Exposed (VIP 4)

Little shivers of delight race over my skin. “And twice on Sundays?”

“Multiple times every day.” He finds the sensitive spot under my ear, his voice dipping. “I’ll say it whenever I’m thinking it, which is basically all the time.”

I trace the hard curve of his shoulder where his skin is hot and tight. “Let’s not go crazy, now.”

“You’ll love it,” he growls against my neck, playfully nipping me.

My smile pulls wide, joy making me giddy. “You’re right. I will.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling and infectious. And suddenly I’m laughing too, wrapping myself more firmly around him as he peppers my face with kisses, his big body quaking with humor.

“Why are we laughing?” I ask idly, my hands finding their way back into his hair.

Rye lifts his head and meets my gaze. His entire heart is in his eyes and it is stunningly beautiful.

“Because we’re happy, Berry. We’re happy.”

Epilogue

Brenna

Rye finds me by the pool. I’m more of a burner than a tanner, so I wait until the sun is low in the sky to take a swim. I’ve had a long day, talking to prospective clients, coordinating with my new staff to set the business up—including wooing Jules away from Scottie’s employ. I’d feel guilty about that if he hadn’t given me his blessing to pursue her.

Now, all I want to do is drink my cocktail and hang out with my man.

When he stops at the end of the double-wide lounger I’m sitting on, I smile up at him. “Hey, buttercup. You done for the day?”

We’ve set up camp at his LA house. And it’s been surprisingly easy, living and sharing workspace together. I took the home office that overlooked the valley below, and Rye mainly spends time in one of the studio spaces. So far, he’s produced two albums this spring, and is working with a bunch of other artists for upcoming projects.

“All done.” He eases in next to me, his big bulk taking up most of the space. With a happy sigh, he leans down and kisses me, his hand cupping my cheek in that way of his that says I’m his world. I melt into the touch, humming in pleasure.

When he pulls back, his expression is relaxed and light. A far cry from how he’d been for so many months. The time off from the band had been hard at first; he’d felt like he was abandoning them. But then he started to heal, to expand his creativity with producing, and the tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes began to ease.

“Want a sip?” I offer him my cocktail glass.

He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and accepts the drink. “God, I needed this.”

Rye runs a hand through his hair, sending the bronze strands on end. Months in the sun have bleached the tips light gold. His free hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together in a comfortable clasp. He smiles at me, a soft look, as his gaze moves over my face like he’s memorizing it. The mellow light of the late afternoon sun turns his eyes sapphire blue. “Needed you too, Berry.”

“Well, obviously,” I say, as if his words don’t make me giddy. We’ve been together for nearly six months now, and the man still has the power to make my insides flutter with just a look. “You’d be an utter mess without me.”

Of course, that goes both ways. I used to think needing someone was a weakness. But life is better, richer, more real with him in it. And I’m not weaker admitting this; I’m stronger.

Rye lifts our linked hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I would. I’d probably forget to tie my shoes, run into walls and not notice, be a blubbering lonely wreck. I definitely function better on a steady diet of stellar sex.”

Rolling my eyes, I reach over him to take my drink back. “Stellar, is it?”

He catches me around my waist and hauls me close, chuckling. “Spectacular.” His lips brush the crest of my cheek. I feel that touch deep in my belly. “Perfect. The very best ever.”

I sip my drink, suppressing a smile. “No one likes a kiss-ass, Ryland.”

Gently, he takes the drink from my hand and sets it on the side table before hugging me close and burrowing his face in the crook of my neck. “Roll over and I’ll kiss your ass right now.”

I laugh, half-heartedly trying to wiggle away. “No ass for you, big guy.”

He grabs said ass and gives it a fond squeeze. “Now, Brenna, you know we both win when you give me this fine ass.”

He’s not wrong. Flushing, I cup the square line of his smooth jaw. He shaved off his beard about a month into living in LA, not liking how it felt in the warm California sun. “Give me your fine ass in return and we’ll talk.”