Exposed by Kristen Callihan

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brenna

I am seriously messed up.I acknowledge that much in the privacy of my head. I had a great time with Marshall and his team. Anyone who possesses even a modicum of passion for publicity and marketing would kill or die to work with them. Dream job is an understatement. Yet I couldn’t wait to get back to Rye’s house, wanting nothing more than to burrow my head under a blanket and forget everything.

I have the period from hell. My body hurts. I’m so bloated, I imagine this is what a tick feels like. All of that, I expect; I live through it every month. The true horror here, the totally twisted part, is that I’m moping and feeling sorry for myself because I can’t have sex with Rye for nearly a week.

No, it’s not sex that I want right now. And that’s not why I miss him. Truth is, my desire to be with Rye has never been solely about physical gratification. That was simply the lie I told to allow myself to get closer to him. Stupid pride has kept me from admitting that he is one of my favorite people—maybe my absolute favorite. When he is near, I hum like a struck tuning fork. Everything is more with him.

So why am I here? Why does the prospect of forging a new career path fill me with excitement but also feel like a betrayal?

“Stop it,” I mutter while putting on my rattiest but most comfortable nightshirt. “This is a golden opportunity, damn it.”

And I’m talking to myself now. Yay.

Muttering, I curl up in bed and pull the covers up high. I have to get a grip. I will not wonder what he’s doing now. I do not want to hear the sound of his voice, or to tell him how my day went.

“Ugh.” Flipping onto my stomach, I hug a pillow close. It’s cool and lumpy, and what I really want to hug is his big, strong body. Which means I’m definitely screwed. “And an idiot.” With a huff, I flip onto my back. “An idiot who can’t stop talking to herself.”

Great.

An idiot who stares at the clock. It’s two minutes to midnight. Our witching hour. Only he won’t show tonight. He’s in Chicago.

Yesterday, he sent me a short video of himself and Whip performing at a club. And though it appears as if all he’s doing in the video is fiddling with knobs on a console and dancing along to the beat, I know the level of skill it takes to create music like that on the fly. It’s sexy as hell. Pure competency porn.

I suppose it’s for the best that we’re in different sections of the country. I’d never be able to stay away otherwise.

The thought barely crystalizes when I hear the front door open. Ordinarily, I’d be terrified. But security in the house is topnotch, and there is only one person who would be able to get through it without any problem.

Then again, it could be a killer or evil rapist. Clutching my phone, I sit up and wait, ready to scream bloody murder if I need to. From the way my heart is doing a little happy dance within my chest, I don’t think I will.

The sound of footsteps draws closer. I shouldn’t be able to identify anyone by the cadence of their step, but I recognize the pattern anyway. The bedroom door pushes open, revealing an all-too-familiar silhouette. A smile threatens to spread over my face. I hold it in ruthlessly.

“Sneaking into a woman’s bedroom is a great way to end up in jail,” I tell him, fairly proud that I don’t sound breathless and giddy.

Rye pauses at the threshold. He’s a hulking shadow, his head tilted to the side as though he’s studying me. I doubt he sees much; the room is cool shadows and inky darkness. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“And that I’d eventually wake up to find a man in my bed? That wouldn’t freak me out?”

“Well… Okay, when you put it that way, this wasn’t one of my best plans.”

I bite back that smile even harder. “It was a horrible plan. Besides, you’re too big to tiptoe effectively.”

He huffs out a laugh, slowly walking closer. “What did you used to call me? Big oaf?”

“Only when you were treading on my feet and taking up all the room in the travel bus.”

With a nearly full moon and sheers covering the windows, there’s enough light to see him clearly now. Weariness deepens the natural laugh lines on his face, but he appears happy, his gaze on me.

“All failed attempts to get closer to you, Berry.” He says it like a joke. But there’s a ring of truth underneath that makes my heartbeat stutter. It begins to pound when he reaches behind his head and casually tugs off his shirt. “I’ll do my best to be more careful with you in the future.”

