8. Ruby
Chapter 8
Ruby
I follow April and Elliot up the stairs to be sure they have everything they need.
And to give myself a few minutes outside of Henry Dean’s gravitational pull.
Lord. Of course, Henry has thought of everything. More than everything.
The guy is even harder to resist now. How the fuck did that happen? He barged in here—well into my job , first—taking over everything and being bossy and grumpy and I should be annoyed. But no. He also had to buy my friend who just left her husband flannel pajamas and her son toy airplanes. Not to mention handling Chris. I could have if I had to, but of course, it’s nicer that I don’t. I’m not an idiot.
So yeah, this is all going to be a huge problem for me. Henry and I are under the same roof now for the foreseeable future. And it’s not a huge roof.
We have a three-bedroom house with one bathroom upstairs. There’s a half-bath on the first floor, and we’ve got a shower in the basement, but we all use the one upstairs. That’s the main bathroom. And it’s not like our bedrooms are in separate wings, like at the palace. Our doors are a few feet apart.
It’s just the right size for me, Scarlett, and Mariah.
Even when Henry stayed here in the past. Because he was in my room with me.
That can’t happen now. I’m not over him. I won’t even pretend that I am. But I have to try to keep from getting closer. And making it harder to leave.
“You guys need anything?” I ask from the doorway of Scarlett’s room.
Elliot crawls up on the bed and April gives me a tired smile. “I don’t think so. I can worry about everything else tomorrow.”
The sheets on the bed in Scarlett’s room where I’ve put April and Elliot have little colorful airplanes all over them. This is clearly part of what Henry had sent over for them. How did he know that Elliot likes airplanes? Was it just a lucky guess? Or do all little boys at age four like airplanes? In any case, Elliot is excited to show them to me and it does help to get him into bed and under the covers to read a book—also obviously sent tonight with everything else—with his mom. He snuggles up next to April, and I slip out of the room.
I hesitate in the hallway.
The unoccupied room is Mariah’s, but it feels weird to me to put Henry in there. Mariah is a teenage girl. Who knows what she’s got lying around or stuffed in drawers? Not that Henry would snoop, but I should at least get Mariah’s permission. She loves Henry. She’ll probably say yes. But…
Fine. I want him in my room.
I don’t know why. Maybe so it will smell like him after he leaves? Maybe because it might drive him a little nuts while he’s here? That room is full of memories—very hot, dirty memories—of us.
It’s probably a little of both.
I’m so screwed here.
I’m an adult—we both are—so I should probably go downstairs and talk about the sleeping arrangements with him.
Instead, I pull out my phone and text him.
You’re sleeping in my room. I’ll be in Mariah’s room. Goodnight.
He answers almost immediately. I should just ignore that. I told him how it’s going to be. This is my house. I didn’t even invite him to stay. So, he should just do this the way I say.
I read the message.
Don’t be ridiculous.
I don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean. You want the couch? Go for it. Pillows and blankets are in the hall closet. GOODNIGHT.
There. Capital letters. That should do it.
I wait.
I shift my weight. I scratch an itch on my shoulder. I bite my lip. I start to text him more but then delete it. I check that my message went through. It did.
So he’s just not going to respond?
Okay, good.
That means he got the message. And is going to do things my way.
Right?
I almost laugh. Henry Dean doesn’t do things anyone’s way but his.
Well, that may not be true. The king probably gives him directions.
But Henry pretty much always gets his way. He can probably charm and sweet-talk King Diarmuid too. Wouldn't surprise me a bit.
I frown. Wait. Does this mean he wants to sleep on the couch?
And why do I feel a twinge of disappointment that he’s not fighting me harder on this?
I should be grateful. Resisting him is nearly impossible—fine, so far it’s been impossible because I have not successfully done it yet—so if he just lets it go, I’m in much better shape.
Still, this is very unlike him.
The guy flew seven hours across most of an ocean because he thought I needed protection. The guy kissed me in the bar like he was starving for me.
Because of the creaky floorboards, I tiptoe to the top of the staircase and listen carefully.
He’s moving around down there. I’m sure he’s checking the locks on all the doors and windows.
