He ran his hand through his shaggy sandy hair and his light blue eyes darted toward me. He was bored. I could tell. While we always went through this little dance, this part wasn't exciting; he was always eager to get to the step that he liked.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“It's lovely,” I said, my tone almost bored. “And I think I'd love a drink at that new rooftop cucina everyone's been talking about.”
We were standing in the living room of Ricky's Malibu beach house. The sun angled sharply over the ocean, and the view was nearly blinding. The blank white walls glowed orange as I walked across the travertine tile. The beach house had been a gift from Ricky's parents two years ago, but he had yet to allow his mother's decorator to touch up the place. Ricky said he liked the empty space for parties, but I think he also enjoyed the anonymous feel of the bare rooms.
It definitely made bringing random women here much easier. No risk of them thinking the place had a woman's touch.
Four overstuffed pillows the size of twin mattresses were flung around the living room floor with assorted throw pillows on top. In the midst of the white pillows stood one modern leather armchair with a footstool. The light wood base of the wingback chair did not detract from its position as a throne. Only Ricky ever sat in it.
I put the chair between us as Ricky reached for me. We were getting to the part he liked. Hell, I didn't exactly mind it. It was just that a part of me had started getting tired of this song and dance. I wanted to move things along.
“How about we stay in?” he asked. “I have champagne.”
“Nothing cheap, I hope,” I said.
His eyes lit up. He knew as soon as I agreed to stay in, we'd be getting to the next step soon. He strode into the stark kitchen and pulled open the stainless steel wine cooler. The only thing he usually knew how to find in the kitchen were crystal champagne flutes, so I was surprised when he turned and opened the stainless steel double-door refrigerator. His phantom maid kept the spartan shelves stocked with strawberries to compliment the dry champagne, and he pulled out the bowl with a flourish.
I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been planning to 'apologize' for whatever the newest girl's name was.
“There's chocolate too,” he said. He waggled his eyebrows in what I supposed was supposed to be a sexual gesture. “I also have whipped cream.”
“Paris said the new cucina was four-star,” I said.
He frowned, looking more like a pouting child than a twenty-four year-old. “Paris wouldn't know four-stars if they plummeted to earth in front of her.” He poured the champagne and held out a glass.
I took the full crystal flute from him and picked my way through the white pillows to the wall of windows. A tight knot of surfers bobbed on the bright orange ocean just below Ricky's deck, and I admired their tanned and toned bodies. As he came up behind me, he followed my gaze, and I felt him frown. He could flirt and fuck with whoever he wanted, but heaven forbid I actually glance at another man. Made me think his idea of an 'open relationship' would probably require some discussion before I could seriously consider it.
“Bet those bums live out of their van,” he muttered.
“Probably better decorated than this place,” I countered.
“You're the only thing I want in here,” Ricky said, dropping a kiss on the back of my neck. “But you can add anything you want. Who's that painter you adore?”
“Jackson Pollock,” I said, eyeing the blank wall to my left. “I think you'd like the chaos of his work.”
“I like what you like.” He kept nuzzling the back of my neck.
I spun on my tall heels and sauntered to his white leather chair. I slipped into it, one heel on the footstool, the other on the tile floor. I let my leg sway and watched Ricky's eyes go to the shifting hem of my dress. It was time to move this along.
“I like you on your knees,” I said.
Sometimes I used different phrases, but they all ended up with him on his knees. He chased every and any woman, but he always came back to me. And this was always part of his penance. Not that he didn't enjoy it as much as I did. For all of his faults, he wasn't a selfish lover.
I let my knee fall to the side and tugged my dress further up my thighs. His eyes darkened as he watched me expose inches of skin. He took a long sip of champagne and kissed the inside of my open thigh with the bubbles still on his lips. He held up the bowl of strawberries with one hand as he stroked my leg from my ankle to the ticklish spot behind my knee. I took a strawberry and looked down at Ricky, raising an eyebrow.
“I only do this for you,” he said, bending to lick where his kisses left traces of champagne.
I didn't know if that was true, but it was what he always told me, and I'd never heard otherwise. So, I chose to believe it. He fucked other women, but he never went down on them. Until someone proved me wrong, I would pretend that this was something he only did for me.
His eyes burned brighter as I ate my strawberry and enjoyed the view. He nipped my knee as his hands continued to caress my skin. I pulled up my leg and put one sharp heel into his shoulder. He sucked in a breath, but didn't move away. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my knee. He kept himself there, teeth and lips worrying at my skin until I wasn't sure who would bruise first, him or me. Only when he finally eased back a bit did I hook my leg over his shoulder and draw him closer without the heel.
His hands went to the tie of my dress, his fingers making short work of it and then he pushed it open. It fell to either side, and he groaned when he saw that I was bare underneath. I'd known what would happen when I came to see him today, so I'd decided to forgo the undergarments to move things along more easily. His hands slid up my thighs and across my ribs until he covered my breasts with his hands, his palms rubbing against my nipples until they hardened. And then his mouth was there. I arched against his hands as his tongue touched that throbbing point between my legs.
