Big Dick Read online

  “Wow.” She hoped the guys at Ryker treated him with the respect he deserved. Sometimes being the CEO’s son could work against a man, not for him. “Will you have anyone to buddy you while you start figuring out company strategy?”

  “Actually, yes.” He gave a little nod. “Dad’s hooked me up with Anders Arensen. He’s going to be my mentor.”

  “Oh, wow.” She tried not to let her skepticism show on her face. She couldn’t see Brad’s right-hand man having much to gain by helping Ric to the top. “That’s great.”

  “What’s that face for?” He raised one eyebrow at her, looking much more like the brother she’d grown up with in that moment.

  “What face?” She blinked, acting innocent. “I don’t have a ‘face’!”

  “Yeah, you do. I know you, remember?” He snorted a little laugh and she liked the way he said that. He did know her. He always had. “But I have to tell you something—he’s a large part of the reason I’m in the shape I am right now. He helped me train with their security team, and he’s taught me a lot about the business already. He’s a good man.”

  “Well, all right. That’s good, then.” She was reassured that he was so convinced. She liked the look of confidence on his face. “So what are your plans after the graduation party? We’ve got the trust meetings, I know, with all the lawyers and accountants. But then what? Back to Norway?”

  “You worried about me being overworked?” He wiped a hand across his forehead—he was sweating a little, she noticed.

  “You’re American,” she reminded him with a sly look. “Of course I’m worried about you being overworked.”

  He laughed, the sound rich and warm, as he put his glass down and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Hang on. Payne always turns the heat up too damned high.”

  She snuck in a moment of discreet ogling as he crossed the den to the thermostat in the hallway, sliding his shirt off as he crouched down to read the display.

  She couldn’t help smiling as she watched him fiercely poking at the buttons, trying to figure out how to turn the heat down. The temperature was fine for her, but if his warmth-hating Norse ways compelled him to strip, who was she to argue?

  The smile died on her lips as he leaned forward to look closer, bracing his hands on the wall and squinting at the panel. The pose turned his lats into smooth bands of steel running from his upper back down to the beginning of his nicely-defined six-pack. His triceps stood out like rocks, even with the mild-blurring effect of the tattoos.

  The track-lighting in the hallway showed his hair was nearly blonde at the temples. Annalesa released a slow, steady breath and threw a second glass of liquor down her throat. She liked the fuzzy feeling. She liked re-living this forbidden crush on him—even if he was, or had once been, her stepbrother. She reminded herself of this often, but it didn’t seem to make a difference in how she felt about him.

  With one final jab at the panel, he made his way back over to the bar, scratching an itch just on the inside of his hip.

  God, his waist was tight.

  Annalesa cleared her throat. “So, gossip. Is there a girl in Norway waiting for you to come home?”

  “I’ve had... dates.”

  “Just dates?” She grinned at the way he reddened a little.

  “I didn’t want to start seeing anyone seriously, you know, ‘til I was... I don’t know, happier with myself?” He shrugged. “But I’m not celibate or anything. It’s not like I haven’t been, uh...”

  “Physical with anyone?” she offered, her belly tightening at the thought.

  “Yeah. But that’s about as far as I’ve let things go.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s kinda weird for me. I spent years being avoided by girls who wouldn’t date me because of my body, and now...”

  “Let me guess...” Her gaze stayed focused on his face, on the way his eyes shifted from hers. “Women now only want you for your body?”

  “Sometimes it feels like it.”

  “Well, if you’re going to pick a problem to have?” She smiled when he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I mean, that’s not a bad one, is it?”

  “Maybe.” He tossed his shirt on the bar.

  “You know, I dated this guy once, this fucking gorgeous guy.” She made a face, remembering. “I spent the whole time thinking I was punching above my weight class, you know? Always worried I couldn’t measure up.”

  “You?” He snorted at that, shaking his head, his gaze moving over her, head to toe. That made her cheeks redden just slightly.

  “No, listen, seriously.” She met his eyes, trying to appeal to the man she knew was still in there. “You don’t have to be heavy or have bad teeth or bad acne or whatever to feel bad about yourself. I’ve been there, too. But Ric... you’ve always been attractive. Even at your heaviest. And now? Bloody hell, man, you’re gorgeous—inside and out. I think your head just has to catch up and realize it.”

  “Gorgeous inside and out?” he repeated, looking incredulous, like he didn’t believe her for a minute.

  “I’m blaming the alcohol for anything I saw tonight, just so you know.” Annalesa felt his amused gaze on her as she sipped. She hadn’t planned to say any of that out loud. But, since she had, she decided to go all the way. “You’re brilliant. You’re funny. You’re talented—you should’ve been on the Olympic shooting team, you know—and you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve ever been self-conscious.” He gave her dark chestnut-colored ponytail a light tug. “You do know you’re one of the beautiful people, right?”

  “You make it sound like a club.”

  “I think it is.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “A club I sure as hell never thought I’d belong to.”

  “We’re all just people, Ric.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even that insufferable Cyril. He was model, you know. But he picked his scabs like a five-year-old. Gross.”

