This Year's Black (8 page)

He answered with a growl and dipped his head lower, taking the elastic band of her panties between his teeth and dragging them down her legs. Pushing her legs back open as wide as they could go, he kissed and licked his way up her calves and thighs, not stopping until he arrived at the center of her need, where his tongue and fingers worked in concert. Her thighs trembled as the tension within her tightened, blocking out everything except his mind-blowing efforts between her legs. Then, her muscles locked and she came undone.

“I want to be inside you so bad it’s killing me, but I don’t have a condom.”

“Not a—” She swallowed the word “problem.” She always kept a condom in her wallet. For her, it was just wise planning, but some men would get all judgmental about a woman being proactive. Not that they thought bad things about themselves when they shoved a condom in their wallet.

But Devin had already proven himself different from most of the men she
’
d dated, and really, did she even care what he thought of her? It wasn
’
t like there was relationship potential here. Extending her arm, she swiped her wallet off the bedside table and took out the condom. The foil package glimmered in the honeymoon suite’s dim light.

“If you weren
’
t on this whole no-commitments-for-a-year thing, I’d be down on one knee right now.” He nuzzled her neck.

“Watch out, soon enough you might be, anyway.”

He laughed and rolled on the condom.

Taking back control, she pushed him onto his back and raised herself, centering her opening over his straining cock. Bracing herself with her palms flat on his hard chest, she lowered herself, inch by inch, until she enveloped him fully. After that, instinct and need took over. They moved together in a primal rhythm, both lost in the absolute pleasure of the moment. The tingling started low in her belly, growing and morphing within her as she arched her back to allow him deeper.

“Devin!” she called out just as her climax hit.

A few breaths later, he gripped her thighs, pulling her down hard against him, and exploded with his own orgasm.

She collapsed on top of him before rolling onto her side, sated and satisfied. Beside her, Devin rolled onto his stomach. Even destroying an opponent in the ring never felt this good.

The full moon’s light filtered through the sliding glass door, illuminating his muscular back. The tree tattoo looked even more impressive up close. She traced her finger across the detailed limbs and down the thick trunk that traveled the length of his spine.

She outlined the J.H. with her short nail. “Who’s J.H.?”

The muscles in his back hardened, and he rolled onto his back, shutting off her view of the tattoo. “That’s not a story for tonight.” He pulled her close, so her head fit in the curve of his shoulder, and brushed his lips across the top of her head.

Her eyes fluttered, post-coital exhaustion zapping her curiosity. Closing her eyes, she promised herself that she’d rest for a minute, then figure out what to do next. But her plan lost its luster when he intertwined his fingers in hers, snuggled up into the spoon position, and fell into a half-snoring sleep. Basking in the warmth of his embrace, she gave up on her former strategy and let her breath deepen.

There’d be time enough to freak out tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

“
I don’t design clothes, I design dreams.”

— Ralph Lauren

A death metal drummer was going to town in Devin’s head, crashing the cymbals loud enough that the sound vibrated down his spine and exploded in his kidneys. Peeling his eyes open, he slapped his palm against the alarm-blaring phone on the night stand. The blessed silence was broken only by the sound of a nearby shower running. Confusion muddled his foggy brain. Waking up in a strange room wasn’t completely foreign, but it had been years since it had happened.

He brought the room into focus and scanned the area. Pale blue walls dotted with landscape paintings featuring beaches and palm trees. An overhead fan pulling in the salty air and ocean breeze from the open French doors leading to a small, private patio. Soft yellow material crumpled up in a corner. His gaze froze, an image of Ryder arching her back in ecstasy burned itself into his brain, and he became painfully aware of his morning wood tenting the sheet.

The shower turned off.

He had about sixty seconds to melt his boner or walk bow-legged past Ryder to the bathroom. He did not want to do that.

Gathering the little bit of mental focus he had at the moment, he zeroed in on all the crap going on in his life right now.

The merger of the year that would rock the fashion world rested on quietly catching Sarah Molina and recovering the money she
’
d embezzled.

He went to half-mast.

If he couldn’t make that happen, he’d be tossed out on his ass and labeled a disappointment, just like his old man had predicted when he’d started with Dylan’s Department Store. Just like he had failed to protect his little brother, James.

Devin’s hard-on turned into a large speed bump under the sheet.

Oh, yeah, and he
’
d just had mind-blowing sex—again—with the woman who’d fucked him and then wouldn’t return his calls. The only reason Ryder had wanted him last night was because of some crazy island aphrodisiac an old woman had mixed in their wine. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with him.

That did it. He deflated until he was practically a eunuch.

Ryder emerged from the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around her body. Her long, wet hair hung down her back. Drops of moisture glistened on her shoulders.

His mouth transformed into a highway in the desert seventy miles from a gas station. God, the woman was going to fuck him up, and he was so stupid that he looked forward to the carnage.

