If You Need Me: The Ashford Legacy, Book 1 (3 page)

He stepped closer, and his ass was clenching now as he thrust. He looked raw and on the edge. “Take off your shorts, and let me see that pretty pussy. Are you wet for me, Ray?”

She slid the denim down her legs but left her lavender thong in place. She wanted this so badly. Wanted him. She felt like she might explode with a few well-placed strokes. She brought her feet up to the edge of the sofa, spreading her legs wide. After a moment of enjoying the feel of her hand over her silk-covered mound, she slipped two fingers into her wet heat and gasped, churning her hips toward the contact. “Mmmm,” she whimpered.

She heard the deep rumble of his voice, felt the vibrations of it over the speakers. “Fuck yes. That’s right, sweetheart.”

How fast was too fast to come? She wanted to simply close her eyes and rub her clit until this ache finally eased. Instead, she dragged her fingers along her inner thigh, leaving a shiny streak on her skin. “I’m so wet for you.”

Even in the dim light, his brow glistened with sweat, his face a study in fierce concentration. “Take off those damn panties. I want to see you when I come.”

She discarded the panties and stroked two fingers over her clit. It was good enough to make her pant, but it wasn’t enough. She needed Kyle near her. She needed to know what it was like to feel his breath on her skin and his mouth on her tender flesh.

“Get them wet,” he told her.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. She would have done it anyway, but she liked it more that he’d said the words. “Like this?” she purred, opening her knees wider and letting him see her body swallow her fingers. She moaned aloud, half because she was so ready and half because she wanted to drive him insane.

“Exactly like that.” His voice was hoarse now, his movements jerky and rough.

She stroked her clit and then inserted her fingers into her slick channel again, letting her eyes flutter open and shut as she rode her hand. “Oh, Kyle. I want this to be you.” Her skin was covered in prickly heat and pressure was rapidly building low in her belly. Her skin felt damp all over.

“Just say the word and it will be,” he panted, staring straight into the camera as his lip curled and his grip tightened.

When she came, it was so strong and so fast it almost took her by surprise. She tried to keep her eyes open until the last second, watching as white heat jetted from Kyle’s thick shaft, but at last her eyes squeezed shut and she screamed—probably his name, but she wasn’t sure if she was even forming words.

She sat still for a moment, her lungs sucking in deep breaths, and her pussy contracting powerfully around her fingers. With her eyes closed, she smiled, listening to the happy growls coming from Kyle’s chest.

“Sweetheart,” he said a minute later, and Rayna opened her eyes to see him staring earnestly back at her. “You were…amazing.”

She grinned. “And you, sir, make imaginary love the likes of which mere mortals cannot fathom.”

“Why, thank you,” he said through a laugh. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

“I could eat.”

“Good. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if you’d think my attempt at dancing was a fitting reward, so I ordered some Italian for us earlier, just to be safe.” He cleaned his hands with a cloth and pulled on some wrinkled boxer shorts he’d snagged from a pile of laundry on the couch. “It should arrive at your house in about five minutes, so as much as it pains me to suggest it, I’d get those shorts back on if I were you.”

She gave him a stern look—as stern as she could manage in her current blissful state. “Another dinner? I told you, you can’t keep spending money on me like this. You’re gonna go broke. Besides, I thought date night was tomorrow—dinner and a movie, right? I have a dress picked out and everything.”

“And we’re still doing date night, dress and all, because what I ordered tonight isn’t dinner. It’s just a little bit of lasagna. And this—” he slid a box out from under the coffee table, “—isn’t a movie—it’s a board game. Upwords, to be exact. Think my favorite author has it in her to go head-to-head with her biggest fan…or is she
scared
?”

Rayna laughed. Authors and spelling? Wouldn’t he be disappointed. That was what spell check was for. “Scared? Me? Now you’re going to feel my writerly wrath, sucker. Bring. It. On.”

