Chased by Love (Love in Bloom: The Ryders): Trish Ryder (8 page)

She gave him a curious look.

“You.”

She laughed and shook her head like he was joking, though he wasn’t. She stabbed a piece of chicken and held it up for him to eat. He narrowed his eyes, and she arched a brow, poking his lips with the fork.

“Pushy,” he teased.

She shoved the food into his mouth, and he grabbed her hand. He wanted to tug her in and devour her whole. He swallowed the meat and set the fork down on the plate with his other hand.

“What is it about you, Trish Ryder?” Their faces were so close he could hear her breathing. “You said I scare you, but I think you’re scared of who you
think
I am. And honestly, you scare the hell out of me, because you make me feel things I’ve never felt.”

She trapped her lower lip between her teeth. He couldn’t take his eyes off of that trapped lip. He had a burning desire to kiss it free, but it was trapped because of him, so he forced himself to lift his eyes to hers and work it free with the truth instead.

“I haven’t slept with groupies in almost a decade.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed again. Her sexy mouth still held that luscious lip captive.

“I don’t blame you for not believing me.” He searched her eyes, but this time it wasn’t her eyes giving away her desires. It was the way she leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his forearm. Her whole body seemed to be waiting for his next sentence.

Her lip sprang free, and she slicked her tongue over it. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just so different from everything I’ve ever read about you.”

He shrugged again. “It comes with the territory.  You’ve heard my music. It’s not exactly pure or wholesome. An image has to match the brand.”

“I guess, but what are you saying? That it’s all a farce?”

“Depends on your definition of a farce. I party with my friends. I make appearances at the after-parties when I’m on tour, but that’s not my life. I’ve got too many other things on my plate to get tangled up in groupies and their games, or to waste brain cells on getting stoned or drunk.”

“So you don’t drink? Like at all?”

“Sure. I have a drink now and again if I’m at home with my buddies. But having a drink isn’t the same as
drinking
.”

She traced his tattoos with her finger. “Is there a reason? I mean, do you, have you, had a problem?”

She was being careful, and he knew that must be hard for her, given her propensity for being pushy, and he was even more attracted to her because of it. He took her hand in his. The sounds of the trees rustling in the breeze filled the silence as he wrestled with his answer.

“Some people might call it a problem. But I think it’s just common sense.”

Her brows knitted with confusion. He didn’t want to get lost in his painful past, but he wanted her to know the truth.

“We lost my father to a drunk driver when I was twelve.” He was surprised at how easily the words came. “I don’t have the same passion for drinking that other people do.”

She squeezed his hand. “Oh, Boone. I’m so sorry. And there I was sucking down beer like water tonight.”

“Hey, everyone has their vices.”

“But I’m not like that.” She lowered her eyes, then raised them again. “I’m saying that an awful lot lately, aren’t I? I did drink as a vice tonight, because I feel so much when I’m with you, it’s hard to handle. But I don’t usually drink like that, and I didn’t realize it would affect me so strongly.”

“I’m not judging you, and if there’s ever a good excuse for drinking, I think you’ve just found it.”

“You aren’t judging, but you did try to warn me. You pointed out that I might not know my limit, living on fumes.”

“Sorry. It wasn’t my place to try to stop you.”

“Would you try to stop one of those groupies at your trailer the other night?”

“I’m really not in the mood to play this game.” He rose to his feet and she came up beside him and touched his arm.

“I’m not playing a game. I really want to know.”

“No, okay? And they aren’t
my
groupies. I let my buddy stay with me and he left them behind.” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but it was hard for him to admit what he had, and he was edgy and tense, made worse by the oil and water effect they had on each other. Adrenaline and heat pumped through his veins, and when she stepped closer he fisted his hands to keep from taking her in his arms.

She gazed silently up at him, her hazel eyes darkening seductively as they moved over his face. He wanted to dive in and never come up for air.

“Would you have warned Honor?”

“Of course. Or my brothers, or sister, or—”

She pressed her hands to his chest and whispered his name. He raised his brows, afraid if he exerted any more effort he wouldn’t be able to resist taking the kiss he’d been craving since they left the bar.

“Why did you pick that karaoke song tonight?” The challenge in her eyes told him she already knew the answer.

“Why do you think?”

She moved
his
arms around her waist, just as he’d moved hers around his neck earlier, and he grabbed hold. Forget restraint. Forget how they clashed and sparked at every turn. All that existed right at that moment was the flush on her skin, the passion in her voice, and her sweet, glistening lips. And when she pressed her soft body against his, he was barely able to bite back a greedy groan.

“For the same reason you warned me about not drinking too much and the reason you made me dinner. I might be stubborn and thick-headed and overly careful, but I’m not stupid.”

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck. “Don’t forget pushy.”

She slicked her tongue over her lips. “Boone?”

He tangled his hand in her hair, and she sucked in a sharp breath. His other hand slid to her ass, pressing her against his hard length. “Yes, beautiful?”

