“For everything.”
Chapter Nine
Ryan carries the garment bag as we move across the Starfire lobby to the guest elevators.
“Remind me to get a picture of me in the dress,” I say. “I want to e-mail it to my mom. She’d absolutely love it. Although Daddy would love it more. On her,” I add, glancing sideways at him. “He loves to dress my mom up and take her out.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Almost thirty years. I’m an only, which isn’t surprising.” I say the last without thinking and immediately regret it.
“Why’s that?”
I shrug. I don’t really want to get into it, and yet at the same time, I like talking to Ryan. He understands so much even without me speaking. And while I adore my parents, I also know that they’re constantly under the surface in everything I do.
Nikki gets it, but compared to her life, mine is roses and candy.
I draw in a breath as we wait for the elevator, then lift a shoulder. “It sounds goofy, but they’re so much in love that it scares me sometimes.”
“I’m not following.”
“I told you it sounded silly.” I try to explain what it was like growing up with them. “I was like the third person on a hot date,” I say. “They loved me, don’t get me wrong, but we never felt like a family unit. There was always them. Or maybe them plus me. There was never us.” I shrug again. “Like I said, it sounds stupid and petty.”
“No,” he says gently. “It doesn’t. Your parents are your first conception of love, the first object of your love. You love them wholly and unconditionally, and expect that back. When you don’t get that in return, it colors everything.”
I gape at him, amazed that he understands so completely what it has taken me a lifetime to wrap my head around. And since he understands, I tell him the rest. “The thing is, my mom used to want to go to law school. And my dad loved to paint. But neither one does that anymore. My dad didn’t want my mom to be away so much, so she never pursued her degree. And Mom doesn’t give a crap about painting, so he stopped doing it. They’re still deliriously happy together, but they’ve lost something. Part of themselves, I guess.”
I don’t say the next. I don’t tell him that it terrifies me. That I’m afraid that’s what happens when you find the one person that you love in all the world—they draw you into a bubble. A happy bubble, but one that is less vibrant and less colorful than the world you wanted to live in.
Intellectually, I know that isn’t true. I mean, hell, look at Nikki and Damien—she’s pursuing her dream even more now because Damien has encouraged her—but one example from one friend can’t overshadow my fears.
I say none of that, but as the elevator arrives and we step on, Ryan looks at me with such tenderness that I can’t help but feel he understands.
“No matter how much we love them, we all grow up surrounded by our parents’ shit. You’ll either be buried in it and suffocate, or use it for fertilizer and thrive.”
I stare at him for a moment, then laugh. “You’re right,” I say. “That’s probably the most profound—and disgusting—thing that I’ve heard in a long time.” I laugh again, then lean against him when he pulls me close. “Thank you,” I whisper, then sigh when he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to my hair.
The elevator lets us off on the forty-seventh floor, just three floors shy of the top level. As far as I can tell, there are only three doors on this floor, and I frown a bit as he stops in front of one with a gold plaque on the door that reads, ES-2.
He pulls a keycard from his wallet, then opens the door and stands aside as I enter what can only be described as paradise.
The room has a huge living area, complete with a wet bar and a grand piano. But the furnishings are nothing compared to the view—an entire wall of windows that look out on all of Las Vegas, and if I turn my head to take it all in, I can see from the Stratosphere to the Luxor and beyond.
The sun has begun to dip low in the horizon, and the light has an orange quality now, as if it is painting the town. The view is stunning, vibrant, and I turn to Ryan in wonder.
“This isn’t the room that the station booked for me, is it?”
“No.”
“This is a Stark International hotel.”
It’s not a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes.”
I think back since our arrival. The way the woman welcomed him. The casino chip he had in his pocket. The fact that we didn’t have to check in to get a key. Honestly, I should have realized.
“Do you live here?”
He laughs. “No, I live in LA, not far from Damien, only in a much smaller house. But I spend about four weeks out of every year here going over procedure with the staff and auditing all of our security systems and operations. This is one of the executive suites. We all have use of it.”
