Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) (12 page)

~ KIM ~

Why would anyone throw landscaping stones
through my windows?

The police asked me that question about
five times tonight, as though if they kept asking I was going to think of some
reason. But I can think of none.

No one actually entered the house to
steal anything, which is really not a surprise unless they were searching for a
circa 1990 TV or my prize set of Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes on DVD
that Allie bought me for Christmas (all the seasons after Riker grew a beard,
which of course, was a critical turning point for the series).

The police seem to think it’s just a
simple case of vandalism. With me out for the night, Logan and Allie in the Caribbean,
and the remaining two homes up for sale, the empty strip of townhouses was the
perfect target for vandals.

My cocker spaniel is all right, thank
heaven, and I’m beyond grateful that my mom decided to babysit at her house
tonight. The idea that this might have happened with my son inside my house has
my blood turning to ice. Feeling a shiver, I wrap my arms around myself. But
the cold is coming from within.

 After the police leave, Ryan comes
over to me, draping his arm over my shoulder.

“I’ve got a PI coming here first thing in
the morning,” he says. “Jules Leverty. He’s done some work for my family. We’ll
figure out who did this.”

“Ryan, that’s not necessary. The police
said it was just a random act of vandalism. This might be a small town, but
things like this do happen.”

“No offense to the Newton’s Creek police
force, but I think I’ll have someone else decide if that’s what happened. Now
pack a bag.”

“For what?”

“You aren’t staying here tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Kim, you’ve got two broken windows.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ll tape some
cardboard up or something. And I’m sure I can find someone to fix the glass
tomorrow morning.”

“Over my dead body, Kim. You’d be the
only one out here. A sitting duck. Normally that wouldn’t bother me in this
town. But till I have Leverty come out here and confirm that it was just a
random thing, I’d feel better if you were staying elsewhere.”

“Oh, come on. No one’s coming back here
tonight. Lightning never strikes in the same place twice, you know?”

His eyes rest on me pointedly. “Look, I
admire your independent streak, but get over it. You know you can’t stay here
alone. Hell, I won’t let you.”

“You won’t?”

“Of course not. You either can stay at my
place, or go to your parents and stay with them.”

For a split second, I try to imagine
myself showing up on the doorstep of my parents at 10:30 at night. I’d wake
them; that much would be guaranteed. And rather than showing concern for my
broken windows, or being grateful that no one except Macaroni had been in the
house at the time, they’d probably bring up the fact that I obviously wasn’t
ready to make it on my own with my son yet.

No, that doesn’t sound like the most
favorable option.

So it shouldn’t surprise me fifteen minutes
later when my foster dog and I are stepping through the wide, arched front
doorway of Ryan’s house, with a plastic Target bag in my hand stuffed with a
change of clothes and my toothbrush.

Macaroni’s paws click against the tiled
foyer illuminated by a brushed steel chandelier, and I’m greeted by a friendly
face.

“Lolli!” I say, dropping down to the
floor so that I can be smothered in dog kisses until her attention turns to
Macaroni who is sniffing her in the most inappropriate places. They salute each
other with the customary tail wags, and Ryan lets Macaroni off her leash. They
tear through the house, jumping up on and over furniture, and disappearing
around a corner. I brace myself, waiting to hear the crash of an expensive lamp
or vase. But I let out the breath I was holding when Ryan jogs through the
house to the back door and lets them run into the yard.

“Don’t worry. It’s fenced in,” he comments
as I step into a sunken living room with floor to ceiling windows. It’s pitch
black outside, but the backyard is illuminated. I can see a swimming pool lit
up, with a waterfall cascading over boulders that surround one end of the pool,
while the opposite side boasts an alluring infinity edge. I wonder how long the
dogs will last out there before one of them decides to jump in.

“Your house is gorgeous, Ryan.” I’m fully
aware that my tone sounds slightly awestruck and I hardly care. I’ve never been
in a house like this—the kind that I see when I’m thumbing through an
issue of
Architectural Digest
.

“Thanks.”

“I always figured you’d live in a JLS
development.”

He laughs. “They’re not really my style. I
like the older feel of this neighborhood—the tall oaks and maples. The
houses all look different from one another. The place has character. I was
eyeing the place for a few months after Adriana filed for divorce. We used to
live on seventy acres. I had a landing strip in my backyard, but that’s the
only thing I miss. When I moved, I knew I wanted to find the kind of
neighborhood where I could picture Hannah riding her bike, meeting friends,
trick-or-treating. You know the deal. Adriana always preferred more of that
estate feel—you know, the big grand entrance with a quarter mile driveway
and a gate at the end of it. How the hell would Hannah do any trick-or-treating
in a place like that?”

“You chose well. This place is wonderful.”

“I got the pool installed about a year
ago. Hannah always wanted a pool, and she’s a hell of a swimmer.”

Anything she wants, I can’t help
thinking. “Why do I get the feeling you’d build a stable back there, too, if
Hannah liked to ride?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. It’s overcompensating.
I couldn’t give her a mom who treated her like she gave a damn. But I can build
my kid a pool.”

I sense the sadness in his voice. Sadness,
not bitterness.

“I kind of know how you feel. Connor
doesn’t exactly have a doting father in his life. I always feel like if I can
just be the perfect mom, maybe he won’t notice.”

“Is that working?”

“It did for the first few years. But ever
since he started pre-K, he’s noticing the dads around. Asking questions.”

“What do you tell him?”

“Oh, I give him the speech about how some
families look different from others. But that doesn’t mean there’s any less
love in them.”

“Good one.”

“Thanks. I found it on the internet.”

He laughs, and again, I’m struck by how
comfortable I feel around him. I just came a hair away from talking about
Connor’s father and my heart rate didn’t even step up a beat.

