Chapter Eight
Ryan couldn’t believe he was touching Claire Collins again.
A lot of shit had happened in his life that he honest-to-God struggled to wrap his mind around.
His dad had never been there for him, except for when he’d occasionally sober up and act like he gave a damn before disappearing again. But whenever he promised to be at Ryan’s birthday party, his baseball game, his school concert, Ryan fell for it every damn time. How had he ever been that naive?
And what on earth made him so convinced he’d never grow up to be like the guy, when of course he turned right into him anyway?
More mind-boggling was how he’d actually managed to make some kind of living playing music. How he’d done it, he’d made it, he’d climbed so close to the top—and then fallen all the way down.
The fact that he was a father—well, that completely blew his mind.
But this, right now, was the craziest thing he could have imagined. He’d thought she was gone for good. Only here they were, in the elevator, his hand between her thighs as he kissed her with everything he was worth.
He was supposed to be spending the night convincing her to let him meet Maya. That was it. He just wanted the smiling girl in the photograph to be more than a picture to him—and for him to not be a total stranger to her.
But sitting so close to Claire in the candlelight, kissing the chocolate off her lips, had turned his mind to jelly—while other parts of him were painfully stiff. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, whether he’d earned her lips or not.
He never should have convinced her to move to New York. She should have finished school. He should have taken his time building his career instead of trying to catapult himself up. He should have been more careful not to hurt her.
The tattoo on his forearm was there to remind him of what he had lost, so he’d never make the same mistake again. Now he looked down at that same arm, those same rings inked into his flesh, and saw the muscles flex as his wrist worked, pushing one finger and then another inside her, stroking the velvet softness as she ground against his palm.
“You going to come for me in the elevator?” he said, pushing deeper.
“Depends on what floor you’re on,” she panted.
He was disappointed when the elevator slowed and dinged at their stop.
But not too disappointed. Because that just meant he was kissing Claire in the hallway, pressing her up against the wall, fumbling to get the key from his pocket as he slid his hands over her body and lifted her into the room.
They didn’t even make it to the bed before he had her up against the wall.
“Where were we?” he said, sliding his hand to her thigh again.
“Ryan, do you think we should stop? Should I go home before…before we get—”
Quickly he spun her so she was facing the wall and he could get to the zipper on the back of her dress.
“Carried away?” But her breath hitched, and the end of her half-hearted protest melted into a moan as he slid the zipper down.
He pulled the dress off her shoulders, kissing across her bare skin, pressing into her hard enough that she could feel exactly how carried away he already was.
Carried away was exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t stop to worry about whether this was a good idea or not. Right now, nothing mattered except his drive to be inside her.
“Too much thinking,” he said as he slid the dress over her hips and kicked it to the floor. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
Her palms spread out, pressing against the wall as he pulled her hips back into him. His hand slipped around and beneath her underwear. Two fingers parted her while the middle found what he was looking for.
“That’s it,” he exhaled, teeth tugging on her earlobe as he felt her spread her legs and relax into him, giving him more space to circle her clit.
She let her head fall back against him, her eyes closed, hair tumbling over her shoulders, her chest rising and falling as she struggled for breath.
“Is this how you want to come?” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes flew open as soon as he said the word, but he spun her around again before she could start in with that whole thinking business. He’d let her down in so many ways, but he was going to give her what she needed tonight. Cupping her under the ass, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him, her hands threading through his hair.
“Or maybe you need something more,” he said with a thrust that pinned her to the wall.
He could come just from pressing against her through his jeans. But he wasn’t some kid obsessed with his own dick, which was straining against his fly so hard that it hurt. He knew now what he didn’t back then: that he should have always put her first.
Even if it was just for a night. Even if nothing would ever make up for what he’d done.
He gripped her tightly and carried her over to the bed. When he lowered her down, she tried to push up onto her elbows. But he covered her with his body, kissing his way over her soft skin, biting her nipples through her bra, pulling down the fabric to flick the hard pearls with his tongue.
She moaned, thrusting her hips up to him, and he kissed his way slowly down her stomach. His lips paused when he reached a small half moon scar over her abdomen. He looked up.
“C-section,” she panted, still squirming. “Does that bother you?”
There it was. Her thinking again. As if anything could make him keep his hands off her now.
He kissed the scar, the edge of her panties, pressed his face to the cotton between her thighs and then yanked the underwear down, kicking it to the side.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded.
She looked at him.