“You always carry casino chips in your pocket?”
“No, but I do tend to keep some in the car. Once we arrived, I grabbed a few.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “And you have a closet or something here, which is why I’m the only one who had to buy clothes.”
“Or something,” he confirms. “I keep a suitcase on site. By now, housekeeping should have unpacked and pressed my clothes.”
I lift a brow. “Must be nice.”
“I promise you, it is.”
“So how did you land such a cush job?” I ask as I stroll around the room. “I mean, heading up an entire division for Damien’s umbrella company—I know the guy, and that’s a pretty plum job.”
“It is,” Ryan says. “But I’m exceptionally good at what I do.”
I pull out a bottle of wine from the fridge behind the wet bar. There is a corkscrew already sitting out, and I study Ryan as I open the wine. “I believe you. How did you get that way?”
He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving me. “Law enforcement runs in my family. My great-grandfather was in Scotland Yard, and my grandfather was MI6.”
“Wow. And your dad?”
“He disappointed them by moving to Boston. Became a cop. Married a secretary at the district attorney’s office.”
I laugh as I cross to him, a glass of wine in each hand. “It really is all in the family.”
“Which is why I was such a disappointment.” He takes the wine, and I plunk myself down on the table in front of him. He sips, then smiles. “I could get used to this.”
“What?”
“You, waiting on me.”
I raise a brow. “I’m yours to command—at least for a few more days.” I lick my lips provocatively, then very deliberately drop my gaze to his crotch. And then, because I’m feeling bold, I lean forward and cup his erection. He is already hard, and knowing that gives me a feminine thrill. “Any time you want,” I whisper. “You just tell me how you want me to service you.”
I see the tension on his face as he fights for control. “This will do nicely for now,” he says. He nods to the floor. “Come a little closer.”
I do, getting on my knees in front of him, and I keep up the rhythm, stroking his cock as he tells me his story.
Chapter Nine
Ryan carries the garment bag as we move across the Starfire lobby to the guest elevators.
“Remind me to get a picture of me in the dress,” I say. “I want to e-mail it to my mom. She’d absolutely love it. Although Daddy would love it more. On her,” I add, glancing sideways at him. “He loves to dress my mom up and take her out.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Almost thirty years. I’m an only, which isn’t surprising.” I say the last without thinking and immediately regret it.
“Why’s that?”
I shrug. I don’t really want to get into it, and yet at the same time, I like talking to Ryan. He understands so much even without me speaking. And while I adore my parents, I also know that they’re constantly under the surface in everything I do.
Nikki gets it, but compared to her life, mine is roses and candy.
I draw in a breath as we wait for the elevator, then lift a shoulder. “It sounds goofy, but they’re so much in love that it scares me sometimes.”
“I’m not following.”
“I told you it sounded silly.” I try to explain what it was like growing up with them. “I was like the third person on a hot date,” I say. “They loved me, don’t get me wrong, but we never felt like a family unit. There was always them. Or maybe them plus me. There was never us.” I shrug again. “Like I said, it sounds stupid and petty.”
“No,” he says gently. “It doesn’t. Your parents are your first conception of love, the first object of your love. You love them wholly and unconditionally, and expect that back. When you don’t get that in return, it colors everything.”
I gape at him, amazed that he understands so completely what it has taken me a lifetime to wrap my head around. And since he understands, I tell him the rest. “The thing is, my mom used to want to go to law school. And my dad loved to paint. But neither one does that anymore. My dad didn’t want my mom to be away so much, so she never pursued her degree. And Mom doesn’t give a crap about painting, so he stopped doing it. They’re still deliriously happy together, but they’ve lost something. Part of themselves, I guess.”
I don’t say the next. I don’t tell him that it terrifies me. That I’m afraid that’s what happens when you find the one person that you love in all the world—they draw you into a bubble. A happy bubble, but one that is less vibrant and less colorful than the world you wanted to live in.