Moving toward me, he takes my hand and
tugs my body closer to his.

Cancel that about my heart rate not
speeding up. I think it’s doing triple time now.

“You’re a great mom. You know that,
right?”

How is it that a compliment about my
parenting skills is making my entire body hum with awareness?

“I’m an okay mom,” I concede, leaning
into him, accepting the closeness he’s offering, and wanting so much more.

His hand still linked with mine, he
studies me quietly. “I’m sorry it’s been a rough night. I’ve got lots of
bedrooms you can choose from.”

No. That’s not what I want. I suck in a
good bit of oxygen for courage before expelling my next statement in one long
breath. “Or I could stay in yours.”

A smile touches one side of his lips as
his fingers thread into my hair. “I don’t want you to feel you have to.”

“I don’t feel that way. I only feel like
if I don’t do this right now, I’ll shatter inside.” It is true. Every piece of
me is demanding to feel the kind of closeness that only sex can provide. It has
been so long since I felt this level of trust and comfort with a man, and I’m
not about to toss it aside. And even if I only have one night with Ryan, I am sure
it will be enough to bring to life a part of me that I had once sworn was dead
forever.

Tilting my head gently with his hands, his
lips lower to mine again, and sensuality seeps through his skin into mine,
heating me to my core.

Starved for this, my body sighs against
his as he wraps his arms around me, tugging me closer. I can feel my mouth
murmur against his, inaudible sounds that even I don’t recognize and can only
be described as begging. Begging for more.

As he lifts me into his arms so easily I
feel swept away in the moment, I realize I would have expected a hint of panic
right now. For years I’ve avoided even the slightest provocative touch from a
man. Yet now, in Ryan’s arms, I feel nothing but contentment, nothing but sheer
pleasure as he steps up his curved staircase. I feel myself smile against his
lips as I hear the clicking of dog toenails against the floors as they follow
us down the long hallway.

But when he steps through the doorway of
what I’m certain is the master suite, he nudges the door shut, leaving the dogs
to whimper their indignation outside.

When he lowers me onto the bed, I sink
into the lush duvet. It feels silky against my skin, making my body shiver. His
tongue intermingles with mine, the taste of him potent to me, heightening my
arousal. His body above me has me trapped, but there is nothing frightening about
it for me as he skims his hands along the sides of my breasts, roaming to the
tiny buttons of my shirt. Struggling with them momentarily, he pulls the shirt
from my chest, revealing my simple cotton bra. I don’t even have the brain
power to be wishing I had worn something racier, especially because the feel of
his tongue against the cotton as he toys with my nipple feels more lascivious
than the most revealing lace bra ever could.

I tug at his shirt, my fingers fumbling
with the buttons, dying to caress the muscles of his chest that I’ve only
imagined till now. I can feel his heat through the thin material as I pull it
from his waistband and feel the soft skin atop the hard ripples, abs that look
like they were hewn from granite. They are hot to my touch, as my hands splay over
them, soaking in the feel. Inhaling, I take in the scent of him, the hint of aftershave
that’s almost woodsy in nature, mixed with a clean, soapy scent.

His hands cascade down my bare belly
making me shiver, then along the outline of my thigh to the hem of my skirt. He
lifts it, slipping his hand up my thigh, and I’m silently thanking God that I
didn’t wear stockings tonight because his touch on my bare legs casts a fire
over me. I can feel his touch through the cotton of my panties, and I know I’m
wet with desire. A single finger slips past the cotton and into me, and my
entire body spasms uncontrollably, waves of desire crashing through me. I feel
him deeper inside of me as my folds grip the intrusion, and my pelvis arches to
press harder against his hand as he cups me. Long, and almost tortuous, the
orgasm makes my body buck beneath him shamelessly, fireworks shooting behind my
eyes as I press my lids shut, savoring this feeling till I finally relax into
the soft duvet again.

I open my eyes to his smiling ones.

“That didn’t take long, did it?” I
murmur, almost embarrassed from the way I responded so wantonly from his
slightest touch. And I can feel myself climbing back up to those same heights
again, as he pulls my skirt from my waist, lowering it off my legs, and leaving
me nearly naked now beneath him.

There’s something erotic about the way he
looks at me now, claiming me, possessing me, with every kiss touching another
square inch of my body, he seems to brand me again and again as his own. And
I’m not complaining. Especially when his mouth reaches my panties, and his hand
lowers them away from my dark curls. His tongue toys with me, almost teasing
me, dipping and laving but never touching the center of my need, even though I
whimper and squirm, aching for the contact.

“Beg me for it, Kim.”

I can’t form words, and can only cry out
in response, a low guttural cry that wrenches from me as moisture pools between
my legs. Finally, I feel his tongue slick against me where I need him most,
just as he slips two fingers inside of me.

“Yes! God, yes,” I scream as he moves in
and out of me, stretching me, invading me, and making my nerves splinter with
sensation. The orgasm spills from me again, but it doesn’t cease this time, holding
me longer in its grasp, with my body aching to feel more of him inside me.

“Now, Ryan. I need you now,” I implore
him, as though the only thing that can quell this fever inside me is to
completely join with him.

He pulls a condom from his pocket and pulls
his pants and boxers off him in one quick sweep of his hand. A condom, thank God,
because I swear I might have forgotten in the haze of lust I’m lost in right
now.

I feel the tip of him at my entry and he
looks at me, almost with a question in his eyes. “Please, Ryan,” I beg him. I
don’t want questions tonight. I don’t want my brain activated, or I’m certain my
past will launch itself into my present. I’m positive all the questions and
feelings and fears that still ache inside me will gnash their ugly teeth at me
and ruin this instinctive desire that has overcome me.