Chapter Three

To the incomparably brave and beautiful Rayna Sommers:

Your mission for today, Agent Sommers, should you choose to accept it, is to walk until you find a lost coin. Pick it up and show it to me tonight. I will be rewarded. I mean,
you
will be rewarded.

Kyle

Rayna sighed. And it was one of those pathetic, dreamy sighs that let her know she was in trouble. Last night with Kyle had been amazing. They’d eaten what could only be called
dinner
—seeing as the “little” lasagna had been accompanied by a huge Caesar salad and a small variety of desserts—and then they’d stayed up way too late laughing and arguing over what constituted a real word for their board game and what didn’t.

He’d said it was only fair that anything she’d put in a novel counted as a real word. Damn it, she shouldn’t have let him read the rough draft of her latest manuscript, but she was beginning to really value his opinion. And that’s how he’d won the game. He’d been down to mostly useless Rs and had slapped
G
-
R
-
R
-
R
down on the board like a gunslinger in an Old West quick-draw contest.

He’d been prancing around his living room in his boxers doing some sort of obscene victory dance until she accused him of cheating. After all, he’d been drawing the tiles for her and holding them up to the camera. How did she know he hadn’t slipped the best ones to himself? Of course, he’d said he was going to make her pay for that comment tomorrow night—which would be tonight. And she couldn’t wait.

She snagged her lower lip between her teeth. Things were getting kind of complicated. She more than liked Kyle. Besides her writing, he was the best part of her day and her night. But how could an Internet fling go on forever? The answer was—it couldn’t. And she knew he wanted to come visit. When his hints had fallen flat, he’d come right out and told her that he wouldn’t pressure her, but that he wanted to see her in person.

He might like her books—he might get a kinky thrill out of messing around with a woman who wrote what she did—but the day he met her would be the beginning of the end. Normal people didn’t enjoy being tied to people who were afraid of leaving the house. It was in the normal-person handbook somewhere. It must be, because no other man had wanted to stick around after it became clear that Rayna’s issue was more than just a cute little quirk.

But she had Kyle for now. And life didn’t have any guarantees. Wasn’t
now
all anyone had? So could she find a coin? How far would she have to go to find it? And what would happen to date night if she failed to even try?

She eyed the coin jar on her kitchen counter.
Nah.
She’d give it two blocks and her best effort before she resorted to that. She poised her fingers above the keys and typed in Kyle’s two favorite words:
Mission accepted
.

She put on her black trench coat, and real shoes for today, then went in search of Bratty when the hen didn’t come to the call of promised treats. Maybe the bird was smarter than she looked. Rayna finally found her in her nesting box, sound asleep.

That was weird. The bright sun was practically bleaching the color from the carpet, and Bratty was still in bed. Rayna smoothed a hand over the hen’s poofy-feathered head. “You tired today, baby? How can I find that coin without my wingman? Ha! Get it?
Wing
-man…”

Bratty simply murmured an odd growl in response.

Rayna shrugged and plodded toward the door as the butterflies began dive-bombing her gut. A two-block search for a lucky coin, and if she came up empty-handed, she was tossing quarters with her eyes closed and finding one of those.

Kyle was adjusting his tie in the mirror, still smiling over last night’s events, when the cleaning staff entered.

“Pardon me, sir. I thought you’d gone for the day.” Mary’s gray uniform was still crisp and clean, even though she had a caddy of chemicals and supplies in one hand and had clearly been at it for a while. Her two assistants trailed behind her, also looking similarly mortified to have come upon a member of the Ashford family.

Kyle smiled to ease their minds. “No, it’s fine. You can get started. I’m leaving in a minute.”

Mary nodded and turned to collect the clothes from Kyle’s hamper. “Oh…Mary. I almost forgot. Can you leave the clothes that are draped over the back of the sofa, please?”

Mary nodded. “Of course, sir.”

