like you. And now, just for you.”

He groaned and crushed her lips in a bruising, demanding kiss, giving her exactly what she wanted and erasing anything else in her mind. Just like she asked for. Just like she dreamed about for years. When he broke the kiss, he spoke firmly to her. “I need you to do something right now.”

She recognized that tone instantly, and her nipples hardened in response. He was going to give her an order. “Go to my bedroom. Strip down to nothing. Go into my closet and pick a tie. Put it around your neck. I assume you know how to tie a tie?”

“I do.”

“Then wait for me, bent over the bed, ass raised high in the air, wearing only a tie. While you’re waiting, I want you to get yourself wet,” he said, then took her fingers and slid them into her mouth.

“Suck,” he told her.

She took her own fingers deep in her throat, moaning as she sucked.

He breathed out hard. “Just like that. I’m going to clean up the table and do the dishes, since you cooked breakfast. When I’m done, I want you to be good and ready for me to fuck you.”

* * *

He found his beautiful woman standing at the end of his bed, his green tie nestled between her breasts, the very tie he’d been wearing the day he met her. The fact that she’d chosen that one made him even harder.

Her palms were pressed onto his mattress, her ass lifted in perfect view, her pussy glistening.

“Move closer to the edge of the bed.”

She did as told, glancing back at him, awaiting further instructions.

“Lie on your elbows,” he said, and she lowered herself, offering up her body even more.

He unknotted the tie from her neck and bound her wrists together, so tight she couldn’t move them a millimeter. Running a hand down her spine, he watched her bow her back as he mapped her body, as if he were an explorer and she the territory he planned to claim.

When he reached her round and luscious cheeks, he bent down to flick his tongue between the tops of them, eliciting a sexy moan from his woman. He bit the soft flesh. That earned him a breathy gasp, then she circled her hips, an invitation that turned his dick to steel. Clasping her ass in his hands, he smothered her rear in soft, quick kisses, then dipped his finger between her legs.

The wetness was divine, like a fucking slippery paradise that he needed to feel greeting his cock.

“You are good and ready,” he said on a groan. He stripped in seconds, rubbed the head of his cock against her, then sank in, stopping to savor the absolute bliss of her gloriously wet cunt before he set to work on the important matter at hand.

Fucking her furiously.

“Did you fantasize about me fucking you like this?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed her ass cheeks, squeezed them as he slammed into her. “You want it harder, right?”

“Please.”

He took her savagely, pleasure tearing through him, her moans ringing in his ears. Snaking an arm up her neck, he brushed his finger across her lips. “Get it wet, like you did to your own.” She drew him into her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around and up and down. “Good,” he hissed, then dipped that finger between her slick folds before he returned to her rear, rubbing against her entrance gently at first, then insistently as he kept fucking her.

Her high-pitched pants were his permission to slide his finger inside all the way. “And this too? Tell me. Did you fantasize about this too?”

“With you, yes,” she whispered, then her whispers turned into screams of ecstasy as he asked more questions, unearthing deeper and darker fantasies from his Sophie, ones he intended to fulfill, today and beyond.

For now, he took her over the edge, and they came together with her shuddering beneath him.

Later, when evening rolled around, he asked her if she’d consider spending the night again. She said yes.

It was all he wanted her to say.

Once upon a time, he’d wanted that yes for the sex. And he still wanted that from her. Oh hell, did he want it, over and over.

But he wanted more. He wanted everything else. He wanted the woman, inside and out, body and mind, heart and soul.

For the first time ever, Ryan Sloan was falling.