Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (22 page)

Plus, he got along well with the guys at his health club. The locker room was a level playing field that didn’t rely on manners or position or the size of one’s . . .
bank account.
So, pretending he was too busy or had never found anyone worth developing a relationship with, whether as a friend, neighbor, or lover, was asinine.

He was undeniably a smart guy, but he’d been fooling himself all these years about why he self-isolated and refrained from personal interactions. Whatever bullshit he’d been clinging to was obliterated by the way he responded to the pensive lady seated in his car.

The truth exploded in his brain. For years, his MO had been that if he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anything. So after sending her away, he down shifted to a state of emotional idle. His motivator, the only thing left driving him, was the need for retribution that had been building inside him since he was a kid. Liam was on a mission, and she had been the sacrifice. The thing he gave up to have what he’d worked so long and so hard for.

Personal interactions weren’t where he did his best work, so he struggled with the
how
of doing that since he knew damn well if he wanted to gain her trust, he’d have to start sharing these things.

Hearing a melancholy sigh from Rhiann’s side of the car, he focused on the energy in their small space and picked it apart. From time to time, her hands ran in a smoothing motion over the dress covering her thighs. Nerves? Reflex?

In just the past couple of minutes, she’d reached up and fussed with her hair several times. A distraction? Maybe an unconscious habit.

The sigh, however, told him that she was deep in thought. He was sure that more had happened with the Baron-Wilde clan today than just a heart to heart with her older sister. And while part of him wanted to know every thought in her head, he knew that she was dealing with the tumult of family dynamics—something he had no experience with. But for her, he’d give it a try.

“Want to talk about it?” They’d been silent for most of an hour so Liam asked the question quietly. Respectfully. He wanted her to know she didn’t have to although he hoped she’d share some of what was swirling inside her.

D
ID SHE WANT TO TALK about it?
Good heavens! She had no idea. Did she?

Rhiann found it incredibly easy to talk to Liam. He actually paid attention and she liked the quick way his mind worked. The man was a thinker, an unusual trait these days. Most of the guys she came in contact with through her career were endlessly self-promoting and as deep as a teaspoon of water. She hungered for more than an eye for trends and the ability to read pop culture.

She was smart, funny, and creative—was aware of world events and could speak passionately about a variety of issues, which had nothing whatsoever to do with the world of fashion or what constituted the life of a young professional trying to make it in the Big Apple. All of the Wilde sisters were well rounded and intelligent. And like their vivacious mother and high-spirited grandmother, the sort of women who did not suffer fools gladly.

Mr. Three-Piece Suit was anything but a fool. Maybe that was why she couldn’t stay distant. The insane physical attraction aside, they gave good conversation. Always had. He challenged her, and she spoke her mind to him. Had no problem balls-out arguing with him for the sake of, well . . . just for the sake of arguing.

And he called her on her shit, most of the time. Rhi secretly liked that he did. Very much. Ordinarily her . . .
grasp
of the English language meant she ran verbal circles around the mere mortals she dealt with. But Smarty McSmartison? The one with the arrogant tilt to his jaw and those freaky steel blue eyes? Back down, he did not. It turned her on that he didn’t take her shit and at least tried to put Rhiann in her place.

Had her mind just
whispered
that last thought? Yep. Sheesh. Did she imagine he could read her mind? Looking at his strong profile illuminated by the soft glowing console lights in the car, she silently snickered.
Why, yes. Yes, she did.

Holding back or making polite chitchat to fill the silence weren’t options. They’d been friends before.
Good
friends despite the way he downplayed that part in the end. Maybe sitting there as they were, cocooned in the dark, as the car sped along the highway was the perfect setting for a normal conversation. One that didn’t end with one or both of them either pissed off or half naked. Finding a middle ground would be nice.

“Charlie’s coming home soon. For the wedding,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Mom and Dad were freaking out that the whole family would be together again. That part,” she sighed, “was all kinds of cute. They scored high marks in the Parental Adorabilis category.”

Liam snorted out a chuckle. “Have you always made up words like that?”

“What?” she giggled. “
Adorabilis?
No?”

Now see? This was what she liked. They were so easy together.
Well,
she smirked.
Easy when he wasn’t being all Master of BPG and whatnot.
That was new . . . and irritating as hell.

Turning in her seat, she adjusted the safety belt and directed her attention to him. Crossing her legs, she didn’t bother to push the hem of her dress down because the car was so dark. Putting a hand on the center console, close enough to his big body that her pinkie almost touched his arm, Rhi relaxed and enjoyed his company.

“I’ll have you know that I won the sixth grade spelling bee all because I love words. Big words. Little words. Made up words. Words that roll off your tongue and others that fall apart in the saying. It’s all good.”

She heard praise in his voice when he said, “It shows, you know. In your work.”

The darkness obscured Rhi’s confused frown. “How?”

“Well,” he answered smoothly. “I’ve read a couple of your reports and presentations. You have a very evocative way of putting things.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She laughed. “I do that, I think, because it seems like people don’t make use of their imaginations. So, you sort of have to take them by the hand and paint as precise a picture as you can. And do it with as few big words as possible.”