One of Mary’s assistants—Jerry something—glanced at her with wide eyes before he realized what he was doing and blinked, then he quickly turned away to start on the kitchenette.

“Will there be anything else?” Mary asked.

Kyle rolled his shoulders, getting ready for his big day. “No…just, you know. You don’t need to clean up
too
well. I want the place to look lived in.”

She smiled. Mary was a very smart lady. You didn’t get a job in the main residence of the Ashford family without an impressive resume. In this case, she was smart enough not to ask why. “Absolutely, Mr. Ashford. Jerry, please leave a dish or two in the sink. Claudia, you can pack up the board game, but please leave the box on the coffee table.”

“Thank you.” He wanted to hug the woman, but he didn’t do it.

There was a strict no-touching policy in effect with the household staff. Too many gold diggers had tried to file suits over the years for abuse, sexual harassment and other assorted complaints—all of them unfounded. Last year, a cook from the kitchen staff had tried to sue them for a million dollars because she’d scalded her chest with hot coffee—her own cup that she’d prepared in the staff lounge on break.

But that’s what billions of dollars did to some people. He knew it wouldn’t happen to Rayna, though. He knew when he told her—and he was going to very soon—she would process what it meant for them, and she would be okay. Five years from now when their kids were running through the halls, zipping past world leaders taking tea in the garden, Rayna would be running barefoot through the halls after them, laughing and probably carrying that snaggle-toothed chicken.

Kyle realized he was staring at the board-game box with a goofy smile on his face when his father emerged in the doorway and cocked a brow. Of course his father wasn’t smiling. Kenton Ashford didn’t smile unless it was for the front page of
Time
magazine, and even then you could tell he was rusty at it.

“You’re still here?” he said. “I thought you’d have left for the board meeting by now.”

Kyle shrugged. “I have plenty of time, and one of the helicopters is already waiting if you’d like to carpool.”

Kenton frowned, which made his jowls more pronounced. “You know I like having my own transportation at my disposal. But…thank you for asking.” Judging by the face he made, it must have hurt pushing those last words out of his mouth.

“That’s cool. I just wanted you to know you were invited.”

His father glanced around the renovated lounge. “Mary, I need to speak with my son.”

Mary bobbed her head and quickly ushered her helpers from the room.

Kyle clasped his hands in front of him. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking I’d ask you the same thing. What have you done with this room? Are you unhappy with this wing of the house?”

They owned houses everywhere—Kyle even had a few of his own—but one of the expectations of an Ashford was residing at least part of the year in the main residence. Kyle’s sister, Carolyn, didn’t visit often, and his mom wasn’t permitted on the grounds, so his father tended to keep a closer eye on Kyle’s whereabouts than a parent should of adult offspring. Kyle was the Ashford “legacy”, after all, his father had said. Which was sort of like being a prince—only his coffers were deeper than most royals he knew.

“What I’ve done? You mean creating the little studio here?”

Kenton nodded. “Yes. It’s rather…odd, is all. You wanted a smaller space?”

“You know, Dad, sometimes it’s nice to feel cozy. You should try it. Don’t you ever feel lost wandering around your three-thousand-square-foot bedroom all by yourself?”

His dad looked at him like he was on drugs. And he was—a nightly prescription of Rayna Sommers. “You’re just being nonsensical now, Kyle. I want to know what’s going on here. For the past few months you’ve spent several nights a week holed up in this room, doing heaven knows what.”

“Nothing illegal, if that’s your concern.”

His father took another step into the room, his tailored suit swishing at the legs. “Are you on drugs?”

Ah, so Kyle had called the look, all right.

“Of course not. If you really want to know…I met a girl.”

Kenton’s eyes widened. “You’re bringing her here? How is that possible? I would know.”

Kyle stifled a groan. This was so fucking awkward. “We’re online friends, is all.”
And I’m planning to marry her.

“Have you had the security staff look into this new friend?”

“No. It isn’t necessary. Trust me.”