She smiled. “I know it’s been longer than sixty seconds, but I definitely want to kiss you.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, tasting her sweetness. “You do, do you?” He traced her lower lip with his tongue. “I’ve been wanting to do this since you held this lip hostage.” He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, and her whole body shuddered.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

He kissed the swell of her upper lip, teasing her as much as he was torturing himself. She tried to capture his mouth, but he tightened his grip on her hair, holding her in place, and she moaned. It was a pleading, heady sound, and he wanted to hear more of them.

He took her in a series of slow, drugging kisses. She tasted like fear and risk and wicked, savage desire aching to be set free. She moaned again, and it vibrated through him. Her body arched against him, trying to get closer, clawing at his skin, but he was in no hurry to end this feast. 

“Boone,” she pleaded as he trailed kisses over her jaw, nipping as he went.

“Shh. Now it’s my turn.”

COLD AIR SWEPT over Trish’s legs and face, but it was no match for the heat consuming her. Boone’s kisses were divine. Soft and tender, then rough and hungry. Lust pulsed through her limbs, between her legs, and radiated through her chest with every touch of his lips. He teased and taunted until she was ready to explode. His hand ran up her bare thigh, leaving a trail of heat, and slid beneath her shorts. She rocked against him, urging him on. His fingertips grazed her panties, and her sex pulsed in anticipation. Thoughts raced through her mind, but the only one that stuck was more, more,
more
!

His mouth—
God, your glorious mouth
—was an inferno, hot and wet and strong. Every kiss was more incredible than the last. He wasn’t just kissing her. He was devouring her, killing her brain cells with every stroke of his talented tongue. He took the kiss deeper, harder, rougher. She pushed her hands into his hair and held him to her, opening her mouth—and her legs—wider. He groaned, and it was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. Their bodies ground together, his hard shaft pressing into her belly. His hand moved from between her legs around to her ass, slipping beneath her shorts again and searing a five-finger burn through her panties. Her needy pleas were garbled and lost in their kisses. He tugged her head back and sealed his mouth over her neck, sucking and licking and driving her out of her mind. He pushed his hand under her shirt and,
good Lord
, she lost herself in the feel of his rough hand moving over her heated flesh. His thumb grazed the underside of her breast.

Yes. Please, more
.

Her nipples were on fire, and when he palmed her breast she moaned again. Her plea sailed into the air. She wanted him to shred her clothes and take her right there in the grass, beneath the clouds and the starless night sky. To feel all of his strength and torment, to
finally
feel him letting her in.

Boone tore his mouth from hers, his eyes blazing, his lips red from their toe-curling kisses, so tempting she had to have them again. She grabbed his head and tugged him in for another scorching kiss. Her hands traveled over his back, down his flanks, to his firm ass, memorizing the feel of every inch to draw upon later, because as much as she wanted to feel him sinking into her and hear him groan out her name in the throes of passion, she needed to slow this runaway train.  She wanted—needed—to know more about him, what he’d gone through, where his head was, before they went any further.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, and—
oh God, yes
—he slicked his tongue along the shell of her ear, and her whole body shivered.

“Trish,” he whispered in a rough voice. He drew back, both of them breathless, and cradled her face between his hands. He pressed his lips to hers in a tender, delicious kiss, and when he drew back again, the hunger in his gaze softened and somehow became even more penetrating.

Neither of them moved. A handful of silent messages passed between them.
Holy hell, that was amazing. What now? I want you. You scare me.
The strongest message of all—
This is only the tip of the iceberg
—lingered loud and clear.

The breeze picked up, kicking her brain back to life. Feeling self-conscious, she smoothed her shirt and tugged at the hem of her shorts. He kept one hand on her cheek and reached for her hand with the other. His brows slanted, and his jaw suddenly tightened.

“Don’t.”

She stilled at the command.

He stepped closer, their bodies smoldering like molten lava. She was trembling, not from the cool air whisking over her skin but from the sheer, unadulterated lust thrumming through her. She’d just finished telling him she wasn’t interested in a fling, and then she’d practically attacked him. Had she lost her mind?

He laced their fingers and touched his lips to hers again in another surprisingly tender kiss, and her only thought was if this was insanity, she was moving to Crazytown, USA.

“Don’t let the awkwardness steal any part of what we just felt. Of what we
feel
.”

Was this really the man she’d been arguing with for the past week? His lips curved up in a confused and hopeful smile that softened some of his hard edges. Her lips burned with abrasions from their rough kisses, and her heart pined for more. Warmth and affection washed over his features, followed by a wave of ice, and a second later his expression relaxed into an unnameable middle ground, as heated and confused as her thoughts. It was all she could do to nod.

She turned toward the porch, having absolutely no idea how long their make-out session had lasted. Had they been kissing for hours, or was it only a few all-consuming minutes? She was suddenly too exhausted to try to figure it out. All she wanted was more of him. She wanted to curl up in his arms and talk and kiss and touch and feel, which made no logical sense. Boone wasn’t a touchy-feely guy, and
he
was telling her not to let the awkwardness steal any part of what they’d felt? She thought he’d be the one scoffing and playing it off like it hadn’t meant a darn thing. But he was still holding her hand as they walked up the porch steps.