It’s funny how when Henry is in the house, I’m less diligent about those things myself. That’s always a part of my before-bed routine.
I hear paper rustling, and I creep partway down the stairs so I can lean over and look through the banister. He’s cleaning up the living room, gathering the plastic, boxes, and paper that wrapped Elliot’s new toys.
I sigh. He’s cleaning up my house. Why can’t he be a slob? Or inconsiderate? Or terrible with kids?
He’s a bossy asshole sometimes, but, unfortunately for me, that makes me hot.
I listen as he makes his way across the room and into the kitchen. The back door opens, then closes and I know he’s going out to the trash receptacle. I wait but he doesn’t come right back in.
He’s probably checking the perimeter of my yard for threats.
My nipples tingle and my traitorous pussy clenches.
I’m not used to being protected.
I think my mom and Brian worried about me. I know Scarlett does. A few friends here and there did too. But no one’s actively, physically, protected me.
That’s usually my job. I give people what resources they need—at least what I can—and I’ll get in someone’s face if needed. But I’m obviously not as confident, nor as effective, as Henry.
He’s over the top. He has been since the first time I met him, even when he thought I was Scarlett and the woman who had a hot weekend fling with his best friend and broke his heart. But, if I’m being honest, I like his extremes.
It’s nice to have someone care that much.
He’s probably going to set up cameras, or hell, some booby traps or something around my property.
And I should find that ridiculous.
Instead, I’m hot and tingly.
When I hear him come back in, I scoot up the stairs quickly.
He can sleep on the couch. Fine. Whatever.
He can also sleep in my room. His choice. He knows his way around the house. And even if he didn’t, he’s the type to just make himself comfortable wherever he is.
But I am sleeping in Mariah’s room. And I’m going to push a dresser in front of the door. Not to keep him out, but to keep myself in .
I head for my room first though. I need to get some of my things out of there and need to do it before he’s in there. Pajamas, a book because there’s no way I’m going to be able to fall asleep right away, one of my pillows, my hairbrush, and body lotion. I pause beside my bedside table. Where my vibrators reside.
Yeah. I am probably going to need one of those. Damn him anyway.
Of course, even when he’s thousands of miles away in another country and I think I’m not going to see him again for months, I’m still using these things and thinking of him.
Of course, I’m going to be using one when he’s in my house. And just kissed the hell out of me.
And was amazing to my scared friend.
And was amazing to her little boy.
And has been amazing to every person I’ve ever seen him interact with.
Except for Chris. Which was amazing in its own way.
With a sigh, I yank the drawer open and grab my favorite little pink friend.
I step out into the hallway, turn left to go to Mariah’s room, and run directly into a hard, very good-smelling chest.
My book slides out of my arms and my vibrator drops right on top of it.
We both look down. Then up, our gazes colliding.
“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Henry tells me.
“Fine. Your call.” I bend, grab my vibrator and book, and try to step past him.
He steps in my way.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to bed.”
“Not with that.”
I hug everything closer to my chest. “I like my pillows way better than Mariah’s. Hers are too flat.” I know he’s not talking about my pillow
He reaches out and plucks the vibrator out of my fingers. He holds it up.
My body immediately flushes hot. We’ve used that exact vibrator together, in the room just behind me, and my body reacts like he’s turned it on and touched it to my clit.
“You’re not taking this.”
“If you need one, there are more in the drawer.” My attempt to sound bored and unaffected fails spectacularly as my voice comes out breathless.
“I do like that purple one,” he says, his voice low and husky.
Fuck, we had fun with that one.
“Just be sure you clean it up after.” I try to grab the pink one back, but it holds it up, out of reach.
He leans in, our noses only a couple of inches apart, his breath hot on my lips. “You are not going to be in the next room with just a wall between us, getting yourself off with a vibrator, thinking about me, Gem.”
My pussy clenches hard. “Fine,” I manage somehow. “I’ll think about Taylor Zakhar Perez. No problem at all.” The actor has dark hair, dark eyes, and medium brown skin, smiles a lot, and has no British accent. In other words, he’s not like Henry at all.