  “You were obviously too good for Cyril the scab-picker.” He laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “What did you say? You felt like you were punching above your weight class? You, my dear, could never be punching above your weight class. You’re in a class all by yourself.”

  His compliment made her flush and the way his fingers brushed her cheek made her shiver. “I met Cyril in a gallery in Paris. He was so handsome, I thought he wouldn’t look twice at me. Turned out he didn’t know much about art—turned out his hot little body was the subject of a lot of the photographs at the show. Also turned out he was a complete bastard.”

  “Have you ever dated anyone who wasn’t an asshole?”

  “I went out with a nice guy named Hans for a while. He was very sweet. But... I have to confess, I got a little bored. We just... didn’t click. No chemistry. There hasn’t been anyone else.” She had no idea why she felt the need to make it clear that she’d spent most of her time single over the last four years.

  “Are you going back to England?”

  “I thought I might move to Paris.” Annalesa shrugged. “See if I can get a place on a curator’s team in one of the big galleries.”

  “Why don’t you start your own gallery?” He looked at her like she was crazy for not thinking of it herself.

  “My own gallery?” She laughed at the thought. “Do you have any idea how much money you need to set up your own gallery?”

  “Uhhh...” He cocked his head at her, frowning. “You know what this trust meeting’s for, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah.” She grinned back and rubbed her hands gleefully. “I’m really hoping for enough to buy a new car… why are you face-palming?”

  “The trust meeting is to release the funds that have been held in trust for you, Leesa.”

  “Yes, I’ve got that bit.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He leaned on the bar, close, eyes dancing as he looked down at her. “This isn’t small change. We’re talking millions of dollars.”

  “M-mill—” She couldn�
�t finish the word and nearly dropped her glass before setting it on the bar.

  Her head spun. She didn’t know whether to be irritated by Ric’s “big brother” tone, be delighted that she could now put a deposit on any flat she wanted in Paris or be afraid of possessing the kind of money she couldn’t even fit into her head as a concept.

  “Wow, you had no idea, did you?” Ric hunkered down and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “No.”

  “Ryker Arms is international. They sell a lot of guns. What do you think my dad was doing all day? Hosting tea-parties?”

  “All right, there’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  She imagined walking into an unused space just off the Seventeenth Arrondissement in Paris and making it her own, filling the walls with the work of brilliant but, as yet, unknown artists. Artists she would discover.

  She’d thought about doing a PhD on the prior influences of the Batignolles artists, but she didn’t have to stop there, not anymore. She could tour art colleges, find talent... as long as the locals didn’t get annoyed with a rich, little new girl sweeping in on their turf.

  “Do you think I could fit in on the Paris art scene?” she asked him, her voice sounding far away.

  “I think you should make it fit you.”

  “You’re such an American—and a megalomaniac.” She smirked. “You’ll make a brilliant CEO.”

  “There’s a difference between megalomania and self-respect, Leesa.”

  “I was teasing. But at least you believe in yourself now. That’s new. I like it.” Annalesa pushed her glass away and draped her arms round Ric’s neck. They both froze. She was afraid of his initial lack of response, but relaxed when his arms looped round her waist and she sighed in relief when he kissed the top of her head.

  “I like it, too.”

  “I’ve always believed in you,” she confessed, resting her cheek against the side of his neck, inhaling his warmth. “I tried telling you but... well, you didn’t like to hear it.”

  “I know.” He gave her a little squeeze. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

  “In the den?” She didn’t say, ‘After what happened there?’ although she might as well have.

  “I’m not a potato anymore, but I have to admit, I still like the couch,” he said and that made her laugh.

  He picked up both their glasses in one hand and tugged her over to the sofa. She sat down, taking her drink when he offered it.

  “The truth is, I hated myself, Leesa,” he told her softly. “I don’t anymore. But back then, I was always suspicious of compliments. I hated being ‘Big Dick,’ even if the nickname came about not just because I was fat, but because I was strong and protective, too. I thought those were good traits to have. But... well, that didn’t work out, did it?”

  Annalesa groaned, but with enough liquor inside her, felt brave enough to at least glance at the elephant in the room. “Are you talking about punching Ryan?”

  “He gave you bruises.” Ric’s eyes hardened, like little bits of green glass. “Was I supposed to just stand back and let that go?”

  “He needed a beating,” she agreed. Fucking asshole had nearly knocked her down the flight of bleachers at a packed football game just because she’d saved seats in the ‘wrong spot.’

  “You should’ve come home with me.” He sat beside her on the sofa, shaking his head.

  “Well, I would’ve, but Ric, you broke his jaw! I mean, I couldn’t just leave him there—he ended up in the hospital. I had to make sure he was okay...” Her voice trailed off when he glared at her.

  She put a hand on his forearm, feeling the tightness of the muscle underneath, saying softly, “It wasn’t because I was ashamed of you.”

  “Sure felt like it.”

  She drained her drink and put the glass on the coffee table, then turned back to him, keeping her voice and gaze as steady as she could. Then she confessed. “Don’t you think I’ve spent years wishing I’d walked away with you?”

  “What would you do if I saw a guy treating you like that again?” he asked. “Because I’d do the same damned thing.”

