Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) (10 page)

It was a shimmering light at the end of the tunnel, and her vision blurred as pleasure circled her body and centered in her womb. He came down over her, skin meshed with skin, hips pistoning together, cock sheathed in her body. The tempo increased.

“Please,” she whispered at his ear.

“Yes. Come, baby,” he demanded in a voice so gravelly it didn’t sound like him at all.

He took one of her breasts in his mouth and suckled hard while at the same time rotating his hips against her pelvis, rubbing over her clit in a torturous way. The lights exploded, warmth suffused her body, and her back bowed under the force of her release. She felt everything, every ridge and vein of his cock inside her as her muscles clamped down on him, refused to let him leave. Pleasure rained down over her, everything sharp and so pure.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned against her. His hips pushed forward once more, and then he swelled and warmth bathed her insides. His cock pulsed and triggered another round of spasms inside her body.

She may have screamed, she didn’t know; all she knew was release and peace. He lay on top of her and eventually moved to her side, taking her with him. He held her close, his breathing harsh, his skin hot and sweaty.

She fell asleep with his heartbeat under her ear, her own beating to its rhythm.

Chapter 9

Sophie’s alarm woke her up. She hit the clock and blessedly the ringing stopped. Light filtered into the room, bright and daring her to open her eyes. She pried open one eye and when the burn of daylight cleared, she gasped at the time.

Seven o’clock! She had an hour to get to work. She moved, felt places ache that had never ached before, and the previous night flashed in color behind her eyelids. He’d left at some point very early this morning, kissing her forehead and hightailing it out before she’d been awake enough to protest the loss of his heat.

Why had he gone so quickly? Was he ashamed he’d gone to bed with her? Worse, was she not good in bed? Had it sucked for him? Dismay skated through her, and she quelled the need to hide under the blankets.

No way had he faked that. He’d enjoyed himself, and it had been … monumental. She’d felt the connection to him in her body and her heart. No, he had a reason for leaving. When she saw him today, she’d ask.

She plopped back onto the bed with a groan. How in the holy hell did she greet her boss after having mad sex with him?

The phone rang and she groped for it.

“Hello?” she mumbled into the receiver as she pushed to a sitting position.

“I would think you’d be in a terrific mood this morning.” His deep voice caught her off guard, quickened her heart.

She took a deep breath. “Hi.”

Oh, nice, Soph, way to be all morning-after and loverlike
.

His laugh rumbled along the line, stirred her insides, and made her squeeze her legs together. “You’re going to be late.”

“If you’d stayed with me, we could’ve both been late,” she tossed out.
That’s better, but who the hell are you and what have you done with Sophie?
The mirror over her dresser showed a tousled, rumpled woman whose bee-stung smile showcased a secret. She nodded at herself and winked.

His inhalation was swift, and she heard movement.

“I would have gotten no sleep, and you’d be sore as hell this morning if I’d stayed. You should thank me.” There was a smile in his voice, and her heart pitter-pattered harder.

“Oh, Mr. Locke, I should very definitely thank you,” she responded with a husky laugh.

And again, who was this sex kitten who’d taken over her body? Was the man on the phone so powerful that he’d taken shy, introverted Sophie Hanson and created a brand-new woman with nothing more than his cock? Admittedly, it was a damn fine cock, but goodness.

“You can. But first, I think you have a delivery.” There was a slight pause, and her doorbell, which rang like the old storybook records of Tinkerbell, sounded. “And there it is.”

“Okay. Hold on a second.” She jumped off the bed and threw on a robe. She rushed to the front door, heart pounding. How did he know she had a delivery?

She opened the door and her mouth dropped open. Sitting on her porch were,
holy shit
, at least twelve dozen roses, maybe more, all of them red with the exception of one white in a vase all its own. She gaped. They were everywhere and so lovely as to defy description.

“Sophie?” She heard her name and it came from far away. She looked around and realized she had the phone in her hand. She raised it to her ear.

“Ryan?” His name was a question within a question.

He cleared his throat. “Do you like them?”

“They’re gorgeous, I—” Tears clogged her throat, cut off her words. “Why?”

“Because you gave me something precious last night, and I wanted to let you know what it meant to me,” he responded in a rough voice. “There’s a single white rose, Sophie, do you see it?”

“Yes.” Tears flowed unchecked down her face.