Henry’s eyes narrow, but one corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m not worried.” He reaches up and strokes the tip of the vibrator down my cheek to my lips, then over my bottom lip. “I know very well that you think of me whenever anything is between these gorgeous thighs.” He presses the vibrator more firmly against my lip and I catch my breath. “Up against your sweet clit.” My lips part and he slides the tip of the vibrator just inside my mouth. “Inside your tight, hot pussy.”
Then he withdraws it and tucks it into his pocket. I give a little gasp of indignation.
“No orgasms that I’m not giving you while I’m under the same roof. You want to come, you come to me.”
Now I narrow my eyes. “Absolutely not. That is not ignoring each other.”
“You blew the idea of me ignoring you when you got involved with April and Chris.”
We’re keeping our voices low so that we don’t disturb April and Elliot but the husky whispering makes me think of all the nights we were in bed together. The dirty talk. The sweet talk.
I frown at him. “Now that you know the situation, you know I had to get involved.”
He gives a single nod. “And you know that once I understood the situation, I had to come and make sure you were okay.”
“You’re not going to be able to keep doing that,” I say softly.
His gaze is intent as his eyes lock on mine. “Yes. I will.”
A ribbon of heat and need snakes through me and it’s not simply the usual I-want-you craving. It’s also the desire to be taken care of that way. To have someone drop everything and just show up. Someone who will take away some of the stress and worry.
But I can’t get used to that.
He’s not coming with me to New Orleans and even if he thinks he can just show up whenever he thinks I might need him, he’s not Batman. He won’t know every time I could use a hand, every night I’m just a little lonely, every single situation where a hundred dollars could make all the difference. There will be lots of all of those. But I’ll be over a thousand miles away. He won’t be able to get to me within minutes. Regardless of what he thinks, he can’t just snap his fingers and make everything better.
He’s making the choice to stay here with Cian and there’s no doubt in my mind—or probably his—that I’ll find more people to take care of and more situations to get mixed up in. Fighting “the bad guys” is what’s drawing me to law school. Trying to even the playing field a bit, making things fairer between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ is my mission.
And there are a lot of ‘have-nots’.
I lift my chin. “You can take all of my toys and make all the declarations you want to. I still have fingers, you know.”
Heat flares in his eyes and he leans even closer. “Yes. You do. And I have a hand. I guess turnabout is fair play, then. And I’ll be in your bed, won’t I, Gem? Surrounded by your scent. In the sheets where I fucked you over and over. With a drawer full of your pretty little knickers right there .”
My eyes widen. Clearly, he’s promising to jerk off with my panties in my bed . I don’t smile at his use of ‘knickers’ this time. I’m concentrating too hard on not begging him to take me right here against the wall.
“Henry—” I start, but he takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth.
He slides the index and middle finger of my right hand into his mouth. He runs his tongue along my middle digit, making me moan. Then he sucks. Then lets me go.
Yes. The fingers he just wet are the ones I would have to use. As he knows. I’m right-handed. And those are the ones I used when he made me give myself an orgasm while he propped up between my thighs and watched.
God, that was so hot.
And yes, I’ve replayed it in my mind many times since then. While having my fingers between my legs in the bed where he’ll be sleeping.
Damn him.
“Don’t cry my name too loud,” he says, his smirk saying he knows everything I’m thinking. “Wouldn’t want to wake up our guests.”
Then he steps around me, goes into my bedroom, and shuts the door.
With my vibrator still in his pocket.
But as the air cools my wet fingers and I pad the few feet to Mariah’s room, I’m not focusing on my tingling nerve endings or my racing heart rate. I just keep hearing Henry’s words in my head— our guests .
As if this is his house. As if this is all his responsibility too.
And dammit, it feels that way.
And I really like it.
He’s already made all this easier. Oh, not on my hormones. Or my heart. But now that I’ve seen April and Elliot in person, and witnessed Chris reacting to their situation, I realize that I’m glad Henry is here.
I close Mariah’s bedroom door and try to push the dresser in front of it.
It’s too heavy, of course, but I do push her futon in front of it at least. It won’t stop me, but it will at least slow me down if I decide to go climb in bed with Henry in the middle of the night.