“Do it,” he said, and she let her head fall back on the bed.
He knew he’d been the first person Claire had had sex with, the first to go down on her, the first to make her come. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think she hadn’t been with anyone else since then, but he was determined to be the best she’d had, no matter what. He relished the memory of her first screaming orgasm as he kneeled on the floor and spread her legs over the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” she groaned, raising her head again.
He laughed. “What does it look like? But only if you promise to close your eyes long enough to enjoy it.”
“Someone’s demanding.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “And you know what my first order is.”
“Keep my eyes shut?”
“After that.”
“Keep quiet?”
“Just the opposite, darling.”
He gave one full, steady lick up the soft, sweet seam, enough to make her groan.
“Oh,” she panted.
“Everyone on this hall is going to know my name by the time I’m done with you. If we don’t get noise complaints, I’ll know I let you down.”
Whatever smart retort she had dissolved into whimpers as he buried his face between her legs again, circling her clit so she wouldn’t forget how badly she wanted to be here right now. With him.
He remembered when she’d felt shy about this, wanting the lights off, not wanting him to look at her. But he needed to stop comparing past and present because that was a different woman. This one closed her eyes and let her breath come fast, her thighs trembling around his face, holding on.
He couldn’t get enough.
“Come on my tongue,” he said when he knew she was close. “Just let go and come.”
There was no question when she did. Her legs tightened. Her back arched. He’d had his hands on her stomach, her breasts, tweaking her nipples as he licked her clit until she clasped his arm by the wrist and held him as her body shuddered.
When she was completely spent, he got up from the floor, and she sat up, using her legs to trap him and pull him forward so he was leaning over her. He still had all his clothes on, and she reached up to yank off his belt.
“We have to fix this,” she said, going for his zipper. He didn’t know which of them groaned louder when she felt how hard he was.
She tore off his shirt, his pants, his boxers. He’d wanted her to stop thinking so much, stop worrying about every little detail, and he’d gotten his wish. She was pure need—a need he sure as hell was determined to fulfill.
He went to get a condom from his suitcase and slid it on. Claire scooted back toward the pillows, and he moved on top of her, parting her legs. She was ready. She was so fucking ready, and he couldn’t wait another second to be inside her.
But suddenly she used her hip to tilt him, and he paused, following her motion until he was the one on his back and she was over him, kissing him, arching her hips over his cock standing straight up at attention.
She gripped his shaft in her hands, making his breath catch, and slid him over the slick warmth of her opening, back and forth, teasing the head of his cock until he was practically bucking up to be inside her.
Then, when he thought he couldn’t take it another second longer, she lowered herself down.
Her eyes were closed, but he watched her face, that wince of both pleasure and something new as she stretched to accommodate him. She opened her eyes and saw him drinking her in, her gorgeous breasts and the curve of her shoulders, the soft lines of her body over him.
“Take it,” he whispered, and she leaned down so her body was spread over him, her face in the crook of his neck.
“Take everything you need,” he said, running his hands through her hair, clasping her close to him as her body began to rock.
She moved her hips forward and back, grinding her clit against him, and then up and down, drawing him deeper, harder, faster inside her. Her breath came fast, panting in his ear, her body slick with sweat, her own sweetness coating him. He wanted to remember if it had ever been like this, with Claire taking everything she wanted.
But he couldn’t think, and anyway, it didn’t matter. If this was what he could give her, let her have it. He closed his eyes and thrust hard up into her, matching his speed to hers as he felt her tightening, tightening.
And then the release, her breathless cries, the pressure all the way down his shaft, making his balls ache.
“Fuck,” she cried.
“Don’t stop.” His voice came out like a grimace, his body so close to the edge his whole world felt like it had narrowed to this one moment, this one sensation, her body edging him closer, closer, riding him up and down until with a cry he thrust hard and spilled inside her. She collapsed on top of him, panting, until every last wave was done.
When she finally got up to go to the bathroom, he threw the condom away. He got under the covers, still naked, and when she came back, he turned down the comforter so she could crawl in next to him.
But Claire shook her head. “I’ve got to go.”
He tried to laugh it off. “I’m not asking you to spend the night.”
“I still can’t.”
“Five minutes?”
This wasn’t some random hookup. It wasn’t like they were avoiding admitting they didn’t know each other’s names. But Claire started picking up her clothes strewn across the floor.