“Trish?”

She turned to face him, and in the dim light coming through the screen door she recalled his torturous expression as he’d told her about losing his father and about his mother’s health. He’d said only a few sentences, but his confession felt monumental. She didn’t know what to make of this side of him, or of her overwhelming emotions, but she felt herself getting caught up in him again and wondered if this was what people meant when they said the heart wanted what the heart wanted. It must be, she deduced, because she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her again, to carry her upstairs and—

He gathered her in his arms and gazed into her eyes, bringing her back from her fantasy.

“Six months,” he said with a serious tone that made her wonder if she’d missed something he’d said.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“It’s been six months since I’ve kissed a woman.”

Holy cow. Six months?
“I…I didn’t ask.”

“No, but you assume a lot of things about me, and I wanted you to know so you wouldn’t stay up all night thinking you’d just added your name to another one of the fictional lists you think I have.”

She fed off of each secret he shared, like a mouse following a trail of the most delicious cheese. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I
wanted
to kiss you.”

“Yeah, I know. And what I want to do goes so far beyond kissing that I wanted you to know the truth.” He knelt to pick up the plate and silverware they’d left on the porch.

Her mind reeled at his confession.

He looked up at her with an unexpected smile. “I’ve got this.”

She glanced at the sleeping kitten.

“I’ve got him, too. You should go get some sleep. We have a lot of lines to go over tomorrow.”

Lines? She was still stuck on going beyond kissing.
She
wanted to go beyond kissing, despite the red flags waving in her head. She wasn’t ready to walk inside. She moved to pick up the kitten sleeping soundly in the guitar case, and Boone touched her arm.

“Really, go get some sleep. I’m holding on to my control by a thread. If I touch you again, I’m not going to stop.”

She debated that for a minute. She wanted to step forward and be consumed by him.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “You’re not sure about me, and I’ve got so much shit going on in my life. I can’t make any promises.” He paused long enough for that to settle in. “Whatever this is between us, I have a feeling you could break me into a million little pieces, and I have too many people counting on me to let myself go there.”

**

AFTER TOO FEW hours of sleep, Boone awoke to the kitten’s tiny paws batting at his hair. He lay there thinking about the incredible kisses he and Trish had shared and reliving every touch. He’d told her things he’d never told anyone, and the strangest part of it all was that long after she’d gone to sleep, he wished she hadn’t, and not just so they could have sex. He wanted to get to know her better. To talk about her family and see what was really going on in her pretty little head. When he’d finally gone inside and up to his bedroom, he’d lain in bed for hours thinking about Trish. As usual, his thoughts had moved down his list of responsibilities: Jude, Lucky, his mother, and the movie he was supposed to be focusing on. He’d tried calling Jude again, and when his call went to voicemail he left another message. Now he was restless, and there were only three remedies to this sort of restlessness—music, sex, and cooking. He’d sworn off meaningless sex—and he knew if he landed in bed with Trish it would be far from meaningless, which meant it was still on the list.
Forbidden fruit
. All that was left was music and cooking.

Trish’s door was still closed after he’d showered and dressed, with no signs of life coming from the other side, so music wasn’t an option. He headed down to the kitchen with the nameless kitten tucked under his arm and went to work scrambling out his frustrations.

A while later, after eating breakfast and washing the dishes, he gazed out the window over the sink, watching storm clouds roll in and thinking about Trish. He tried to convince himself that what he felt for her was nothing more than lust. Lust was something he could understand and deal with. He knew how to turn lust off. Hell, he’d become a master at it, because turning it off was easier than dealing with the self-loathing that came after having sex with women he didn’t give a shit about.

“You cooked.”

His heart did a weird thumping dance at the sound of Trish’s voice. He turned as she padded across the kitchen floor wearing a T-shirt that barely covered her ass. Every ounce of his body came to life. She leaned over the table eyeing the feast he’d prepared, and the hem of her shirt lifted, exposing the curve of her ass and the creamy expanse of her upper thighs. Even with his cock’s full salute, his heart was what had Boone’s mind spinning unfamiliar webs.

He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. “I made you an egg-white omelet. No fat. Help yourself to the fruit.”

“You thought about me?” She tucked her right foot behind the left, her knee slightly bent, and trapped her lower lip between her teeth, looking impossibly sexy and sweet.

 “All night long,” he mumbled, and handed her a plate from the cabinet. “So, we’re going to actually try to act today instead of just reading lines?” That was dangerous territory for him, almost as dangerous as standing beside her wondering if she was wearing a thong or going commando under her shirt.

“If you think you can handle it,” she said with a seductive shake of her shoulders and a sinful smile.

“There’s not much I can’t handle.”

“Hm?” She arched a brow and closed her eyes as she bit into a strawberry. “Mm. This is
so
delicious.”

Chalk him up to being a caveman, because as she licked her fingers his mind saw them wrapped around his cock while she licked him like a lollipop.

He headed back upstairs to take a cold shower. A
very
cold shower.

Or two.