Intellectually, I know that isn’t true. I mean, hell, look at Nikki and Damien—she’s pursuing her dream even more now because Damien has encouraged her—but one example from one friend can’t overshadow my fears.
I say none of that, but as the elevator arrives and we step on, Ryan looks at me with such tenderness that I can’t help but feel he understands.
“No matter how much we love them, we all grow up surrounded by our parents’ shit. You’ll either be buried in it and suffocate, or use it for fertilizer and thrive.”
I stare at him for a moment, then laugh. “You’re right,” I say. “That’s probably the most profound—and disgusting—thing that I’ve heard in a long time.” I laugh again, then lean against him when he pulls me close. “Thank you,” I whisper, then sigh when he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to my hair.
The elevator lets us off on the forty-seventh floor, just three floors shy of the top level. As far as I can tell, there are only three doors on this floor, and I frown a bit as he stops in front of one with a gold plaque on the door that reads, ES-2.
He pulls a keycard from his wallet, then opens the door and stands aside as I enter what can only be described as paradise.
The room has a huge living area, complete with a wet bar and a grand piano. But the furnishings are nothing compared to the view—an entire wall of windows that look out on all of Las Vegas, and if I turn my head to take it all in, I can see from the Stratosphere to the Luxor and beyond.
The sun has begun to dip low in the horizon, and the light has an orange quality now, as if it is painting the town. The view is stunning, vibrant, and I turn to Ryan in wonder.
“This isn’t the room that the station booked for me, is it?”
“No.”
“This is a Stark International hotel.”
It’s not a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes.”
I think back since our arrival. The way the woman welcomed him. The casino chip he had in his pocket. The fact that we didn’t have to check in to get a key. Honestly, I should have realized.
“Do you live here?”
He laughs. “No, I live in LA, not far from Damien, only in a much smaller house. But I spend about four weeks out of every year here going over procedure with the staff and auditing all of our security systems and operations. This is one of the executive suites. We all have use of it.”
“You always carry casino chips in your pocket?”
“No, but I do tend to keep some in the car. Once we arrived, I grabbed a few.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “And you have a closet or something here, which is why I’m the only one who had to buy clothes.”
“Or something,” he confirms. “I keep a suitcase on site. By now, housekeeping should have unpacked and pressed my clothes.”
I lift a brow. “Must be nice.”
“I promise you, it is.”
“So how did you land such a cush job?” I ask as I stroll around the room. “I mean, heading up an entire division for Damien’s umbrella company—I know the guy, and that’s a pretty plum job.”
“It is,” Ryan says. “But I’m exceptionally good at what I do.”
I pull out a bottle of wine from the fridge behind the wet bar. There is a corkscrew already sitting out, and I study Ryan as I open the wine. “I believe you. How did you get that way?”
He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving me. “Law enforcement runs in my family. My great-grandfather was in Scotland Yard, and my grandfather was MI6.”
“Wow. And your dad?”
“He disappointed them by moving to Boston. Became a cop. Married a secretary at the district attorney’s office.”
I laugh as I cross to him, a glass of wine in each hand. “It really is all in the family.”
“Which is why I was such a disappointment.” He takes the wine, and I plunk myself down on the table in front of him. He sips, then smiles. “I could get used to this.”
“What?”
“You, waiting on me.”
I raise a brow. “I’m yours to command—at least for a few more days.” I lick my lips provocatively, then very deliberately drop my gaze to his crotch. And then, because I’m feeling bold, I lean forward and cup his erection. He is already hard, and knowing that gives me a feminine thrill. “Any time you want,” I whisper. “You just tell me how you want me to service you.”
I see the tension on his face as he fights for control. “This will do nicely for now,” he says. He nods to the floor. “Come a little closer.”
I do, getting on my knees in front of him, and I keep up the rhythm, stroking his cock as he tells me his story.
