When I don’t answer, he says, ‘For the tasting. You have to sample the goods. When you finally do, I know you’ll never want to put another thing anywhere near those lips.’ His finger brushes over my mouth and a low chuckle escapes his throat.
Ok. He’s definitely cranking up the heat. Last week, it probably would have had me swooning. The man is undeniably attractive. Effortless to be around. He radiates warmth like a summer’s day. This week, with Ryan here, I don’t know how to feel.
‘It’s not like my social calendar is hopping. You know where to find me.’ Patting his arm again, I shoot him a smile as I leave.
Ryan’s return is doing funny things to me. Awakening parts of my body I’ve squashed for years. Since our close encounter, apart from the rage that simmers beneath my surface, I’m in a permanent state of hot-and-bothered.
I decide to email the agency from the privacy of my own suite, away from Conor, and Ryan, who thankfully, I haven’t laid eyes on since I saved his ass from the shameless stalkers.
That’s not to say I haven’t thought about him though. Lusty thoughts invade my brain mercilessly, even when I’m asleep.
I’m a woman, with wants and needs, but it’s only now they’ve begun to stir in me again. With Victoria turning eighteen soon, maybe Megan’s right. Maybe it’s time to address those wants and needs.
Am I finally ready to look for a relationship? If I am, Conor would make the perfect partner.
If only I could feel the way about him that I did for Ryan all those years ago. I’ve got a horrible feeling he’s permanently ruined me for anyone else.
When I reach the top of the walnut staircase, the gentle thrumming of an acoustic guitar rings through the air, its soft, lulling melody calling to the fragmented parts of my soul. Its draw is so powerful, I unwittingly follow, seeking the origin.
Subconsciously, I know the source. I just don’t expect it to be in my private quarters.
Opening the navy double doors, I slip into my living area. Ryan perches on my couch, oozing sex appeal by the bucket load.
He’s bigger now, more powerful looking. His perfect features are carved into an expression of lustful longing. A sharp burst of heat stokes my lady parts.
A muscled forearm supports the guitar. Slow, deliberate strokes across the strings send shivers rattling over my spine, simultaneously chilling and heating my skin in a silent war between the devil and angel inside. The devil urges me to throw myself at him. Straddle him like I’ve done so many times before on this very couch. There was some serious make-out sessions in the build-up to the actual V-card event.
With his eyes closed tight in concentration, his husky, rich voice croons so softly, I almost don’t catch the words.
Almost.
Something about a lost love. A hurt so deep it drowns a person from within.
The angel inside wants me to hold him, hug away his hurt, because it’s clear from his expression, he’s harbouring something similar to me.
Tears well, threatening to spill over my hastily applied foundation. I haven’t cried in years. I fear if I do, it’ll be the equivalent of a dam bursting.
I watch, paralysed, hypnotised, until he strums the final chord. His eyes open, and he stares at me, through me. Instead of being surprised at my presence, it’s almost like he expected it.
‘You heard me?’ His voice is thick, sensual, weighted with emotion.
I get the impression he’s asking if I heard what he was trying to tell me, not the tune he was playing.
‘Is it new?’ The urge to know that is bigger than the urge to know why exactly he’s playing it in my lounge.
‘It is.’ He sighs and pats the couch next to him, inviting me to sit.
I do because I’m terrified if I don’t my legs might buckle beneath me.
‘I’ve been struggling,’ he begins.
His dark eyes exude heat and vulnerability as they search mine for something. Understanding? Acceptance? Reassurance? I don’t know.
‘That’s the first song I’ve written in years. The words wouldn’t come, the feelings, they wouldn’t come.’ He glances round wistfully. ‘Here, they flood me to the point I feel like I might drown.’
I know what he means. Little by little, my anger at him thaws, melting with each passing second, each smouldering glance.
‘Sorry for the intrusion, by the way. I thought you’d be in your father’s office. I mean your office… Victoria said…’ He shrugs. ‘It’s not like I can wander round freely, there are limited places I can hang out and the penthouse was getting claustrophobic.’
