Page 49

REN

Siren Song, Maine

R en found Stella lying on the couch with her laptop on her chest and Newton curled up at her feet. He sank against the front door and drank her in.

Without looking up, Stella said, “She’s a nimble old gal. I hope I can climb a ladder like that when I’m eighty.”

Ren couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Stella Keen was a dream, from her bare feet with her toes tucked in Newton’s fur to the fall of dark hair cascading over her shoulder. She did nothing to entice him; she wasn’t flirting or seducing. Hell, she was wearing cutoffs and—

It was then Ren noticed Stella was wearing the Princeton T-shirt he had used to cover her naked body when she stripped.

Blood pounded in his ears, and something warm and satisfying filled his chest. The image was simultaneously innocent and erotic.

This sensation of abject possession was irrational and all-consuming and something he had never known.

He stepped forward. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Sorry, I’m low on clothes, and technically, you did give it to me.”

“Don’t apologize. I like it.”

Stella set the computer on the coffee table and pushed up on her elbows, drawing Ren’s eye to her taut nipples. “How much?”

“So much that I want to rip my favorite T-shirt to shreds.”

Stella

S tella stared as Ren reached over his shoulder, pulled his own T-shirt over his head, and tossed it on a chair. God, she’d never tire of staring at that body. His glasses followed his shirt, and the transformation was complete.

Stella loved that she was the only person who got to see this side of Leo Jameson—the lion. Her eyes widened as he stalked closer.

“Stand up,” he ordered, and Stella obeyed without hesitation, her body responding to his desire.

“Take it off.”

Stella gripped the hem at her thighs, pulled off the shirt, and tossed it on the pile with his. Without further instruction, she popped the button on her jean shorts and slid them down her legs. Ren’s nostril flared like a bull about to charge.

His eyes wandered to the open curtains bracketing the French doors. With a growl of frustration, Ren threw Stella over his shoulder, delivered a sharp smack on her ass, and charged up the stairs like she weighed nothing.

Ren tossed her on the bed and yanked the thong from her legs.

He held the damp fabric to his face and inhaled her scent.

His erection was forcing its way out of his sweatpants; Ren freed it with a feral tug and sheathed himself.

She knew instinctively this wouldn’t be lovemaking or even sex.

This was fucking. Her body wept for him as she parted her legs.

His big hands pushed her thighs farther, and he drove inside her in one powerful thrust. Stella cried out.

Ren responded by shackling her wrists above her head with one hand and supporting himself with the other as he relentlessly pistoned his hips in long strokes.

She built to a crescendo in record time as Ren cursed and thrust. Her body clenched as she exploded beneath him, and Ren joined her, his face a mask of pained ecstasy.

Ren released her hands and collapsed beside her, panting like an animal.

Her mind was awash in a purple haze. Stella curled into him without thought or concern and rested her head on his shoulder.

Somewhere deep inside, there must have been a seed of worry about her action because when his big arm came around her and cradled her closer, Stella breathed a contented sigh and fell asleep.

An hour later, Stella woke. They’d slept through lunch, and it was worth it.

She listened to Ren’s soft snores for a moment and felt his chest rise and fall.

She would have stayed all day, but she needed the bathroom.

After sorting herself, she returned to find Ren still sleeping.

He probably hadn’t slept in days. Stella stood at the foot of the bed admiring his Olympian form.

His broad chest looked carved from marble, and that unexpected tattoo on his muscular shoulder was a thrilling reminder he was not the man she assumed he was when Stella had posed as Sofria Kirk.

He was so much more. His cock twitched beneath the sheet, and Stella smiled, certain some part of Ren’s brain that never slept was aware of her ogling.

The primary suite ran across the entire north side of the house, allowing for two huge bay windows on either end of the room—one facing the forest and the other the ocean.

Stella walked quietly to the front-facing window, climbed onto the window seat, and parted the curtains.

In the daylight, the woods seemed harmless, even inviting.

A pair of black squirrels chased each other around a tree.

Sunlight filtered through the pines and dappled maple leaves.

A gravelly voice behind her said, “Close the curtain, Stella.”

