Tailspin(98)

That hadn’t been his fault, but the blame for this was solely on him. He had let it happen. He had made it happen. Knowing it was a mistake, he had touched Brynn anyway, and, God, it had been good, moving inside her. Terrifyingly good. Because, when he came, he’d been all in: body and mind. Heart.

And, as if that hadn’t been cataclysmic enough, he’d then poured out his soul, revealing to her aspects of his torment that he’d never spoken of to another human being.

Twenty-four hours with her, and he’d broken all his self-imposed rules:

No bonds. No involvement. No one.

He had fibbed to Brynn. He hadn’t forgotten to tell Dash something in a text. The truth was, he hadn’t replied to Dash’s last question. He saw now that Dash had repeated it, adding a few blue words to emphasize his need of an answer. R U still flying for me tomorrow night?

Up until a few minutes ago, Rye had been unsure of his answer. The plan had been for him to see Brynn off on her way to Knoxville, wish her well, and that would be it.

But he couldn’t abandon her. He simply couldn’t. It wasn’t because they’d had fantastic sex, or because he’d opened up to her about his personal tragedy. It was because there were still people who could stop her, and he wanted Brynn to get what she’d strived for. He wanted Violet to have a shot at life.

Even after seeing Brynn safely to Tennessee, he would have hours in which to reach Columbus. If commercial service couldn’t get him there, he would charter a plane out of his own pocket. He wouldn’t let Dash down. He would fly that load of Roman Red. He wouldn’t alert Dash to his change of schedule, though, not until it was too late for him to do anything about it. If he told him now, he’d have a conniption, and Rye didn’t need the argument.

He tapped in Affirmative.

The reply came immediately. Not that glad to hear from you. I was hoping you were asleep.

About to be. Will ck in tmo.

Tomorrow, after he was sure that all had worked out well for Brynn and he’d told her goodbye.

But first he had to get through the rest of the night without reaching for her.

1:32 a.m.



Brynn used the time Rye wasn’t in the room to take a quick shower. She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, but she decided it would be presumptuous of her to return to the bed naked, given Rye’s mood.

While in search of her undergarments, she noticed Rye’s bomber jacket hanging on the back of the chair. It was odd to see it without him. The jacket was as much a part of him as the growth pattern of his scruff.

She ran her finger along the edge of the collar. The leather was crinkled and scoured. It showed its age, but in a good way. Like the squint lines at the corners of Rye’s eyes.

Unable to resist, she dropped the towel, lifted the jacket off the chair, and slid her arms into the sleeves. It was too large and heavy on her frame, but the silk lining against her bare skin was seductive and felt wonderful.

She was examining one of the nicks on the sleeve when the door was pushed open and Rye strode in. When he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks. The door closed on its own.

Brynn was petrified by embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just…You’re obviously very fond of this. It must have special significance. I don’t know…I don’t know what possessed me. I shouldn’t have touched it, much less…”

“Stop.” He walked past her on his way to the window.

He didn’t report a change, so she assumed the police car was still there. He turned back to her, closed the distance between them, and took hold of the jacket with a fist on each side of the zipper. He rested his forehead against hers. “Once this is over, I’m off again.”

“I understood that the first dozen times you told me.”

“But, dammit, Brynn.”

“What?”

Raising his head, and looking her up and down, he whispered, “How did you know that this is my favorite fantasy?”

“It is? Since when?”

“Since I walked in that door.”

With a groan, he stamped his mouth over hers, slanting it to the perfect angle. The forceful thrust of his tongue was no less thrilling and exciting than it had been the first time he’d kissed her. More so, if that were possible. It reignited her craving for his mouth, his hands, him.

She pushed off his shirt, then folded her arms around the back of his neck, clinging. He slid his hands inside the jacket, his palms coasting over her breasts before he placed them on either side of her waist and pulled her with him as he backed up to the end of the bed and sat down.

Holding her in front of him between his legs, he nuzzled her breasts, dabbed at her nipples with his tongue, nipped at the area around her navel with his teeth. His tongue drew spirals in the hollows beneath her hip bones.

When he started to move lower, she responded to the gentle guidance of his hands as he parted her thighs, wider, until his soughing breath caressed her, then the brush of his lips, the wet heat of his open mouth, the sweeps and swirls and strokes of his tongue.

She gasped his name, clutched his hair. His mouth was merciless, unpredictable, eliciting unexpected flares of feeling that stole her breath. When an orgasm was only one caress away from shuddering through her, she angled his head away. “Not yet.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, then pushed him back onto the bed. In the process of scooting toward the head of it, he unbuttoned his jeans and worked them past his hips. Brynn straddled his legs. The feel of soft denim against the insides of her thighs was incredibly erotic. She relished the sight of his heaving chest, the drastic dip of his taut stomach beneath his rib cage, and his sex, pulsing with vitality, the tip already glossed.