“It’s for the innocence I took last night. And the red ones, Sophie, you see all of the red ones?”

A tremulous waver sounded in her voice. “Yes.”

“Those are for all the nights I’m going to spend deep inside you.”

Sophie gasped as heat shot through her. She leaned against the door frame, overcome.

“Sophie?”

“Yes?” she whispered.

“I’ll see you at work,” he said and disconnected.

She swiped at her eyes, the smell of roses now a memory in her heart. She was in so much trouble.

* * * *

She hadn’t seen him all day. Somewhat embarrassed to ask Emma where he was, she’d stayed in her office, working on translation papers for a new deal that Mr. Bent was heading up. Not that she’d gotten much done. Thoughts of last night had intruded throughout the hours, keeping her preoccupied and unable to focus.

She reserved the right. She’d lost her virginity, hell, she’d lost her
heart
last night. A little leeway had to be granted for situations of this magnitude.

“Hey! What’s up?” Gigi’s voice was strident in the silence of Sophie’s office.

She looked up and saw her friend still looking under the weather. Gigi grunted and then grimaced, holding her stomach as if it pained her.

“Why are you at work?”

“Because there’s work to do, fool. Listen, I know we had plans tonight,” Gigi began.

Sophie grimaced this time. She’d forgotten.

Gigi spoke up again. “Okay, I see how it is. You’re just gonna up and forget all about old Gigi. So tell me, who’s got your mind all preoccupied?”

“Leave it alone, G.” Sophie’s voice carried just enough warning to raise one of her friend’s eyebrows.

“Still playing hardball with the information, I see. That’s all right. I’ll wear you down eventually.” Gigi paused and took a deep breath. “I swear if my stomach doesn’t stop hurting, I’m gonna rip it out myself.”

“I thought you went to the doctor yesterday?” Sophie looked at Gigi in alarm. “Where does it hurt?”

“I didn’t. No time for all the ralphing I was doing. Me and the toilet are like this.” She crossed her fingers as she took another deep breath. Sweat popped out on her brow. “It hurts on my right side, here.”

“Dammit, Gigi! Get to the doctor. Do I need to run you to Urgent Care?”

“Nah, I’ll get Daddy to do it. I just wanted to let you know I couldn’t make it out to the Melting Pot with you tonight. No fondue for this girl.” Another grimace had Sophie standing up and coming around her desk to reach for Gigi.

“Where’s Pops?” she demanded.

“Downstairs, girl, hold your horses. I got this. The other reason I stopped by was to let you know that Mr. Bent wants that report tomorrow morning. He’s planning on making the proposal to PacificCorp in the morning and needs it.” Gigi stood wearily, and Sophie stuffed her flash drive into her purse and grabbed her coat, determined to walk her down to Pops.

She huffed and took Gigi’s arm in hers. “Let’s go. He’s taking you right now? Damn, you could teach stubborn to a mule.”

Gigi raised a brow as she pointed to first Sophie then herself. “Pot, meet kettle.”

The building was emptying and Sophie mourned again that she hadn’t seen Ryan all day. Hadn’t he said he’d see her at work? She’d somehow remained immaculately dressed and coffee-free the entire day. And now he wasn’t here to see it?

She strode out, Gigi’s arm in hers, her friend in obvious pain. “There’s Daddy,” Gigi murmured.

She guided her over, got her seated, and leaned down. “Get her there quick, Pops. She could be dehydrated.” To Gigi she said, “Call me as soon as you know something.”

“You’ll be home?”

“Yep. Headed there now,” Sophie responded with a sigh.

Pops leaned over and looked up at Sophie. “I’ve got her. You be careful headed home, girl, you hear Pops?”

“I hear ya, old man. Take care of her. Gigi—you better call me.” She waved as Pops pulled off.

She turned and headed for the MARTA station. Two hours later she was in front of her computer. She needed to be working, but could only stare at the roses that covered her living room. He hadn’t called. Neither had Gigi.

Sighing deeply, she forced her gaze back to the report that was turning out to be a bit more complicated than anything she’d dealt with before. PacificCorp was a commercial communications company. They provided fast-access Internet service and modems that ensured top-notch Internet and network security. ATC had been working with PacificCorp’s engineers to provide the other company’s customers with guaranteed secure modem equipment. The verbiage PacificCorp used in its proposal was obfuscated and designed, in Sophie’s opinion, to hide pertinent information. Sophie just couldn’t find the information she thought they were trying to hide. She did notice that the WetComm satellite was apparently a key component. That information she knew backward and forward.

