Four and a half years ago…
Her back slammed against the door of the single-stall bathroom as Ren threw the lock and Candy gasped, breaking the kiss. She’d been turned on before, but she’d never felt this. This insane pounding pulse in her blood that drowned out all logical thought and screamed that she would burst into flames if she couldn’t have him right now. Had they remembered to lock the door? Did she even care?
Pretty Boy’s hands were on her ass, hitching her higher so they lined up just right. She forgot sometimes how tall he was, how strong. But now his mouth was on her throat and his strength was surrounding her and oh dear God she was going to die if she couldn’t feel him on her skin. Then his palms brushed beneath her shirt and she shuddered.
“This can’t be a thing,” she gasped with her last remaining brain cells. “I don’t screw around at work.”
“I know,” he promised, the words a throaty vow, then his mouth claimed hers and the last remnants of rational thought burned away beneath the heat of him. She lost time, sliding into feeling instead, his hands everywhere, until he broke the kiss with a muttered curse. “I love these jeans, but how the fuck do you get them off?”
She laughed, the sound jagged and desperate, and wrenched at the tight denim, shimmying the clinging fabric down her legs until she could kick them off. They tangled around one ankle, but Pretty Boy somehow managed to yank them free as he lifted her again, pinning her to the wall. He’d taken the time to free himself and slide on a condom and now there was nothing stopping them. He slid in deep and her eyes rolled back. “Oh, fuck, Ren.”
He braced an arm against the wall next to her head, his biceps close enough to lick—so she did and he grunted, gripping her thigh to change her angle, his rhythm making her insane, the low rasp of his voice chanting her name in her ear until his movements went ragged and uneven and she couldn’t even care because she was at the center of a supernova and nothing in the world could touch her. She was light and fire and heat—a flame so bright it burned away everything but feeling and the feel of the man in her arms.
* * * * *
Present day…
Ren had always figured the father cleaning his gun as an intimidation tactic as he met his daughter’s significant other was an urban legend. He certainly hadn’t expected to follow Candy into what must be the small study to find her father oiling up a hunting rifle. Thomas Raines stood when he saw them, holding the stock of the rifle in one hand.
“Candice! There you are. And this must be the man who never asked for my baby girl’s hand in marriage.”
Ren extended his hand, ignoring the rifle. “Ambassador Raines, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. In my defense, I did email to ask for your blessing—” Thank God he’d briefed himself on those emails.
“After the fact. Via email.”
“Dad—” Candy began to intervene on his behalf, but Ren placed a hand on her arm. Her father would never respect him if he didn’t defend his own case on this.
“I know that isn’t the way you would have liked to see things done, but, with all due respect, sir, it was Candy’s decision to make. Your blessing would have been welcome, but once I’d convinced her to marry me, I didn’t want to chance anything going wrong and making her change her mind before I got her down the aisle. I couldn’t risk you telling me to take a hike and talking her out of it.”
Raines cracked a smile and set the rifle on the desk—he had to know he hadn’t been particularly intimidating even while he was holding it. He had such a nice, friendly face it would have been shocking for him to pull a Cheney. “I guess we all do rash things in the name of love. And since you’ve made her so happy these last four years, I can hardly complain now. But I do have to insist that we sit down for that brandy and have a real talk—face to face for a change. Man to man.”
“Dad. Is that really necessary?” Candy looked between them, visibly uneasy with the idea.
“Don’t worry, babe.” Ren smoothed his hand down her arm to tangle his fingers with hers. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you go recharge after the flight and I’ll find you when we’re done here?”
She glared at him—and he was almost comforted by the look because for the first time since they’d walked into this showplace she wasn’t performing Stepford Candy. She was pissed at him and letting it show.
He almost bent down and kissed the angry purse of her lips.
“Let the menfolk have a talk, Candice—”
At her father’s words, she went brittle again, though the irritation still flashed in her eyes. “Don’t stay too long,” she demanded. “And remember you can always text me if he starts grilling you.”
She thought he was going to trip up and give away the game. He understood her nerves, but Ren was a pro. He knew his business. And he’d read every single one of those emails. Twice.
He hadn’t known what to expect in the emails she’d been so reluctant to let him read. He’d read at first looking for insights into her father, but there was little beyond the basic get-to-know-you chit-chat. No, what he’d really learned was how Candy saw him.
She’d always acted like he was her disposable lover. Yes, they were friends and yes, she relied on him more than she allowed herself to rely on anyone else, and of course, Candy paid attention to details because details were her life, but he’d never thought about how well she knew him until he was reading emails he’d supposedly written and they all felt like something he would have said. There were a lot of things he had said in those emails.
And in every single one they were blissfully, happily married.
Was that what she wanted after all? She’d been pulling him in and pushing him away for years until he’d finally realized she was never going to wake up wanting the white picket fence, but what if she’d wanted it all along and he’d been too dim to notice? What if the emails weren’t the shiny happy version of their life she was painting for her parents, but rather the dream she was painting for herself?
Did she know how much they revealed? Was that why she hadn’t wanted him to read them? Could she see the way they’d given away her desire for a closer relationship with her father—even if it was only through bi-monthly emails?
They’d given him hope. Hope that there might be a future for the two of them.
But first they had to con her parents for a little while longer.
“I think I can survive your father. We’re old friends.” He leaned down, dropping a light kiss on her lips, pulling back before she could react. “Go rest. I’ll see you soon.”
Candy shot him one more look that was clearly meant to be significant—some kind of warning he couldn’t interpret—and then clicked softly out of the room on her kitten heels. She wouldn’t like being excluded from the conversation, but her father was old fashioned and he obviously wanted to grill Ren without interference.
Thomas Raines moved back behind his desk, reaching once again for his gun as he nodded Ren to the chair opposite. “So. Ren. Tell me about yourself.”
He smiled. “Well, for starters, I’m not intimidated by rifles since I act as a bullet shield for celebrities for a living, but I appreciate the effort.”
Thomas laughed and set down the gun to pour the brandy. “I think I’m going to like you, Ren Xiao. Candy needs someone who isn’t easy to intimidate.”
“That she does. Luckily, I don’t scare easy.”
Thomas smiled and handed over a glass of amber liquid. “No. I don’t suppose you do. I haven’t heard much about your family…” He left the sentence open, silently inviting Ren to fill in the blanks.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was very young. My grandparents raised me after that. They were very grounded and family-oriented and tried to raise me to be the same way. I didn’t always listen—especially during my teen years—but I learned a lot from them.”
“Where are they now?”
“They both passed away before I was twenty.”
“Any other family?”
“I have an uncle, but we aren’t close. Other than that, it’s just me and Candy. She’s my family now. And you can rest assured, sir, that I would never do anything to hurt her. I will always take care of her.” He sipped his brandy—more from courtesy than because he liked the taste. “She’s my best friend.”
All of which was true.
Ren was proud of himself that he’d managed to skirt the truth without outright lying—though he didn’t want to think of how her father would react when he found out they’d been lying about the wedding.
Hopefully he wouldn’t have the rifle close at hand.