Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (44 page)

His hand moved to grip her nape, pulling her mouth to his for the first honest kiss they’d ever shared.

Okay, maybe she should dial that thought back just a smidge. He’d told her his truth—now she had to share hers.

“I hate working at
Passion.
”

The shock on his face told her that he hadn’t seen that coming.

“Hate living in the city. Hate that twenty-something urban bullshit. It’s not me. Not who I really am.”

“Who are you then, sweetness? Why the change of heart?”

“I think that after you left, I wanted this fabulous life that other people looked at and thought was so cool. It was a way of proving to myself that I could live without you.”

“It wasn’t?”

She shook her head. “No. There was always something off. Something missing.”

“And?”

She punched him softly on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I swear to god, if you laugh . . .”

Rhiann gasped when he shifted his hips in a deliberately upward motion and told her, “I don’t think what you’re sitting on qualifies as laughing.”

Up until that moment, she’d been willing to ignore the firm bulge pressing against her.
Oh my.

“I started writing as a way to deal with all the shit going on in my head,” she told him in a breathy whisper.

“You mean like keeping a diary?”

“No. I mean like writing actual stories. Romantic garbage about white knights and happily ever after.”

He smirked. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but that shit’s not garbage.”

Fiddling with the knot in his tie, Rhi lowered her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. If he kept on saying all the right things, she was going to take matters into her own hands—his refusals be damned.

“On a whim, I decided to self-publish and . . .”

“What?”

“Uh . . .” She shrugged self-consciously. “
Yeah.
I, uh . . . published a story. And people actual liked it!”

She wasn’t prepared for his laugh. Mr. Serious suddenly found a sense of humor?

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Define
story
for me. Was it your run-of-the-mill Harlequin or are we talking
Fifty Shades?
”

“What the hell do you know about Harlequins?” she sputtered.

“Cut me a break,” he drawled. “Carolyn had stacks of those books. She devoured them like gourmet meals.”

To say she was surprised was the understatement of the century. Especially after what he said next.

“I kept a couple of them that were her favorites. Stories she read over and over.”

Was this some sort of alternate universe she’d wandered into where her scowling tycoon had paperback romance books stashed in the closet? What was happening here?

“You seemed surprised,” he teased, tapping his finger on her chin—the one that had dropped open in shock and amazement.

“Er, uh . . . have you read any of them?”

He shrugged. Oh, my fucking God—he had!

“And
Fifty Shades.
You read that, too?”

“No comment.”

Oooh, this man.
This beautiful, scarred, full of surprises man. What in the hell was she going to do with him?

Yes, well . . . she could certainly think of a few things. With deft fingers, she started to loosen his tie. There were a couple of scenarios running wild in her mind where the tie would come in handy. Thank god, though, that it wasn’t grey.

“So, tell me,” he murmured huskily as she made short work of the task at hand. “Is that the real you, honey? A romance writer?”

Pulling the length of dark blue from around his neck, she twined the expensive fabric into a circle and smiled shyly.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “It’s fun—writing. And there are people who like my style of storytelling. And the steamy stuff? Putting those words down on paper gave me a sort of outlet.”

“Can I read it? Your story?”

“Which one?” she giggled.

“There’s more than one?” He sounded flabbergasted.

“Yeah. Three to be exact. And another one is a W-I-P.”

“W-I-P?”

“Work in progress.”

“Ah.” He nodded his understanding. “So . . . what does that mean? I can read one or you’d rather I not?”

Damn.
That was the million-dollar question if ever there was one. While her latest work was flat-out erotica, it was that first one that said more about her than how far her imagination could wander into the land of carnality.

It was, in every way that mattered, about him. Was she brave enough to share what was a lament for the love she lost and thought she’d never experience again?

And then it hit her. He’d shared his deepest pain with her—even shed tears over it. How could she not do the same?

“Yes,” she mumbled quickly before her nerve vanished. “If you want to. Read one of them, I mean. The first one is . . . the one I’m most proud of.”

Roman had perfectly shitty timing because he strode back into the room at just that moment. Cock blocking son-of-a-bitch.

Finding her planted on Liam’s lap, his tie in a ball on the table and the buttons of his shirt undone down to the top of his vest, Macho Man smirked and shook his head.

“You two kiss and make up yet?”

“We’re getting there,” Liam drawled.

Getting there? Oh, for Christ’s sake. She was pretty sick of that expression. Turning on him with a heated glare, Rhi snapped, “Are you fucking serious? Getting there? As in . . . we’re not there yet?”

Thank god, Roman laughed. It took some of the wind out of her sails.

“Boss,” he drawled mockingly. “How’s that foot taste? Maybe you should change your footwear, man. It’s a lot easier to swallow a sneaker than an Italian leather shoe.”

Sliding off Liam’s lap, she pulled her sweatshirt down with a ticked-off grunt and glared at both men.

It was all kinds of cute when Liam snickered and reached for her. She slapped his hand away like an outraged virgin and pouted openly.

Stomping away, she headed for the kitchen muttering darkly under her breath about men and how fucking stupid they could be. And typically, the two muscled hunks she referred to watched with bemused expressions as they shot each other rather clueless,
what the fuck
looks.

Slamming cabinet doors and rattling pots and pans for no other reason than because she knew it’d make a holy racket, Rhi gave them a grand performance worthy of her grandmother.

A couple of minutes later, after they’d conferred on whatever new information Roman had and maybe wondered aloud what crawled up her skirt, they strolled cautiously her way with cutely sheepish expressions.

“My bad, Princess,” Roman joked. “Should have kept my mouth shut. I just figured since you weren’t ripping the scowl from his face that maybe half an hour alone was enough to get you two kids over the hump.”