“Um.” I don’t even know what I’m saying. He’s slowly stripping, matter-of-fact about it and not in the least bit teasing. It’s holding my attention all the same. His belt buckle clinks, a sound that goes straight to my happy bits, and then he’s popping the buttons of his jeans.

Pop, pop, pop.

Good God, when did getting undressed become a symphony?

“You’re supposed to be in Chicago,” I blurt when his jeans hit the floor.

He stands perfectly still, that long, strong body bathed in the ambient light coming in from the windows. For a brief second, I almost pity those who can’t see him now, this Greek statue made into living flesh. Hercules on the prowl. My gaze drifts down. No tiny dick of antiquity there. A raging erection stands proud and waiting. I’m so distracted by that particular length of flesh that I almost miss his reply.

“Am I?” he asks.

“Are you what?”

Another soft laugh. “Supposed to be in Chicago. And stop looking at my dick unless you’re going to play with it.”

A flush hits my cheeks and snaps me out of my lusty fog. “Stop pointing it at me.”

His hard-on twitches. He grins. “It’s waving in surrender.”

I meet his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a craving for dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“Hot dogs, Berry. We’ll go get some tomorrow.”

“You came all the way out here for a hot dog?” I don’t know why I’m questioning him. I should be sending Rye on his way to one of the other bedrooms. But I’m too stupidly happy to tell him the sad truth, that we can’t have sex right now.

“They’re excellent hot dogs.”

“Better than Portillo’s?” The guys drag me there any time we go to Chicago, usually with Rye leading the charge.

“Are we really debating hot dogs? Or is this some weird foreplay talk?”

I can’t help grinning, but I fall back onto my pillow with a sigh. “Not foreplay.”

“Too bad. There’s like ten hot dog puns running through my head now.”

Rye is in the act of lifting the covers to slide into bed when I stop him. “I have my period, so you might as well go to another room.”

His forward momentum is too much for him to stop with any grace, and he ends up settling down next to me. “I know.”

“You know?” I turn on my side to face him. “How do you know I’m being tormented by Aunt Flo?”

Rye’s smile is quick as a flash of light. “Aunt Flo? Why the hell do you call her…oh, wait. Okay. Yeah, that’s a visual I didn’t need.”

Snickering, I burrow down farther in the bed, hugging a pillow to my belly. “Try living with the bitch.”

“Thank you, no.” Rye rests his head in his hand and smiles down at me.

The mix of tenderness and contentment in his eyes unnerves me, and I break eye contact, focusing instead on the massive swell of his shoulder muscle. That’s a distracting sight too, because I suddenly want to lick his skin. It’s safer than dealing with emotions when I’m currently a hormonal mess.

“You never answered my question,” I say to his chin. “How do you know?”

When he doesn’t speak, I glance up and find him grimacing. “What’s that look?” I’m half amused, half horrified. How does he know?

Rye scratches the side of his head, sending his thick hair up on end. “I’m trying to figure out how to answer without getting in trouble.”

“It had better be fast, or it’ll get worse.”

“I’d rather tell hot dog jokes.”

“I bet you would. No joy, Peterson. Talk.”

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. “Jax warned me never to bring up lady issues to a woman.”

“Good advice, given that you both have the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.”

“Yeah,” he admits then leans in a little. “But, really, Bren, is there a tactful way to talk about Aunt Flo?”

“True. Now, spill it.” I tweak his nipple, loving the way he yelps and rubs his chest with a scowl. It’s all show, since I didn’t pinch that hard. But it’s a good show, since I now can’t stop staring at his massive pecs. I want to be the one rubbing them.

Down girl. You can’t have sex.

“Evil pixie. I have a mind not to answer you.”

“Don’t make me pinch you again.” I wiggle my fingers in emphasis.

“Okay, okay. Put away the pincers.” Rye rests on his pillow, bringing his face closer to mine. His gaze slides over my features. It’s a lazy perusal as though he’s simply enjoying looking at me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and unhurried. “Let’s put aside the fact that I can count, and it’s been a month since the last time she was around.”