She gasped and slammed to a stop. “Sorry, I thought you were still asleep.” Her voice trembled a bit and her hands crossed in front of her body, locking the fluffy white terrycloth in place.

“Nope.”
Way to state the obvious, dude.

“Well…” She gave him a wild-eyed look and swiped some clothes from the closet. “I’ll just get dressed now.” She shuffled backward, stopping when her back
thunk
ed against the bathroom door, exhaling an
oof
.

“You okay?”

She snorted. “Peachy keen.” Then she scurried into the bathroom, shoving the door shut behind her.

They sure were a pair of articulate people.

He fought the urge to smother himself with a thick pillow. What would he say to her, anyway?
I know last night only happened because of the spiked wine, but I’d like it to happen again.
That didn’t sound desperate or pathetic at all. He groaned.

Time to get his balls out of Ryder’s purse and man up. They
’
d fucked. It was good. It wouldn’t happen again. So what? It wasn’t as if he cared.

Bravado pumping him back up, he sprang off the bed and pulled on his boxers.

“I’m going to go grab some breakfast. You want me to bring you back anything?” Ryder’s voice had regained is firm footing in badass chick territory, which made sense since she was back in her usual all-black uniform of skinny cigarette pants and a sheer black blouse with a tank underneath. Noticing a woman’s outfit was second nature to him by now—the pro and con of living and breathing women’s fashion for the past decade.

“Breakfast?” His stomach rumbled. “Grab me something with lots of protein. We’ve got to nail down Sarah Molina today at the fashion show. I could use an energy boost.”

Ryder picked at the collar of her blouse, right next to the spot where he’d done his damnedest to mark her last night. Heat rushed up his body at the memory of their battle for dominance. Be it the bedroom or the boardroom, few people ever challenged him. He’d never experienced such a rush of excitement at the prospect of battle as he had last night with Ryder.

“Protein it is.” She gave a curt nod and slipped out the door.

Looked like they were going to ignore the smell of hot sex still hanging in the room. He was good with that. Course he was. He was Devin Harris—jock turned fashion executive; rich kid made good; a man who rarely spent a night alone unless he wanted it that way. His hangover explained the tightness in his throat. No way was it because of her.

He strolled toward the bathroom, stopping when his toes brushed the filmy yellow material puddled on the floor. Without thinking twice, he bent down and grabbed the soft sarong she had worn. Her sensual scent teased his senses, and his body responded with an instant hardening. After breathing in one last, deep lungful, he let the fabric slide out of his grasp.

…

“
I swear to God, Sylvie, if you breathe a word of this to Tony, I will never come back and you’ll have to explain to my mother why her baby daughter is living on an island where they probably make lasagna with cottage cheese.” The cramp in Ryder’s stomach had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the hot guy she’d left in the suite.

A staticky silence crackled from her cell phone as she paced in front of the ice machine. A
crash
sounded behind her and she whipped around, half expecting to see Devin and his drool-worthy six-pack leaning against a wall. Instead, the hall remained empty. More banging emanated from the ice machine as it dropped a fresh load of ice into the freezer.

High-strung? Her? Not at all.

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I promise not to breathe a word of it to your brother, even if he is asleep in the next room and would turn about twenty shades of pissed off if I told him you were sleeping with a client.”

Her brother’s live-in girlfriend and her best friend or not, Ryder was going to kill Sylvie.

“
Slept
. Past tense. It will not happen again.”

“That sure was convincing, said no one, ever.”

Ryder shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t even like him.” Good thing she was leaning against the ice machine because her black pants were about to spontaneously combust.

“
Uh-huh
.”

“He’s just so…”

“Hot? Good in bed? Sex on a stick?”

Yes. Yes. And yes
. “You are not helping, Sylvie.”

“Look, I remember what you were like after you two hooked up and you ditched him like Cinderella after the ball. You were a mopey and snarly woman, and if I didn’t love you, I’d have conked you over the head with my favorite Coach bag. Something about this guy just does it for you. Maybe it’s time you started listening to that little voice inside you. Your instincts weren’t totally off with any of your exes—even with Heath. You went with your gut and you found out the truth.”

The idea of doing that scared and thrilled her. Could she trust herself again? Was she on target with Devin?

“Anyway,” Sylvie chuckled. “You’re in a tropical island paradise with him, you might as well go for broke.”

Ryder’s stomach fluttered. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“What are friends for?”

“Chocolate ice cream and booze.”

Sylvie laughed. “Yeah, I’m good for that, too.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to need both when I get back to Harbor City. Thanks for everything, Sylvie.”

“No problem.” She sighed. “But think about what I had said, okay?”

Thinking about Devin wasn’t the problem. The fact that she couldn’t
stop
thinking about the hotness sitting in the suite, now
that
was a huge problem.

“Before you go, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.” Sylvie paused.