She untangled her underwear and slid it on, then found her bra. He propped one arm behind his head, watching the show, trying to act like it didn’t matter that she’d just fucked him and now couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
She lived here, he lived in Chicago. His manager had rebooked his flight and was sure as hell expecting him to be on that plane tomorrow. He knew nothing else was going to happen.
But damn, did she really have to be in such a rush?
“The babysitter,” Claire said as she stepped into her dress. “I told her I wouldn’t be out late.”
Ryan felt all the air leave his lungs.
The babysitter.
Claire had actual goddamn shit to do, and here he was acting like she should have all the time in the world to curl up in his arms, press her ass against his dick while he spooned her, held her while she drifted off to sleep, and then woke her up to do it all over again.
He felt…
He couldn’t even say what he felt. His chest hurt, but maybe that was the side effect of not getting any air. He’d stopped breathing as soon as Claire said that word. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten about Maya, whom he still desperately wanted to meet. But the fact that Claire had a kid—he and Claire had a kid—wasn’t exactly something he was used to accounting for. It still felt a little unreal.
Claire came over and stood by the bed, turning her back to him.
“A little help?” she asked. He sat up and brushed her hair gently over one shoulder before he zipped the dress and latched it at the top. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
“Let me give you money for the sitter.”
Claire turned in his arms, eyes suddenly flashing. “You don’t have to pay me to fuck you.”
Startled, he held up his palms. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’ve been paying for babysitters for the last five years. I think I can handle it tonight.”
“I honestly didn’t mean anything by it, Claire. I just want to help. You’ve done everything by yourself, and I—”
“And you forgot, again, that you have a child. That I’m not just here for whatever you need, without my own life to worry about, too.”
“I know,” he said. “Of course I know that.” This was coming out all wrong.
“I still want to see her,” he said, as gently as he could. It was supposed to be the whole reason he was meeting Claire tonight—not for sex, but for Maya.
Claire shook her head. “It’s too complicated,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
“She’s my daughter, too.” He thought of the photograph on Claire’s desk, of that wild smile and the brightness of her gray-blue eyes. “I just want to meet her—that’s all.”
He heard her sigh. Like maybe it wasn’t as easy for her to go home as she was pretending. “It’s not fair to Maya, okay? She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know you, and you can’t just pop into her life, announce you’re her dad, and then leave.”
“But doesn’t she wonder where her father is? Doesn’t she at least deserve to know?”
“When she’s eighteen. Or, if I have my way, closer to forty.” She let out a laugh. “But she’s five. She won’t understand what it means. Anyway.” Now she was busy putting on her heels, reaching for her purse. “I have to work tomorrow morning, so I have to get home.”
“On a Sunday? You work on a Sunday?”
“People who work during the week still want massages. I try to offer extra hours on the weekends. I’m not going to turn someone away just because they can’t get time off during the week.”
He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still naked, and the sight of her in that dress again made him want to bend her over the bed, hitch up the skirt, part her thighs, and show her again why she should stay.
But he knew she was right. He couldn’t just drop in on Maya, make a huge, life-changing announcement, and then go home. That was why Claire was the one with the stable life and the beautiful daughter—because she always thought of people other than herself. And he was alone because he didn’t.
“You’re heading out tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She stepped toward him, and he thought, this is it, the crack in her armor. She was faltering and was going to be in his arms, be there for just a minute longer before they had to say good-bye.
But she only kissed him on the cheek and touched him softly.
“You take care of yourself, okay? I expect to be hearing your voice all over the radio.”
He wanted to tell her about these things called telephones that would allow her to hear his voice anytime she damn well pleased. Also, the internet. Skype. He’d even break down and get a Facebook account that wasn’t managed by his publicist if she’d talk to him on one of those video messaging things and let him know how she and Maya were doing.
It wasn’t even like he really wanted to go. It was only because he had to. Because for once in his life he was actually being responsible, and he needed to get on that plane.
But the words stuck in his throat. Around Claire, he never could quite say what he meant.
“Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t okay at all.
She took one last look at him, and he couldn’t tell if what he saw was sadness or satisfaction.
And then she walked out.
He felt frozen—until the door shut and he lunged for his jeans, searching for the room key. He had to go after her, give her one more kiss, the kiss that would make her believe he was different, that she could believe in him again. He just wanted to lay eyes on what was probably the only kid he’d ever have.
But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. For one short evening, Claire had felt like she was his again.
But he knew it was all a fantasy. Make-believe. She didn’t really want him here. He knew it was time to go home.