If You Need Me: The Ashford Legacy, Book 1 (2 page)

Rayna put the cap on the lip balm and frowned into the mirror. “Of course he does—and it hasn’t scared him away yet.” But it would. It was only a matter of time. “Hey, Mom? He’s gonna be calling me on the other line. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Sure, honey. Sleep well, and think about what I told you. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Rayna hung up, yanked on her denim shorts and T-shirt, then dashed down the hall. She hurled herself at the couch with a happy squeal—happy to be free from all things Texas, happy because her lover was probably logging on to his computer at that very moment. It was five p.m. here in California, eight p.m. in New York. Kyle was likely just getting home from the gym, and he’d be all sweaty. And steamy. And heaven help her beleaguered sex toys if he kept leaving images like that in her head.

She tensed in anticipation when the chime sounded and her computer screen displayed the message
Incoming Video Call
. With an evil grin, she grabbed the flower off of the coffee table and tucked it into the minipocket on her V-neck T-shirt, then clicked
Accept
.

Chapter Two

The image on the screen solidified, going from black to gray to the grainy colors of a dimly lit room. Kyle’s navy sofa was dead center with rumpled shirts in one corner. That expensive-looking painting of a schooner battling frothy waves hung on the wall behind him. And in the middle of it all—Kyle.

His button-down white shirt was bright in the otherwise gloomy shot. He clearly hadn’t been to the gym or even had time to change into casual wear yet, so either he was exhausted from a long day or he was extra-eager to chat. His gaze flitted around the screen, taking her in, and he smiled. “Hey there. How was your day?”

Three months, and it still made her heart race to sit on the couch and exchange pleasantries with the man. “Good, except I just got off the phone with my mom.”

“How’d that go?”

“It was interesting. I learned our next-door neighbor just passed away, and I’m pretty sure my parents are arranging my marriage to his son so they can combine their parcels of land into a never-ending expanse of cattle and cow pies.”

He cocked a brow. “Nice. Is that matchmaking, Texas-style?”

“I’d call it more…medieval. Besides, the guy is like a brother to me.”

“Huh.” He smoothed his palms over his slacks, looking kind of cute with his lips pressed into a jealous line. “And what did you say to her?”

Rayna grinned. “Well, of course I told her to sign me up!”

He finally chuckled. “Hey, as long as your new rancher-brother-husband doesn’t mind me coming into your living room every night, we’ll make it work.”

“I won’t marry him unless he accepts you into my virtual harem, I promise.”

“Now I’ve been demoted to your virtual
harem
? And I thought what we had was special…” He buried his face in his hands for a moment, then looked up at her. “I think I’m overdue for a visit to California. Maybe I could change your mind.”

She laughed it off, showing him with her devious grin that she was enjoying teasing him. She usually didn’t answer directly when he spoke of a visit. It was less awkward that way.

After a minute, he relaxed back into his sofa. “So how did your writing go today?”

“I got four thousand words down. Hopefully they were good words.”

“Oh wow. You’re really flyin’! Another four thousand means you’re almost done. I’m loving what you sent me, by the way. Your descriptions of the sand and the reefs in Barbados are so vivid, no one will believe you’ve never been there. Add to that the amazing sex and the totally inspired use of coconut oil and this book may be my favorite so far.”

“Aww…thanks.” She wasn’t sure if that expansive feeling in her body was her head swelling or her heart. “Feels like I’m never going to finish, but I guess I’m four thousand words closer to beating this deadline, so that’s something. How was your day?”

“Eh.” He exhaled and shook his head. “Not quite as good as yours, I bet. No betrothals. Nothing to
write
home about.”

Rayna chuckled at his attempt at corny writing humor, but it didn’t escape her attention that he was deflecting again. Kyle hated talking about work. He’d admitted that his desk job was stressful and he was nothing but a glorified paper-pusher, but beyond that, he didn’t say much. Rayna knew that in some ways, their time together was an escape for him, so she didn’t pry. And with how he tried to let her in to the inner workings of his mind—his thoughts, his feelings, his desires—the lack of work gossip didn’t bother her much.