Ryder’s sixth sense for trouble perked up, and she held her breath, knowing whatever she heard next would rock her world.

…

The egg white omelet could have been made from painted cardboard for all Devin could taste. All the brain cells not connected to basic functions, like remembering to breathe, were busy making sure he didn’t say or do anything stupid while sitting across from Ryder at the wrought iron table on the patio.

Over her left shoulder, he could see white-tipped waves rolling onto the beach about ten yards from where they sat silently during the most tension-filled breakfast he’d ever experienced. Shit, telling his father to go ahead and disown him hadn’t been as nerve-wracking.

If he could turn down the Harris billions without blinking an eye, surely, breaking bread with Ryder Falcon was no big deal. He just needed to explain that last night was a freak—and freaky hot—occurrence that couldn’t happen again. The irony of being the one to say those words after the way she’d ditched him after their previous night together should have been a kick-ass victory.

It wasn’t.

“So…” His brain tried to catch up with his mouth, but it was slow rolling. “How’s your fruit and yogurt?”

“Good.” Ryder sucked the last bit of Greek yogurt off her spoon and Devin bent his fork, the metal digging into his thumb.

He must have groaned out loud because her lips started to twitch and she snorted a half giggle. “Let’s just get it out there, okay? We had sex. It was awesome, but it shouldn’t have happened.” Her brown eyes locked in on him as an ocean breeze tumbled her hair. “We’re both grown-ups. We can move forward from here.”

It was awesome.
The phrase stood out as if she’d spray painted it on the table. She thought sex with him was
awesome
.

She stared at him for a moment with her wide brown eyes as if she expected him to argue, to protest, but his brain was too scrambled to come up with anything. His gaze followed a long strand of silky brown as it tangled around her blouse buttons.

“Glad you see it that way,” she uttered, her tone sharp.

What had he missed? She’d just blown him off. Again.

Her spoon clanged against the parfait glass rim as she released it and then crossed her arms, dislodging the hair that had snared his attention…and his libido.

The woman twisted his brain. Not sleeping with her was the best thing for both of them with so much on the line. He
did
see it that way. At least his big head did. The little head had other ideas. On automatic pilot, he shoveled the last bite of omelet into his mouth and followed it with the last gulp of orange juice.

“We’d better get moving.” Ryder’s chair screeched against the cement patio as she pushed back from the table and stood.

Keep it professional and all business
. He could do this.

Couldn’t he?

…

Ryder stopped halfway into the room and waited for Devin to close the sliding glass door. As soon as it clicked shut, she put the bed between them, needing the mental safety a physical barrier provided. Then she glanced down at the rumpled covers, still twisted from last night
’
s activities, and heat singed her from the toes up. Sylvie was wrong. Trusting her instincts was the last thing that should happen.

Devin’s quiet chuckle from the other side of the room meant her reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Great.

She hot-stepped it away from the bed and toward him. “I talked to my friend Sylvie this morning. She’s a fashion blogger, the High-Heeled Wonder.”

“Sylvie Bissette, right?” He strolled closer, his pace as deliberate as his words. “Wasn’t she the one who had that crazy stalker a while back?”

“That would be the one.” A demented fashion insider-turned-whack-a-do had become obsessed with outing Sylvie
’
s top secret blogger identity and then killing her. Yeah, the stalker had been a real piece of work, to put it mildly. The only good thing to come out of the whole situation had been Tony and Sylvie falling in love.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Stalker cases?”

“No.” Devin stopped within arm
’
s reach. “Maltese Security personnel getting involved with a client.”

Ryder stumbled over her own feet and wobbled in midair. Just as gravity grabbed hold of her, Devin wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his hard chest. His hand lay flat against her stomach, fingers spread wide. Electricity jumped from his fingertips to her skin, strong enough that she might well have been naked instead of wearing a simple cotton tank. The power of attraction coursed through her and raced across her skin, making her breathless and lightheaded.

Heat sizzled through her veins. It was too much in one breath and not enough in the next. She felt ready to combust on the spot. Which was why she had to put as much space between them as possible. Too bad forcing her legs to move had become beyond her capability.

She had to get the words out before her brain short-circuited. “Someone told Sylvie that Dylan’s Department Store is about to tank financially.”

He jumped backward, as if her words had burned him. “And how in the hell would someone know that?” Accusation lay heavy in his tone.

But she noticed he hadn
’
t denied it. All the soft fuzzies evaporated in a second. “W-what?”

“Up until you dropped your four-point-seven million dollar bomb on me in Harbor City, it seemed that George was the only one who knew that bit of information. Hell, even I didn’t have a clue that it
’
s as bad as it is. This could ruin the MultiCorp deal.”

She rounded on him and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you blaming the leak on
me
?”

Anger had painted him scarlet. Before he could open his accusing mouth, a knock sounded at the door. She stormed over and yanked it open.