The rumbling sound of Liam’s deep laughter filled the car. She liked hearing it. This was the guy she knew.

“Like
big
words, do you?”

Ah.
He wanted to play. This was always so much fun.
Game on, Ashforth,
she thought.

“Mm
mm.
It’s not size that matters.”

“No?”

Typical dude response.
Rhi grinned.

“Nah,” she drawled. “It’s the fit that counts.”

The teasing in his voice was melting her insides.

“Do tell,
milaya.
”

O
hhh,
she sure as hell would!

She saw him glance at her face and chose the moment to wet her lips with a slow swipe of her tongue. His answering grin was easy to read.

“Some words just fit,” she purred although Rhi hadn’t intended to sound so husky and turned on.

“It’s a process,” she told him. “For me . . . I like to taste the word first.” She licked her lips and grinned. “Feel it roll off my tongue.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

Was he thinking about her tongue rolling around the head of his cock? If he wasn’t—she’d surely lost her touch.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It has to feel right. You can’t just jam any old word in. If fit is what counts . . . well, you have to do the work to make sure the, um . . .
word,
is worth the effort.”

“Have experience with a lot of
words,
do you?”

Oh, jeez. If only he knew. Now, however, would not be the time to get into that particular subject.

She chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Rhiann didn’t imagine that he’d let her non-answer go without trying another tactic. She wasn’t wrong.

“Well, how about a favorite word? Is there . . . maybe, one in particular that you favor?”

“Mm
mm.
Since you asked. . . . .I’m quite partial to
fuck.
”

He hissed in surprise at her direct and provocative reply. She shocked him and knowing that wobbled Rhiann a bit. Well, he wanted to play and since this particular playground was where she excelled, he might as well shut up and sit down ‘cause she was in the moment.

“
Fuck
may be the best thing ever known to mankind. It can be used as a verb, adverb, adjective, command, interjection, and a noun. And I find it can be added to almost any sentence, like,
What the actual fucking fuck?
”

Liam groaned. She plowed on with a wide grin.

“It’s offensive, profane, and all-around attention getter no matter how it’s used.
Fuck
also has a shit ton of metaphors. Used as a verb, to get fucked can mean being screwed over but mostly it’s used to describe the act of sexual penetration.”

This time he cleared his throat.

“I like using it as a noun. Calling someone a fucker can be most satisfying. And upping fucker to
motherfucker
has even greater meaning. So is using the word for emphasis—which is something I excel at. Fuck up, fuck with, fuck over, fuck around . . . all worthy expressions, don’t you think?”

“You forgot the most important fuck,” he drawled.

Rhiann had to laugh. Of course, she did! That was because she wanted him to say it.

“Didn’t hear you say. . . .
fuck me.
”

She wanted to clap her hands with childish glee and hoot with laughter but managed a quiet giggle before chidingly answering, “Nor will you, Mr. Ashforth!”

Winning!

He threw back his head and laughed at how deftly she’d steered him into giving her the opportunity to play the tease. It would be okay with her if he just laughed for the next hour because the sound and the way it made her feel was
fucking
awesome.

“Um,” Rhiann asked quietly. “Can we stop for a minute at the next rest area?”

“Sure,” he answered. “We just passed a sign saying the next one was in twenty miles. Think you can hold out that long?”

“No!” she yelled. “Pull over right now.”

“What?”

A hilariously funny half snort-half laugh ripped through the car as his travel companion slapped her knee and cackled gleefully.

“Just fucking with you,” she giggled. “Wanna make sure to keep you on your toes, Ashforth.”

He loved that she saw things that way. Like it was her job to make sure he didn’t take himself and everything else so seriously. Man—he really had missed her. Missed
this.

“Speaking of staying on one’s toes,” he told her. “You have quite a big project to bring in between now and the end of the year, don’t you?”

Whoosh.
A mantle of arctic air settled around them in the car. It happened so fast he barely had time to swallow.

“Yes,” she answered in a clipped fashion. “My team has things well in hand. This campaign will be marvelous for
Passion.
” He felt her looking at him through the darkness. “BPG will reap the corporate benefits, I’m sure.”

Okay, what the fuck just happened? Why did it seem like her last statement actually ended with a pithy but unspoken,
Eat shit and die?

“Did I push a button,
milaya?
”

“Can we not talk about work?”

Uh-oh.
Something wasn’t right.

The damn phone chose that moment to chirp. Irritated at the interruption, Liam glanced at the control screen and saw that it was Roman calling.
Balls.
He had to answer.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Have to take this.”

Connecting with the Bluetooth, he answered curtly. “Hello.”

Roman’s no-nonsense response came through. “Update,” was all the man got to say before Liam interrupted.

“You’re on speakerphone.”

There was a long pause during which he was sure he could hear the gears working in his security chief’s brain. There was only one reason to be on the speaker and that was because he was driving and he’d already covered the reasons why that was unusual in and of itself.

“Are you in the city?”

“No. We’re on ninety-five about thirty minutes out from the tunnel. Why?”