The way he reclined made his dark slacks mold to his muscular thighs. “So how’s my girl doin’?”

Rayna grinned. The first time he’d asked that question, she’d thought he was talking about her. “Bratty’s doing great.” It took everything in her not to let that grin stretch to idiotic proportions. “We went for a walk this morning.”

“Hmm…” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his slacks. She had his full attention now. “Is that a flower in your pocket, Miss Sommers, or are you just happy to see me?”

She pulled the dark-orange starburst from her T-shirt pocket and held it close to the camera—close enough to fill his screen as she slowly ran the tip of her finger along the Gerbera daisy’s rust-colored petals. “Both. It is a flower, and I am
so
happy to see you.”

He chuckled softly but then narrowed his eyes. “You’re getting too good at these challenges. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I got played. When you’re not writing, you could be a door-to-door salesperson for all I know. Those panic attacks may simply be a ploy to get into my pants.”

She snorted, wishing for a moment that it was a ploy, that her agoraphobia hadn’t destroyed every single relationship she’d ever attempted. But Kyle knew it was real. He’d sat with her countless nights, talking through her fears but not judging her—his limitless compassion and support crammed into a fifteen-inch screen.

“You know,” he said regretfully, “if you keep winning the challenges and keeping me up late, you might wear this old body out.”

Old? At twenty-nine, Kyle was only a year older than Rayna. But whereas she had the soft curves of a woman who spent eight hours a day at the computer, Kyle looked like his office chair was a treadmill.

“Wear you out? Maybe, but a deal’s a deal. You owe me, handsome.” She placed the flower in a water-filled coffee cup on the table and sat back on her tan corduroy sofa, splaying her legs suggestively. She’d chosen these shorts because there wasn’t much to them, and Kyle seemed to appreciate that fact.

His gaze flickered down, running over her bare thighs. “I always pay my debts. You know I’m good for it.”

“So you say. Show me.”

He stood, walking out of view of the computer cam for a moment before returning to the far left side of the screen. Pulling a vinyl record from its sleeve, he placed it into his vintage record player then pushed the cover out of sight. She knew from the past that although the player was old, the wireless speakers to the system were top-notch. Kyle talked of the simple life, but he seemed to have all sorts of expensive gadgets in his little studio apartment.

“So what do we have tonight?” She leaned forward, trying to make out the photo on the record’s sleeve before she remembered that she couldn’t see what the camera didn’t show her.

“A special surprise.” He lowered the needle onto the shiny black disc and a few seconds later, the slow, smoky sound of classic R and B drifted from the speakers. “Solomon Burke.”

“Oh. Cool.” She smiled encouragingly, but she wasn’t sure what was up. This wasn’t supposed to be a music night. She’d won the challenge, damn it. “He’s great. ‘Cry to Me’ is one of my favorites.”

He turned and grinned into the camera. Still standing by the record player, she had a full shot of his perfectly proportioned but overly clothed body. “A
Dirty Dancing
fan, huh? How did I guess that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Who isn’t?”

“True. Well, this song isn’t from the movie. This is a song from me to my West Coast girl…” He looked down and moved the needle a fraction of an inch, and when the slow, rolling notes poured out, his hips rolled with them.

“If you need me…”
Burke’s deep, melodic voice sang,
urging his woman to call him. When Kyle’s hands went to his shirt, undoing the first button as he swayed, Rayna swallowed and fisted her hand on the couch pillow. He wasn’t really going to do
that
for her, was he?

Again, the smooth voice admonished her to call if she needed him, and another button on Kyle’s shirt popped open, revealing a small V of his upper chest.

At the next verse, Kyle slid the lower half of his shirt up to expose his defined abs, and Rayna’s eyes went blurry. She was too mesmerized to blink.

