“I mean, when did this relationship start?” she asks.
“What about all those women he was seen dating?” Simon asks. “Mrs. Glenn said he destroyed a hotel suite a few weeks ago with a woman, and I’m certain it wasn’t you.”
Not me, since I know how to spell asshole. Of course I can’t tell Simon that.
The kettle whistles, and Jean pours water into a black mug that reads The Sexiest Man Alive. I rest my face on the counter, staring at the steam rising from the surface. Soon…soon…
“Honey?” Mom prompts.
“Mrs. Glenn shouldn’t believe everything she reads,” I say. “It’s Hollywood. Half the stuff they print is lies, and that’s being generous.”
“But…” She hesitates. “We’re worried about you.”
I pause. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
They were beside themselves when Bethany got engaged.
“We aren’t concerned about you being engaged,” Simon says. “The issue is that the man is Ryder Reed. If what you say is true and most of what the media says about him is lies, then we don’t know anything about him.” Displeasure colors his voice. “Not to mention, he never asked me for my permission. I’ve never even met the man.”
Oh crap. Simon can be so old-fashioned, and of course Oliver did ask. “We, uh, were trying to keep it quiet.”
“What about that other man you’ve been dating? Shaun?” Mom asks.
“We broke up a while back.”
Finally, finally Jean takes the bag out and pushes the tea my way. I take a good, healthy swallow. Ahhh… It’s not as good as coffee, but it does the job.
“How long has this been going on between the two of you?” Simon asks.
I open my mouth to answer, then stop. Ryder and I never discussed what story we’re going to tell our respective parents. For all I know, he might be going through an inquisition of his own, and I don’t want to get caught because we couldn’t keep our stories straight.
“I’d love to tell you everything, but I don’t have time right now. I have to get ready for work.”
“You’re still working for him?” Simon’s incredulous.
“Of course. Personal is personal, and professional is professional.” I’m going to go to hell and burn for my lies. “I love you both. I’ll call as soon as I can.”
I hang up, then hurry to finish my tea before I get any more phone calls. I’m certain my stepsister’s going to be next.
Chapter Seventeen
Ryder
“Ryder…”
Paige whispers into my mouth before claiming it, her lips aggressive. Her sharp teeth scrape against my tongue, but I don’t give a damn.
She’s pliant, soft, molding herself against me. Her scent is lethal—sweet, hot and mouth-watering all at the same time.
She moves over my body, pressing both of us against the mattress. Her thighs spread, and her wet pussy’s over my cock, which is sledgehammer hard.
Her hand reaches down, grabs me. My eyes roll at the sensation. She has the most amazing grip, firm and sure.
“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this,” she says as I groan. She pumps me with her hand.
I feel like the top of my head is going to explode. My thumb circles her clit and she moans, eyes half-closed. Jagged pleasure slices into my nerves until it’s almost painful. I pull myself back. I want her to come first. I want to hear her scream my name, drench my hand with her juices and beg me to fuck her hard and deep until she climaxes over and over again.
Something vibrates. I scowl. There are no sex toys here, just me and Pai—
I open my eyes. I’m in my room.
Alone.
With my hand around my swollen dick.
Cursing, I flop my head back on the pillow. It’s as close to a wet dream as I’ve come since puberty ended—and damn it’s embarrassing.
I glare at the offending phone. It won’t quit vibrating, so I pick it up. “What?”
“Good to hear your voice too, Ryder. I wish you’d warned me.” Mira sounds cool and business-like. “I had more than twenty-five phone calls before my first coffee.”
Her mildly annoyed tone snuffs the sizzle in my blood. I rub my eyes. “What about?”
“What about. Har har. Your engagement, meathead.”
“Oh. Well, you said this was what you wanted.”
“Yeah, but you’re supposed to keep me in the loop. I can’t spin things for you if I don’t know what is going on.”
I roll out of bed. I probably should’ve called Mira last night, but I was too distracted.
“Do you have your stories straight?” she asks.