He took another long sip of champagne and let the bubbles fizz against my slick, wet center. He licked me open with long, slow circles until I was moaning and pulsing with pleasure. Then he pushed my other leg over the arm of the chair and plunged his tongue deep inside me. Two long fingers followed, twisting and crooking as he thrust them into me, his tongue flicking across my clit more and more rapidly until I exploded.
The chair rocked back beneath me, then fell forward again. After a minute, I came down enough to move and I leaned forward. He grinned as I pushed against his chest. He let himself fall back as I went to my knees above him. He fumbled with his zipper, pushing his pants and underwear just far enough over his hips to free his already-hard cock.
He reached up and grabbed my hips, but I slapped his hand.
“Condom.”
No way was I stupid enough to let him go bareback, no matter how many times he swore he always wore protection with his flings. The closest he got was oral without a condom, and only after he'd tested clean.
He frowned at me, but didn't argue. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. I took it from him and tore it open. I knew he liked it when I put them on him, but that was only a side benefit. I didn't like to admit the real reason, even to myself, but I simply didn't trust him.
I pushed the thought away as I rolled the condom over his swollen erection. Only then did I lower myself onto him. He groaned as I dropped down. He'd worked me open enough that he went in easily, our bodies fitting together the way they always did. I ignored the hands on my hips as I rode him. He knew better than to try to control me when we did this little dance. I kept my head up, eyes closed, as I moved, focusing on the slip and slide of his body and mine. We'd done this enough over the last four years that I knew exactly how this would go.
The pressure inside me was building, and I just needed a little more to get me there. I moved one hand from his stomach to my breast, twisting and pulling on my nipple the way I liked it. Ricky may not have been a selfish lover, but that didn't mean he wasn't clueless so
me of the time.
I shuddered as my head fell forward, and then his thumb was on my clit, rubbing back and forth until I came again. Pleasure coursed through me and my muscles tightened, squeezing his cock as I felt him come too.
I kept my hand on his stomach, keeping me upright as I let my climax wash over me. It wasn't until his arms slid up to my waist and he started to pull me down onto him that I let myself go.
“So you forgive me?” Ricky asked, pulling me down to his chest.
He ran his fingers through my hair. It was never about forgiveness with Ricky. He was spoiled and entitled and would never change, I understood that. This was just the dance we did to get back to the beginning of our little circle.
I rolled away and sat up. “My glass is empty.”
Ricky groaned, but heaved himself up and grabbed the champagne. I stood up, not caring that I was standing naked in front of the sunset windows. I held out my glass, accepting the refill without looking at him.
“Now am I forgiven?” he asked.
This was another part of the dance. I shrugged and looked down at the only thing I was wearing besides my shoes. “The necklace is pretty.”
“And you think I'm spoiled,” Ricky said with a smile.
At least we were both relatively honest with each other in regards to our personalities.
“You don't have an allowance,” I said, changing the subject.
“The old man's making you budget, huh?” Ricky asked. “Not your favorite thing in the world.”
Since I turned twenty-one and the trust my parents had left for me had been released, my life had actually become more restricted. For the past year, my grandfather had put limits on my credit cards and forced me to sit down with him and go over all my purchases at the end of every month. While my parents had left my brother and me well off, since we had no other family, we'd be inheriting all of our parents' share of my grandfather's fortune.
Except Grandfather wanted to make sure I was responsible before he wrote that into his will.
Now, I knew I didn't want for anything, and it wasn't like I went out on thousand-dollar spending sprees like Paris, or blew thousands of dollars buying people drinks at clubs like Ricky. I just didn't want to have to think about what I spent. Ricky and Paris never thought about money, and both spent without hesitation. Anything else seemed low class to them.
“I like budgeting about as much as you like monogamy,” I said.
“I think we've got a good thing going here,” Ricky said. “And you do too, right?”
Ricky liked our make up routine, but he was still pushing for an 'open relationship.' What I wanted to know was if I'd have the opportunity to benefit from it the same way he would. I hadn't exactly found anyone I wanted to...play with, so I wasn't going to ask. If he kept pushing though, I might have to hook up with someone, just to show him how it would be.
“Good enough,” I said.
Ricky chuckled and tossed me my dress. “Better check your phone. I heard it going off while we were getting off.”
I rolled my eyes at him, tied my dress back in place, and then dug my phone out of my purse. Shit. My grandfather called nine times in a row, excessive even for him. Something was up.
“You're paying for dinner,” I said to Ricky as I checked my voicemail. “And I'm starving, so be prepared.”
I was so far from one of those skinny bitches who whined about all of the calories in a stick of celery. When I was hungry, I ate. Fuck the calories.
He knocked back the rest of his champagne and dialed his driver as he came back over to fill my glass. As my grandfather began to speak, his normally steady voice trembling, I dropped the crystal flute, and it shattered across the travertine tiles.
“Leighton, I know you think you're busy, and you have half a dozen excuses, but you need to get home now. Your brother's been injured in the line of duty. It's...bad. He'll be coming home...if he survives...”