“Ah. Right.”

He keeps talking as though I haven’t interrupted. “When evil Aunt Flo is about to come knocking at your door, you start switching from coffee regular to mocha lattes. You put your hair in a low, loose braid, which makes me think you get headaches.”

Dazed, I nod. “Feels like someone’s kicked my skull.”

“Poor baby.” Rye reaches out slowly. The tips of his fingers trace a small line along my temple then slide into my hair to stroke it. “You start favoring those pretty jersey dresses that skim your long body instead of those sexy tight skirts that hug your fine ass. Sophie once complained to everyone in the room that her womb feels like there’s a war being waged inside when she’s on the rag, so I’m guessing looser clothes are more comfortable.”

“You pay more attention than I thought,” I whisper thickly.

The blunt, callused tips of his fingers caress my jaw. “When are you going to believe me? I notice everything about you, Berry.”

I’m struck silent, little fissures forming around the edges of my heart. Would it be too much to ask for just one kiss? Probably. Definitely. I’d want more.

“Oh,” he says as if remembering something. “And you wear that vanilla and caramel cookie scent when dealing with Flo. Until the day it’s over, when you switch to celebratory lemon cake perfume. Both of which, by the way, drive me absolutely frantic to take a bite out of you.”

I swear I hear a crack inside my chest. “You…You notice my perfume selections?”

The corner of his mouth kicks up just a bit. “Pay attention, angel. I notice. Every. Thing.”

Somehow, he’s slipped his arm under my neck. His big hand splays wide between my shoulder blades as he eases me against him. I go willingly because it’s too good to deny. And though his biceps are nearly the size of my head, and rock hard, he makes a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

A sigh escapes me, and he slowly rubs my back and toys with the ends of my hair. This is definitely cuddle territory. We don’t do that, not without sex. But he feels familiar now. Familiar and good. Until he arrived, I’d been restless and unsettled. I can deny it all night long, but his presence, his touch, is what I needed.

“You were surprised when I told you I had my period last month,” I point out, still stuck on this whole revelation.

“I was distracted by an overwhelming case of lust and desperation.”

“Poor, Rye-Rye.” I nuzzle my cheek on the curve of his shoulder. He’s warm and solid and massaging my sore spots.

“You hurting?” His husky whisper gusts across the top of my head.

My hand finds his waist where his skin is like heated marble. “Not particularly. I took some painkillers before bed.”

“Good.” With an earthy sigh, his body relaxes into the bed. “Damn, this feels nice. That flight took forever. Two freaking stops. Got on in Chicago and, for some reason, the plane went to Atlanta then back out to LA. We were going backwards to get forwards. Where’s the sense in that?”

The outrage in his voice has my lips twitching.

“There were no nonstop flights?” Rye isn’t terrified of flying the way Scottie is, but he’s never liked it and refuses to fly unless it’s nonstop.

Rye stills for a breath, the muscles along his chest going tight. “Not any that would get me here tonight.”

I tense with him and suddenly we’re awkward again. “Tonight?”

He shifts a little as though he might bolt. But Rye is nothing if not stubborn. “It’s Tuesday. I get Tuesday.”

Because it’s our night.

With that, he turns, cocooning me in his arms. Snuggled under the covers, it’s our own little world. I’m content in a way I haven’t felt since childhood, which is weird since there’s nothing particularly chaste about being pressed against over six feet of naked male. And despite the fact that Rye is simply holding me, he’s clearly turned on. His erection presses into my belly with an insistent nudge as if to remind me what we’re really about. We only touch for sex; that’s the rule.

Except we’ve been slowly tossing all those rules out the window.

“I have my period, Rye.” I don’t know why I’m repeating myself. I don’t want the hugging to end.

But it doesn’t matter because Rye isn’t budging. He breathes in deeply and nuzzles the side of my head. “I don’t care. We’re doing this.”