Still naked, she looked over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“You know, I think I might be a bit of an exhibitionist. I kind of like the idea of people seeing us fucking.” She tugged the drapes fully open.

“Stella, I am not kidding.”

“Come on, Ren. You have to admit it’s arousing on some level. Ginny or some guy walking his dog, peeking through the window. Watching you.”

Stella wasn’t sure what she expected his reaction to be, but it wasn’t this. With shaking hands, Ren sat up and turned his back to her. He was white as a sheet as he sank to the floor and buried his face in his palms.

Without wasting a second, Stella yanked the curtains closed, raced over, and knelt before him.

“Hey, hey, they’re closed, okay?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Ren, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’ll pass in a second. Just leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Stella pried Ren’s hands from his face and held them tightly. “Breath with me, okay? Can you do that?”

He nodded but didn’t move. After an hour-long minute, Ren locked eyes with Stella. Together, they took deep breaths and slowly released them—over and over. When his color returned, and the shaking stopped, Ren broke the connection.

“What’s going on, Ren?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Stella sat back on her ass, feeling exposed and wounded. In one deft move, she rolled to her feet and went into the closet to grab a clean towel. Wrapping it around her body, she marched past Ren to the shower.

“No, you’re right. Sorry for overstepping.”

“Stella—”

She spun around and faced him. “How long are you going to punish me, Ren?”

Without a backward glance, Stella stepped into the bathroom and locked the door.

She buried her face in the warm spray, her tears mixing with the water. Stella couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. She swiped angrily at her face and reached for the shampoo. Ren had turned her inside out, and the fucking robot didn’t care.

He was worse than indifferent. He was cruel.

Stella was lathering her hair when the frosted glass door opened, and Ren joined her.

“How did you get in here?”

Ren gave her a look that said are you kidding me? He pushed her hands away and took over, gently massaging her scalp. If he was trying to soften her mood with his strong hands and solid body behind her, he was succeeding.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She didn’t reply, too afraid of what she might confess. Stella felt his broad chest rise and fall against her back.

“How much do you know about my childhood?”

She turned and rinsed the soap from her hair. “Not much. I know you’re the child of two scientists, and your dad is a widower. I researched the basics: education, hobbies, friends.”

Ren squeezed a dollop of conditioner into his palm and smoothed it over her hair.

“My parents had an unconventional relationship. They were more like colleagues than spouses. The relationship was not romantic or sexual. They slept separately and were rarely together. I asked my dad once why they got married, and he said because it was easier. I assume he meant easier than explaining why he was single or easier than trying to date when all he wanted to do was work.”

Ren detached the nozzle and rinsed out the conditioner as he continued.

“When I was twelve, my father was nominated for a Nobel Prize in Physics. My parents had always been on equal academic footing. They were both professors at elite colleges, both published, both tenured. That recognition sent my mom into a tailspin. She was competitive and petty and determined to grab some of the limelight for herself.”

“What was her field?” Stella asked.

“Child Psychology.”

Stella sensed the impending darkness. She grabbed the body wash and rubbed Ren’s shoulders and arms as he explained.

His chin hit his chest, and he spoke to his feet.

“When I was sixteen, she published an academic text, The Maturation of G: The Psychological Impact of Puberty and Sexuality in a Teenage Boy .

“Oh, no.”

Ren huffed a sad laugh. “You think your surveillance was extensive. My mother recorded every private moment of my life—the shower, the wet dreams, the emotional moments. She watched me lose my virginity in real time.”

Stella sank onto the built-in bench, fearful her legs wouldn’t support her. After shutting off the water, Ren sat beside her and pulled Stella’s body over to straddle his. It wasn’t a sexual move; he seemed to need to feel the weight of her body.

“Ren, I’m so sorry.”

“Do you want to hear the rest? It doesn’t end well.”

“It didn’t start well.”

He chuckled. “True.” He caged her with his arms. “My dad realized immediately that the subject of her research was her son, not a patient or a compilation of subjects. He exposed her, and overnight, my mother was a pariah in academic circles. She killed herself in the wake of the scandal.”

Stella wanted to say “Good,” but the woman was still his mother. Instead, she asked, “What happened to the book?”