If. Not that word. If.
My phone fell from numb fingers, and I barely heard Ricky saying my name.
If.
If.
I shook my head, only partially aware that I was repeating “no” over and over again while Ricky kept saying my name.
Not Ian. I couldn't lose him too.
Chapter 3
Leighton
I found my grandfather in his study. My mother's workaholic father, the well-known Devlin Pope, sat behind his large mahogany desk, his hands loose and unmoving on the polished surface. While I'd been in the study plenty of times, I'd never seen him sitting at the desk. He was always pacing on the phone, always full of so much life and energy. His current quiet unnerved me. Even at my parents' funeral he hadn't been still. He'd taken care of everything and everyone, including my brother and me.
And he was still taking care of us.
When he could.
I didn't walk into the room, as if that would keep any of this from being real. I tapped on the door, the sound echoing.
“Alive.” He didn't make me ask the question.
I slumped against the doorframe, the relief making my body go numb. “When will he be home?” The question was faint, but the room was quiet enough that I knew Grandfather heard me.
“He's in critical condition, in some military hospital. I'm still working at finding out where. I've been promised that he'll be airlifted when he's stable enough to move,” Grandfather said.
He roused himself and slashed his hand toward one of the straight-backed chairs facing his desk. I knew that gesture. I entered the study and sat down, feeling like I was in trouble. I sat there for nearly a full minute before my grandfather cleared his throat and finally looked up.
“You'll stay here until he's back. Your rooms are made up as always,” he said brusquely, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“I know they're made up.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “I do still live here.”
He gave me that same 'don't bullshit me' expression he'd used on me growing up. “How many nights have you slept here in the past two months?”
“Ricky wants me to start working on decorating. He's afraid his mother's decorator will answer more to her than to him...”
“You're not picking out paint colors and playing house in Malibu while we wait to hear if your brother is alive,” Grandfather said. His eyes, so much like mine, were two sharp points of light.
He looked good for his age, but it had always been his eyes that had been the most alive. He was in his late sixties with close cut silver hair and a clean shave. Always a clean shave.
He stood up to pace, and I gripped the arms of the chair. I knew what was coming. Whatever went wrong with Ian, I would take the brunt of it. Grandfather was far from abusive, but he didn't believe in sugarcoating things...or keeping his opinion to himself.
“Your shiftless, useless lifestyle has got to stop and that walking leech you call a boyfriend is the first thing that should go.” Grandfather gave me his sternest look. “You're not a child anymore, Leighton. You haven't been for years, and this should be a wake-up call for you.”
It was the same lecture no matter what I did. It had been the same lecture when Ian decided to join the army and signed up without consulting Grandfather. He hadn’t been able to reverse what Ian had done, or criticize Ian's choice without sounding like he was against the military, so he'd come down on me.
My little brother had chosen a direction for his life. I needed to do the same. Since I'd made it clear from moment one with Grandfather that I didn't want to go to college, it had been all about the job. According to him, it wasn't about the money but rather the contribution made to society.
“This is a great chance to see if I want to be an interior designer,” I said. It sounded lame even to me.
Grandfather turned at the window and strode back to the desk. “Find an internship and take an entry-level job with a design firm, Leighton. Don't spend your boyfriend's money and tell me it's work.”
I stood up and smoo
thed down my dress. “I told Ricky I would do this. Aren't you always saying we should keep our word?”
“They wouldn't even tell me the extent of your brother's injuries.” Grandfather slammed his hands down on the desk, and I jumped. “All they would say is that he was one of the lucky ones.”
“Ian always was the lucky one,” I muttered.
I loved my brother, but I hated the fact that, before our parents died, I'd been on the right track. I'd never been the best student, and I'd never wanted to be something like a doctor or lawyer or anything like that, but I'd planned on going to college, on making something of myself. But then my world had fallen apart, and all of my plans had gone to shit. Ian, however, had still wanted to make our parents proud.
“Leighton, your brother is in critical condition in a field hospital somewhere. He's clinging to life,” Grandfather said.
“So I'm supposed to just sit here next to the phone and wait? What good will that do?” I asked before Grandfather could get going. My hands were shaking. My relief that my brother was alive was giving way to all of the negative emotions. “Besides, Ian made his decision. He did it because he thought our parents would be proud, but he didn't think about this part. He didn't think anything would happen to him.” My voice cracked, and I could feel the tears threatening. “He should've known better. Dammit! Of all people, he should've known better.”
I sank into the straight-backed chair and put my face in my hands, taking deep breaths as I struggled to keep my tears in check. Grandfather paced away from me, stopping at the far end of the study to look out the window. He didn't do so well with emotions. Never had. He'd done his best to comfort Ian and me after our parents had died, but I knew he'd been grateful for Paris. Even for Ricky, at first.
Ian had been fifteen when our parents died, and fifteen year-old boys weren't exactly known for showing their emotions. Grandfather had been better with Ian. He'd brought back something from Ian's childhood and that had helped Ian through it.