“What?” It comes out in a loud squeak. “I’m telling you now, I am not into that.”

Rye pulls back enough to meet my gaze. A furrow runs between his eyes. “You don’t have to sound so disgusted.”

“And you don’t have to sound so insulted. I mean, I’m open-minded and all, but it’s my body and…and…ick.”

“Ick?” He huffs out an offended laugh. “Cuddling is gross to you?”

Blinking in shock, I stare at him. “Cuddling?”

“What did you think I was…” He freezes before a snort of amusement escapes him. “Why, Brenna James, I am shocked. Were you thinking—”

“Never mind what I was thinking,” I cut in hastily.

“No, no, I want to hear more about this alternative scenario.”

“Never. Mind. Rye.”

Chuckling, he pulls me close again. “You’re adorable.”

I burrow my flaming face in his chest. “I will pinch you.”

“I know. You’re very fierce.” Strong fingers massage my scalp. His touch pauses for a second. “Did you meet with Mr. Taco…Marshall yet?”

I bite back a smile at his slip. At least he’s trying to behave. Then my humor fades. “Yes. Yesterday and today.”

“Two days in a row,” he murmurs in a teasing tone, but there’s an underlying tension that he can’t hide.

“It’s a big company. Lots of people to meet.”

Rye keeps playing with my hair, but the movement is stiff, as though he has to work at maintaining the casual touch. “And? What did you think?” He says it so lightly, anyone who doesn’t know him well would assume he’s excited for me. But I know better. He’s trying not to be, but he’s worried.

Perversely, that makes me smile again. I touch the hollow of his throat, caressing the little divot there. He smells of stale plane air and warm, earthy Rye; there’s no other scent like him. I’d know it in the dark now—rich and deep yet crisp, like fine bittersweet chocolate. People’s natural scents don’t actually smell like foods or spices, but it’s the closest I can think of. He’s hot, melted chocolate to my senses.

“Bren?” he whispers, prompting.

I’m stalling. We both know this. My finger trails along his collarbone, and his skin prickles in its wake. “I liked what I saw,” I whisper back, watching his throat move convulsively on a hard swallow. I stroke the strong line of his neck. “They have so many accounts, actors, studios, musicians, athletes, even a few wineries. I could spread my wings. But I don’t know…”

He swallows again then presses his lips to the top of my head. He doesn’t kiss me but simply breathes deeply before talking, his voice muffled in my hair. “Never be afraid to fly, Bren. Even if it takes you from all you know.”

This man. My lids prickle with heat, the back of my throat clenching. I close my eyes and lean into him, my hand slipping around his neck. “Thank you.” When I feel him nod, I speak again. “I hate change. Whenever I think of leaving Kill John it feels like I’ll be losing a limb.”

“You’ll never fully leave us,” he says gruffly. “We’ll always be there for you.”

“I know. It’s more that, when I imagine someone else taking over my job, guiding you all…I don’t like it. I hate it.”

A soft laugh rumbles in his chest. “You want it all.”

“Shouldn’t everybody?”

He laughs again and pulls me closer, until we’re pressed against each other. God, but he feels good, like the most perfect pillow—even if he’s all muscle. I sigh and try to quiet my brain. But I can’t. Because I can’t have it all. Change is coming. And I can’t fight the truth of that. Rye must feel my tension because he returns to stroking my back in delicious, slow circles.

“Go to sleep, Berry. It’s been a long day.”

I’d been struggling to sleep for hours, but his softly spoken words, the warmth of his touch, and the steady beat of his heart against my cheek all work to lull me into a state of languid comfort. My lids grow heavy, and my hand spreads wide over the hard swell of his chest. I could stay like this forever. But the girl inside, who’s constantly felt she had to prove herself worthy, won’t quiet. “You really came all this way just to sleep with me?”

There’s a beat of silence before he answers, his voice a whisper with an edge of surprise. “Yeah, I did.”