Page 31 of Silver Spoon Falls, Vol. I

TWENTY-TWO

RYKER

Francesca scurries down the hall like she's running a race, her short legs moving comically fast. I would laugh, except I'm having far too much fun enjoying the way her wide hips and round ass sway in her black slacks.

Her kitten heels tap against the gleaming tile, each step shouting her annoyance into the silence.

Fuck, she's something else.

Perfectly put together on the outside, yet untamed and a little bit wild on the inside.

Even perfectly coiffed, she can't hide it.

Little flashes of that fire spill out of her, marking her no matter how hard she tries to cover it up.

It's there in the twin spots of color staining her cheeks, and in the fire crackling in her sky-blue eyes.

It's in the way she moves like an irritated little kitten with its tail twitching.

I see it in the way little pieces of her hair stubbornly refuse to cooperate, hanging freely around her face despite how tightly she has the rest of it bound.

My fingers itch to pull the tie from her hair to send it cascading down her back. This woman wasn't made for obedience. She wasn't made to be tamed. She was made for me.

We stop outside the only door on the floor.

"Leave my bags here," I growl to the bellman, dragging my wallet out of my pocket to slap a tip into his hand. I want him out of here so I can get Francesca alone.

"Yes, sir," he says, pulling them off the rolling cart and setting them against the wall.

Francesca spins to face me, her hands planted on her wide hips. The move pushes her tits out. To the bellman's credit, he doesn't even look at them.

"In the south, we say thank you when people do things for us, even if it's in the course of performing their job duties, Mr. Montgomery," she says, laying into me.

"What a novel concept," I respond dryly.

She growls, literally fucking growls at me. It's the cutest goddamn sound I've ever heard. Jesus, she's magnificent. Pure murder enters her glare before she turns to the bellman, offering him a tight smile. "Thank you, Rodney."

"No problem." He tips an imaginary hat, glances between us, and hauls ass to the elevator as if he's afraid sticking around might end with him in the middle of a murder scene.

Francesca waits until the elevator closes behind him to turn her gaze back to me. As soon as it lands on me, electricity crackles up my spine, and my fucking cock throbs.

She feels it, too. I've spent a damn lifetime learning how to read people and their tells, those little cues that belie their true emotional state.

She wants me to think I annoy her. She wants me to think I'm bothering her.

It's a lie. The pulse in her throat speeds when she looks at me, the color in her cheeks deepening.

Her baby blues eyes darken a shade, and her hands tremble oh so faintly.

She's attracted to me. This back-and-forth between us turns her on, too. And that pisses her off. I can work with that. Fuck yeah, I can.

I fish in the welcome basket for the keycard pamphlet to unlock the suite.

Francesca squeaks suddenly and darts forward, trying to snatch the pamphlet from my hands. "I'll open it. Your hands are full."

Yeah, no.

I lift it over my head and out of her reach.

She actually jumps for it, trying to steal it from me, her cheeks blazing with color. Her tits bounce, and I almost let her have it. Almost.

Nah. That's way too easy.

What did she do?

"Settle down before I spank you right here, sunshine," I growl, holding it further out of reach.

"Give me the keycard, Mr. Montgomery."

"It's Ryker, and no."

"I need to make sure it's working properly. For your safety."

She's so full of shit. Fuck, I think I'm in love.

"Liar," I chuckle.

She scowls at me. "Fine. Open it. I don't care," she says, lying again. "You deserved it."

I hesitate, torn between kissing the pout from her lips and rampant curiosity at what she did to my keycard. Curiosity wins. Only because I have a feeling she'll kick my ass if I try to kiss her right now.

I pull the pamphlet back down to me and shoot her a warning glare when she immediately leans forward. She mutters under her breath but doesn't try again when I flip the pamphlet open.

My gaze immediately lands on what she wanted to hide. In lieu of my room number on the blank side, she left me a note.

PS: This fancy thing also operates your PRIVATE elevator to your EXTRA SECURE suite on your PRIVATE floor where all the doors lock.

I slip the keycard out and then glance at her over the top, fighting like hell not to toss the damn welcome basket and drag her guilty ass into my arms.

"That's six. One for your attitude on the phone, one for hanging up on me. And one for the note."

She gulps.

I crowd her up against the door, getting all up in her personal space as I move to unlock it. Fuck me. She smells like ripe peaches. My nose grazes her temple.

She whimpers, her tits heaving as her entire body reacts to me. Her soft curves kiss my harder frame, sending fuck-lust pounding through me. I need inside this woman. Soon.

I'm going to rip this fucking room apart if I don't know what she feels like wrapped around my cock as soon as humanly possible.

I shove the keycard into the lock and then yank it out. The lock disengages.

"Inside," I growl, unlatching the door and pushing it open for her.

She stumbles inside the suite without a word. I stalk her, not letting her put a single fucking inch of distance between us. She's had two weeks. That's all she's getting.

"Tell me about the security features, Francesca." I don't give a fuck about the security features. I just want to hear this goddess speak to me.

"I've already told you about them, Ryker," she says, as defiant as ever. Her voice trembles faintly, but she holds her ground. "It's called locks. And if you feel extra fancy, you can drag that armoire over to block the door."

"Seven."

"Stop counting!" Her eyes flash with a curious mix of desire, distress, and frustration.