Liam pulling up the rear and shaking his head in agreement reminded her of a bad comedy routine. His expression said,
It was him. It was all him.
The only thing he wasn’t doing was pointing.

She ignored the attempted apology—it was too damn much fun watching them squirm—and snapped, “So, what happens next?”

“We’re going out. For dinner. All three of us. That’ll give whoever is watching something to think about, and hopefully, trigger a reaction. Boss is right. Enough of this shit.”

“Is that all right with you?” Liam asked hesitantly. “Dinner. With us,” he said moving his hand back and forth between Roman and him.

The imp inside her sat up and giggled. Let’s see what he does with this.

“Is it all right? How the hell should I know?” Pinning Liam with a fiery look she asked frostily, “Are we there,
sir?
” When his eyes widened at the taunt, she added, “You know . . .
there
as in going out for dinner. In public. Together. A novel approach. A first for us, I believe.”

He sputtered and stammered a bunch of sounds that didn’t become words, which only gave her the perfect opportunity to throw her hands up in frustration and bite out, “Seriously, dude.
WHAT
will it take to get us there—once and for all?”

The answer he gave was not in the realm of possibilities she envisioned, but holy shit, it was absolutely the perfect thing to say.

“Um, I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Maybe a little M-O-D action would make the situation clearer.”

What did he say?
Oh no, he didn’t!
The half smirk on his handsome face and Roman’s confused look made this a golden moment. Well, alrighty then! Ball or rather balls were in her court. Time to swing for the net.

Rushing at him, he flinched at how fast she moved. Grabbing him by the arm of his suit jacket, she started dragging him toward her room muttering, “Shoulda said something sooner. Sheesh!”

As they slid by Roman, she sweetly smiled and said, “Excuse us for a bit, won’t you?”

“Rhiann, wait,” Liam yelped as what she intended to do dawned on him. “I was just kidding.”

As they reached the bedroom, she looked back at Roman’s startled face, winked, and shut the door as he broke out into booming laughter. His hearty, “You go, Princess!” pretty much sealed Liam’s fate.

Whirling on him, she noted his wary expression and bit back a giggle. M-O-D, huh? No fucking problem. Maybe a little mouth-on-dick action would break the logjam and get him off his high horse.

Swiftly divesting him of his jacket, he was practically hyperventilating and muttering, “You don’t have to do this. Rhiann. Come on. Cut it out.”

First, she ripped off the wrist brace. Won’t need that, right? Then, when his expensive suit jacket went sailing through the air, landing in a pile across the room, he looked well and truly shocked.

The vest was next as she ripped it down his arms and sent that to sailing through the air.

He was about to protest again, but she was having none of it. Waiting for him to make the first move would clearly end with her old and grey, still begging and no doubt horny as hell. Enough of that crap.

He said he’d loved her once and she was counting on those feelings gathering oxygen in the present. No need to examine her feelings—she’d been hopelessly and shamelessly in love with him since forever. If he harbored lingering doubts and feelings of being unworthy, she would have to be the one to disconnect that particular phone call and hook him up with some heartfelt truth. Preferably from her knees with his balls in a starring role.

As she hurriedly slipped the buttons free of his shirt, she put her mouth on the skin she exposed and began a sensual tasting that might have been more for her than him. He had a taste she’d never forgotten and not even a triple load of Weight Watcher’s points was going to stop her from this particular indulgence.

He was starting to tremble, a good sign that he wasn’t going to try to stop her, although she knew he’d take a lame ass swipe of attempting to do just that.

“Oh, shit. Rhiann. Please.”

Buttons undone, she yanked the shirt free of his pants and began tugging at his belt. The mighty bulge so close to where her fingers were struggling was her undoing. Seeing how she affected him shot molten lava into her female core.

Before he could say another word, she tunneled a hand inside his briefs, noted the heat coming off that part of his anatomy, and just went for it. Pushing lower through the hair that surrounded his sex until her fingers made contact, Rhi doubled down by pressing hot, wet kisses across his chest.

When she curled her fingers around his hardened staff, she bit and nipped one of his nipples at the same time.

Shoving both hands inside what was left of his clothes, she pushed his slacks and briefs to the floor and groaned at the sight his beautiful cock made when it was freed, jutting straight at her in flagrant invitation for what was to happen next.

L
IAM’S HEAD WAS SWIMMING. WITH Rhiann’s delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection, and her mouth on his skin . . . he was a goner.

Dammit. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He wanted to woo her with over-the-top gestures and spoil the living shit out of her before they lost their clothes. So she’d know. Know it was her, all of her, and not just the sex part that he desired.

Leave it to Rhiann to push the issue as only she could. That wicked mouth of hers wasn’t just good at laying waste to him verbally. What he knew she was capable of doing with those pouty lips and voracious tongue was his downfall.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed while licking her lips in anticipation. The way her eyes shone made the breath catch in his chest. She was looking at him with nothing short of adoration.

He tried one last time to put a halt to what she so clearly planned, grumbling, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

She laughed and fisted his cock. “Oh, shut up, Liam.”

“Rhiann,” he growled.

With that, she suddenly whipped the bulky sweatshirt she was wearing over her head with an amused snort and said, “There. That’ll give you something to look at while I get busy.”

As she sank to her knees, kissing and licking a path down the center of his torso, he groaned. And not because she wasn’t wearing a bra and her tits looked fantastic. No. He groaned because when she removed the sweatshirt, he saw a familiar piece of jewelry around her neck. There, hanging in the valley between her delectable mounds, was the cheap silver heart he’d given her for her twentieth birthday. That she still had it was amazing. That she wore it was truly humbling.