Three more buttons. His long-sleeved shirt slid down his arms and his lips tilted into a half smile as Kyle started to sing directly to her about
wanting.
And in that moment, she’d never wanted him more.

His arms were long and lean, well muscled, like he belonged in the California surf, his arms cutting through the blue-green water as he paddled his longboard out to catch the next wave.

He took a step toward the camera, grinding his hips as he worked the catch on his belt, pulled it from the loops of his pants and dropped it to the floor. His mouth moved, telling her with the song not to wait, that he wanted to come to her.

Rayna raised her hands to her cheeks, not believing this was happening. Kyle Ford was stripping for her, right in the safety and comfort of her own living room.

Kyle regarded Rayna. “Have you had enough, sweetheart?”

“Please don’t stop,” she told him.

And when Kyle started mouthing words about love, staring straight into the camera as he slowly lowered his slacks, Rayna almost forgot they weren’t in the same room. The way he looked at her made her ache…not just smoldering and sexy, but vulnerable, like this meant something to him.

When the song ended, he stood naked before her, his long shaft standing away from his body, almost gleaming in the dim light from the tight stretch of his skin. He took another step closer, and Rayna felt lightheaded. Would it be uncool if she swooned?

“Kyle…” she said when the record advanced to the next song.

No more smiles. “Well, what do you think, Ray? Was it worth it?” She glanced at his hand, saw his fist tighten around his shaft. “All this—” he slid his hand down his considerable length then back up again, “—is from wanting you.”

She moaned and leaned back on the corduroy sofa. She wanted her clothes off—wanted him inside her. She settled for cupping her heavy breast through her T-shirt and rolling her rigid nipple between her thumb and index finger. “You’re so worth it…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Touch yourself. Let me imagine I’m there with you.”

When she brought her left hand to the other nipple, he
tsk
ed and shook his head. “No, take off your shirt. I want to see you.”

“Like this?” She pulled the V-neck over her head and squeezed her breasts through the lacy lavender fabric of her bra. Her pulse was thready, her panties growing damp. She teased him like that for a while, then unhooked her bra and let it slip from her fingers.

“Oh shit.” His face was flushed and his expression fevered. “Those pretty pink nipples were made for my mouth. I’d suck them past my teeth and savor how
supple
and sweet they’d be against my tongue. I bet you taste so fucking good.”

She pinched her nipples hard, envisioning he was doing to her just what he’d said, then another moan escaped her parted lips and her hips shifted involuntarily against the cushions.

At first, she’d been embarrassed to show Kyle her body. She wasn’t exactly a size zero with perfect everything, but he’d done a great job of convincing her that he liked what he saw. Her skin broke out in goose bumps, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his slow strokes. She knew he could last a while like this, but she wondered what it would be like in real life if she ever had the chance to meet him face-to-face…to touch him and grasp him in her own hands.

His gaze locked on her breasts, and his hand froze for a moment as he watched her. “Lick your fingers,” he told her. “Think of my tongue over your skin.”

Smiling, she slowly dipped her middle finger into her mouth and sucked it hard, envisioning it was his cock. “Oh fuck…” he murmured—the gesture not lost on him.

She made a lazy circle around her nipple, her body needing him more than she’d ever needed anything. “I’ve been going crazy with wanting you, Kyle. Every night I touch myself and wish it was your hand.”

“Show me, sweetheart. Let me see you imagine it just as I’ve imagined making love to you.”

His expression was tender, but his body seemed wound tight enough to do damage. Sharing this with him felt so right. She trusted Kyle beyond all others, and each day she wanted him from the minute she awakened to the second her restless body finally succumbed to sleep.

She trailed a hand down her bare stomach and fondled herself through her shorts, her breathing picking up as she watched his eyes turn molten. He stroked himself a little harder now, a little faster. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said, splaying her legs and continuing to rub out her ache.