"Stop giving me reasons to turn that perfect ass red."

"You are not spanking me. Hell will..."

I've heard enough. Seen enough. This girl is mine, and it's about damn time she knows it, too.

I drop the basket, dragging her into my arms as it crashes to the floor. My mouth slants down on hers, cutting off her fierce denial.

She doesn't fight me. She doesn't even try. With a sob of relief, she plasters her body against mine, letting me drown in her. And fuck. It's the sweetest goddamn death. She tastes like candy and feels like sin as her hands fly to my hair.

Mine drift down her body, grabbing her ass. I knead her cheeks, my damn palms itching to feel them turning red beneath them.

I back her up against the door, growling against her sugar lips. My hard cock nestles against her stomach, letting her know exactly what her smart mouth does to me.

"Ryker," she moans, clutching handfuls of my hair.

Ah, goddamn. Now that's a sound I want to hear her make again.

I don't get the chance.

My damn phone rings, a drum solo blaring into the room from my pocket.

Francesca jerks in my arms, ripping her mouth from mine. Her wide, dazed eyes meet mine, her lips swollen from my kisses.

"Fuck," I growl, reaching for my phone to silence it.

"Move," Francesca says.

"Sunshine."

"Move, Ryker," she growls, something wild in her eyes.

I step back, giving her space.

She fucking bolts like a frightened rabbit, ripping the door open and throwing herself out of it. It slams behind her hard enough to rattle the art on the wall.

"Fuck," I groan.

I'm killing my twin. Just as soon as I convince Francesca to marry me.

Convincing her to marry me will be easier said than done. By the time I get back down to the lobby, she's gone for the night.

I spend the next thirty-six hours stalking the damn front doors like I'm the security guard, waiting for her next shift. Her boss refuses to tell me her schedule. I even try to bribe a housekeeper. No one is buying what I'm selling.

It seems I shot my own damn self in the foot. My reputation as a difficult guest precedes me. No one wants to tell me shit about my girl. It's infuriating. For an ordinarily patient man, I find I have absolutely none now.

Razor thinks the whole situation is hysterical. I'm almost positive the asshole could help me out and tell me where she lives, but he won't. He's enjoying my misery.

At least our baby sister takes pity on me. On the second day of my stakeout, she brings me dinner.

"You're my favorite sibling," I murmur, hugging the shit out of her.

"I know." She beams at me, humor dancing in her eyes. "Please make sure you tell Razor that every day for the next fifty years."

"Done."

She glances around the lobby, her nose wrinkling. There’s nothing wrong with the place. It’s neat and tidy, and very well-appointed. She’s just mad I’m not staying with her. "I still don't know why you wanted to stay here instead of with us."

I give her a look that makes her fidget. "You know exactly why I'm not staying with you and that fucker," I growl.

"He has a name, you know."

"Not when we're talking about the horrible shit I can never unhear, he doesn't."

Jules rolls her eyes. "You're so dramatic. It wasn't even that bad. It was completely normal."

"There is nothing normal about hearing your sister... You know what? We're not talking about this," I mutter, scowling. "It's giving me flashbacks."

Jules laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. "I have to go, anyway. Dillon has the girls. I just wanted to bring you food since you're being crazy. Hurry up and win your girl. I miss you."

I pull her in for a hug, squeezing the shit out of her. "I miss you, too, baby sister."

"I love you."

"Love you more."

"Lies," she says, beaming at me. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "Good luck."

"Go straight home."

"Don't be so bossy."

"Straight home, Jules."

She sticks her tongue out at me and then bounces out the door, a lightness in her steps that's damn good to see. Dillon is good for her. Her job is one of the toughest in the world, but he keeps her smiling.

"You can't eat that down here. "

I look up from the stack of dishes to find the brunette at the desk scowling at me. Amelia, I think.

"Take it to your room." She sends me another dirty glare and then goes back to the computer, only to immediately pop her head back up. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but leave Francesca out of it."

"Excuse me?"

"She needs this job to pay for school. She doesn't need you kissing her one day, and then bringing other women here two days later. If that's what you're about, leave her out of it and find someone else to play games with."

"Other women…" I laugh abruptly, which only irritates Amelia more. I don’t mind, though. I appreciate that she's looking out for my girl, even if she does have it all wrong.

"Jules isn't another woman, Amelia," I say quietly. "She's my baby sister. She brought me dinner because I've spent the last two damn days stalking the lobby, waiting for Francesca."

"Oh." Amelia smiles sheepishly. "Um, oops?"

"There are no other women. There's only Francesca." I grimace. "If her stubborn ass ever comes back to work."

"She had to take a few days off. She's working on a big project for school."

"When will she be back?"

"Probably tomorrow. She's going to see Finn Taylor tonight. He'll help her finish it." Amelia's eyes widen. She slaps a hand over her mouth. "I should not have said that."

"Finn Taylor," I repeat, instantly recognizing the name. He's a fucking genius computer hacker who lives here in Silver Spoon Falls. There isn't a computer system he can't break into. The CIA gave up trying to recruit him years ago.

"You did not hear that from me," Amelia says. "She'll kill me."

"Hear what?" I shoot her a wink, gathering up the bowls Jules sent. Dinner is going to have to wait. I've got more important shit to do.