She rubbed her forehead, picked up her phone, and dialed Gigi’s cell to get her voice mail. She refused to call Ryan. Hell, she didn’t even have his number. Her gaze strayed to the roses again.

Red, he’d said, for all the nights he’d spend buried deep inside her. Her heart wrenched and chills swept her skin. The man moved her. He’d given her a white rose for the innocence he said he’d taken. The truth was she’d given it to him. Begged him to take it, and she didn’t regret it.

Now if he’d just call her.

She saved the file she’d been working on and closed the computer. Wine beckoned and she made her way into the kitchen to pour a glass, thinking of a nice hot shower. The phone rang just as she finished pouring and she rushed to it, almost toppling the bottle in her haste.

“Hello?” She winced at the eagerness in her tone.

“Phie-Phie? It’s Pops.” Silence for a second, and then, “My girl’s got gallstones. They released her with some medicine but she’s probably gonna have to have surgery soon. She wanted me to call you and let you know she’s going to live. If I don’t kill her for not taking care of herself,” Pops mumbled.

“Give her my love and tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. Love y’all, Pops.”

Pops mumbled something in return and disconnected. Sophie smiled. Pops hated modern technology and doctor’s offices. The cell phone had probably finished off what the visit to the doctor had begun. She breathed a sigh of relief. They knew what was plaguing Gigi, and the fix was pretty easy these days.

She set the phone down and grabbed her wine. Reaching over to the sound system, she opened her Frankie Goes to Hollywood playlist and headed through the house to her bedroom. She’d damn well relax if it killed her. It was after ten now. It didn’t look like she’d hear from Ryan. A pang shot through her at the thought. She’d hoped to finish her day with him. Maybe wrapped around him or him fulfilling his rose promise.

She took a deep sip of her wine and turned on the shower. She still ached from last night, but it was a beautiful thing. She refused to complain. Under the warmth of the water, she let the wine go to work and did just as Frankie commanded.

*

Ryan had played hell all day long. It was frustrating to want one thing and be unable to have it. The day had been laborious. He’d had to put out fire after fire with the Defence Ministry deal, and it was looking more and more like he and Hayden were going to be making a trip across the pond to train Britain’s finest on exactly how to use WetComm.

Dammit. He’d wanted to call her, and each time he’d reached for the phone, he’d put it down, afraid that if he heard her voice he’d put aside business in favor of the pleasure of her body. And who was he kidding really? It was way more than her body. It was her sighs as he filled her, her eyes as he stroked inside her just right; it was everything about the woman.

It almost scared him. Him, the man who’d been in so many war zones he couldn’t remember them all. He’d been shot, stabbed, hunted, and done the same in return to others. He should be afraid of not one damn thing. But the depth of his need for her frightened him. She made him dream of things he’d never imagined he’d have. So here he sat, outside her house, like a woebegone stalker, arguing with his dick about whether to knock on her door.

It was late—after midnight now—and her street was quiet and dark. Her lights were all out. He wondered if her house smelled like flowers, and he groaned. He was so lost to this woman.

He inhaled slowly, tried to cool his body, but found himself walking up to her house. It was habit to check a knob before he entered a dwelling. Anger pierced him when he found hers open.

What the fuck was she thinking leaving her door unlocked in Midtown? Sure, the area had built up and now catered to a different set of people, but crime was all around, just waiting for opportunity. He’d definitely give her hell about this … after he’d purged some of this blazing lust from his system. Yeah, and then he’d give her hell. Sure.

He opened the door, stopped at the edge of her living room, and was greeted by the smell of roses. Something inside him had clicked, and the idea had formed as he lay there watching her sleep in the early morning hours.

She snored. Even that was frigging lovely. And she was a cuddler. He’d never spent more than the time it took to come with a woman. Always a wham-bammer, he didn’t stay to smell the scent of a woman after he’d fucked her. But Sophie’s was unique, the flavor of her skin after he’d been all over it addictive. Her hair was long, and he’d stroked the midnight strands for hours as she’d rested in the curve of his body and sunk her claws into his heart.