clogged her throat as emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Whatever his reaction, she owed him the truth. But if he rejected her, the pain would slice deep.
Laney pushed aside the hurt, the fear and the nausea, and pounded on Ryker Barrett’s front door.
No turning back now.
Ryker had been part of her life since she was a child. He’d worked for her father, was best friends with her brothers. Her family had taken him in when his own had turned him away. He was mysterious, intriguing and frustrating.
And for the past five weeks he’d been pretending nothing had happened. He gave no hint that he even recalled tearing her Chanel dress from her body before holding her against her hotel room wall and bringing her every desire to life.
Nope. It was business as usual. When she’d had to feed him information via email or text for O’Shea’s auctions, he’d never given any indication that their one heated night had made an impact on his life whatsoever. Was he that emotionally detached?
Well, he was about to sustain one hell of an impact. He may try to ignore her, but there was no way he could ignore the consequences of their night.
The door swung open and the entire speech she’d rehearsed all morning vanished from her mind. Ryker stood before her wearing only a pair of running shorts, a tatted chest and glorious muscle tone.
She’d never seen him this way. The man who traveled the globe in designer suits, the man who donned a leather jacket and worn jeans to blend in when necessary, had never presented himself in such a beautiful, natural manner. He should do this more often.
Casual as you please, Ryker rested a forearm on the edge of the door and quirked a brow as if she’d disturbed him. Yeah, well, he deserved to be put out. She’d been fighting her feelings for him for years.
Rage bubbled from within as she slapped his cuff links against his bare chest and pushed past him. In all the years she’d known him, Laney had never come to his house in Boston. When they met, it was always on neutral ground, usually at the O’Shea family home her brother Braden now lived in.
As infuriating as Ryker could be, Laney was the first to admit that her family would crumble without him. He may be the “enforcer,” the guy who kept them protected and took the brunt of any backlash they ever faced, but he could easily cut ties and leave. This billionaire never threw his money around like most men she knew. Loyalty meant much more to Ryker than finances ever would...one of the many reasons she was drawn to him.
The door closed at her back. Laney shut her eyes and tried to forget the intensity of their complicated relationship, tried to ignore the way her body instantly responded to this man. She was here for one reason. And the fact that he worked for her family, was practically part of her family, wasn’t making this confession any easier.
“If you’re here regarding the painting in L.A. that you emailed me about last week, I’ve already—”
Laney whirled. “I’m not here about work.”
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Ryker widened his stance and gave a brief nod. “I can’t believe it took you this long to come to me.”
Laney’s heart kicked up. So he knew she would bring up that night, and he’d what? Been waiting on her? Jerk. Uncaring, unfeeling, stupid, sexy jerk. Why couldn’t he put a shirt on? She was trying to keep her anger going, but lust was creeping into the mix.
“You could’ve come to me,” she threw back. “Or, I don’t know, actually talked to me when we were exchanging work information.”
The O’Sheas were a force all their own, known around the globe for their prestigious auction houses. Laney had ignored the whispered “mafia” or “mob” rumors her entire life. She knew full well what her family was, and she was a proud member. They remained on the right side of the law thanks to the connections her late father had made and the ones her brother Braden, who was now in charge, and her other brother Mac continued to work at.
And Ryker Barrett, other than starring in her every fantasy for years, was the family’s right-hand man, security detail and any other job they needed him for. He did the dirty work and lay low, staying out of the limelight and behind the scenes.
Laney waited for him to say something, anything, but he stood there staring at her, which only made her nerves worse. How could he have so much power over her? She was an O’Shea, for crying out loud, and he was just standing there.
Standing there looking all half-naked, sexy and perfect.
Focus, Laney.
Ryker held up the cuff links. “Was this all?”
Laney narrowed her eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”
Or someone? It hadn’t even occurred to her that he may be entertaining. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew, and she hated the spear of jealousy that ripped through her.
“Yeah, my morning session with the punching bag.”
Which explained those perfectly sculpted arms, shoulders and pecs, though Laney figured he used a punching bag as a means of releasing his emotions rather than to stay in shape. Ryker was the epitome of keeping to himself and never letting anyone get too close. So what did that say about that night they shared? Clearly he’d thrown all of his rules out the window because they’d been as close as two people could get.
Nausea pushed its way to the front of the line, bypassing her worry, her fear. Laney closed her eyes, waiting to see if she needed to find the bathroom or take a seat and let the wave pass. Please, please, just pass. Of all times to appear vulnerable, this was not the one.
“Listen, I get you want to discuss what happened,” he began, oblivious to her current state. “I take the blame. I shouldn’t have followed you into your room and—”
“Ripped my clothes off?” she finished, holding a hand to her stomach and glaring across the room at him. “I’m not sorry it happened. I’ve been waiting on you to notice I’m not just Mac and Braden’s little sister. I’ve fantasized about you ripping my clothes off, and I don’t even mind that you ruined my favorite dress. So, I’m not sorry a bit. I’m only sorry about how you treated me after.”
Other than the muscles ticking in his stubbled jaw, Ryker showed no emotion.
“This wasn’t just some one-night stand,” she argued.
“It was.”
Okay. That hurt—the truth often did—but still. They were more, so much more, than a quick, albeit amazing, romp.
“How dare you act like I was just some random stranger?” she yelled, throwing her arms out wide. “I’ve known you almost my whole life. You think it’s okay to have sex with me and—”
He moved in a flash, gripped her shoulders and hauled her against his bare chest. “No, I didn’t think it was okay, but I couldn’t stop. Damn it, Laney.”
Ryker released her and took a step back, letting her go as if she’d burned him. “I couldn’t stop,” he whispered.
* * *
She had to get out of here. The last