  “Ric, you’re the one who taught me to expect more,” she urged. “There isn’t ever going to be another ‘Ryan’ in my life.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “This time? I’d walk away with you.”

  The drink hit her hard suddenly and she dropped her dizzy head down into his lap. Ric surprised her by stroking her hair. She stroked the back of her knuckles against his front, letting all her tension go. His face blurred a little above her, but his grin was clear enough.

  “You never could handle alcohol.”

  “I’m just a little squiffy. That’s strong stuff...” She struggled to put her words in the right order as they came out of her mouth. “Besides, you should be chuffed I’m still such a light-weight. That means that I haven’t spent four years at University building up my tolerance.”

  “Nice reframe.” Ric laughed. “So, if you haven’t spent the past four years partying—what have you been doing?”

  “Missing you.”

  Crap.

  The words were out before she could even think. And now they wouldn’t stop.

  “I mean, I know now why I never you saw—you were losing all that weight and rebuilding your life—but there were too many Christmases and birthdays without you, Ric.” Her voice sounded far away, even to her. “I missed our late-night phone calls. Our football versus rugby arguments. I even missed sparring with you about the Second Amendment. Your incessant need for the right to bear arms everywhere, even in the bathroom—”

  “Okay, that’s one argument I didn’t miss.”

  Did that mean he missed all the other things, like she had?

  Then she laughed. “You even had a gun in the gym, for God’s sake!”

  “Ugh. You’re so English.”

  “All right, let’s not go there. Not while we’re getting along so nicely.”

  She lay quietly in his lap for a while, loving the feeling of being completely relaxed with him again. His hand was still in her hair, petting gently, his thumb occasionally stroking her cheek.

  She knew it was wrong, but she wanted him. She wanted to go to bed with this new Ric, press skin-to-skin with him, his arms wrapped round her front, and with nothing in the world to worry about.

  So much history, though. So much to work through.

  “You’ve changed,” he said suddenly, but it wasn’t an accusation.

  “I hope so.” She pulled herself up and climbed into his lap.

  Ric didn’t stop her when she straddled him, draping her arms over his impossibly big shoulders. She was heady, both from the alcohol, and from their closeness.

  “I’ve grown up a lot,” she informed him, feeding him facts he couldn’t know, given the length of time they’d been part. “I’ve learned things.”

  “What have you learned, Leesa?” he asked, sounding like he was indulging a small child.

  “I’ve learned to speak up.” Her spine straightened and she saw him glance down at the cleavage that motion suddenly put on display. “I’m not afraid to say things. Or ask for things. If I want something, I mean. I’ll ask.”

  “Oh yeah?” They were face-to-face. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “So ask. You didn’t climb into my lap for nothing.”

  For all her brave words, all she could do was look at him.

  “Are you asking me for me, Leese?”

  She drew a sharp breath as he put his hands at her waist, steadying her. She was so dizzy from the Akavit. And from him. From the look in his eyes, like an invitation, a question and a challenge all rolled into one.

  “Oh… no… not really.” She said no, but her head bobbed yes. “But sort of. Okay, yes.”

  “That wasn’t very clear.”

  “Okay, yes… I... I want you.” She swallowed around her confession. “I mean, I wasn’t asking you to, you know, do anything about it right this very second. I w
as just... answering your question.”

  His hands slid up her sides and around her back to her shoulders. The warmth coming off his palms amplified ten times through her body as he pulled her closer to him. They locked gazes and his eyes looked hungry.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Answering the question you didn’t ask.”

  He brushed his lips past hers and they breathed cheek-to-cheek, feeling each other out again after the long absence.

  Then he was kissing her, hard, like he was reminding himself of every little millimeter of her mouth, stroking her tongue with his and sharing her breath.

  She wound her arms around his neck, trying to keep up with him, their breathing, the pace of their mutual discovery. Beneath the alcohol, he tasted fresh, light, clean. Her crotch was directly over his and she felt his erection through the denim, pressing up against her thigh.

  So, I do appeal to this God-like creature, after all.

  That was far more intoxicating than any alcohol.

  Ric pulled away gently and cupped her face as she panted her way back to normal breathing. “I think that’s a good place to leave things tonight.”

  She staggered off him backwards as he stood, feeling winded again at his rejection, but she understood it. They’d both had a lot to drink. Too much. No one here was thinking clearly.

  “Got any plans for tomorrow yet, Leesa?”

  “Uhhh... no.”

  “Good. Meet me at the shooting range at HQ—thirteen-hundred hours.” He left a kiss on top of her head and headed up to his room.

  She stared dumbly after him.

  Thirteen-hundred hours? For God’s sake. What was wrong with one o’clock?

  If this ‘mentor,’ Arensen, had turned Ric into a military jerk over the last four years, she might ditch the target practice and shoot at him, instead.

  Chapter 3

  Ryker Arms headquarters was only about a mile from home, and Annalesa pulled her rental car up and threw it into park, glancing around. It had been a long time since she’d been there. New buildings she didn’t recognize had sprouted up. They’d expanded the manufacturing site a lot since the last time she’d been home, and there was a cement building where the range used to be, something the size of a five-or-six-bedroom apartment.