Diablo Blanco Club, Rite of First Claim Page 9

  Bryce’s hands, which had been slowly caressing along Mattie’s back, went still. He pulled her tight against him. “It’s dangerous, love.”

  Mike agreed. “It could drive her away, Mattie.” He started to shake his head, unwilling to risk losing Lyssa, but at the same time knowing it might be his only way of reaching the woman he loved.

  “You have to tear down the walls she’s used to protect herself, Mike.” Stepping away from Bryce, she moved to stand in front of Mike and set her hand over his heart. “You need to strip away the barriers and show her that the only protection she really needs is you. No matter what she’s ever said, I know Lyssa has always felt safe with you. She’s always trusted you to keep her safe.”

  Mike had to disagree. He wasn’t about to alienate his only allies by telling them how badly he’d fucked up four years ago by putting his duty before Lyssa on the only date she’d agreed to. “No, Mattie. I don’t think so. She’s always run away. How does that equate to trust?”

  Mattie grinned. “Running showed she could trust you to respect her wishes. If she thought there was any chance you wouldn’t do that, she’d’ve just cut your balls off and fed ’em to you the first time you asked her to pose nude.”

  All three of them laughed, but the sound faded quickly. “I don’t know, Mattie. I love her. I could never harm her.”

  “You’re not hurting her, Mike. You’re awakening her. She needs to realize she’s worthy of your love and honor and protection, but she’s going to fight you every step of the way.”

  Bryce crossed the room to wrap his arms around Mattie’s waist. “Like I fought acknowledging how important my own feelings were for you?”

  Mattie nodded, leaning back into Bryce’s hold. “She’s going to defy you and top from the bottom every opportunity she gets, Mike. You have to show her you’re strong enough to take on anything, including her, to keep her.”

  “Anything including her and her past, right?” Mike felt the resolve building inside him. He could see what Mattie meant. There were things in their past that each of the Lawrence women had survived. Things that would have broken weaker people, male or female. It merely required he stake his claim and prove to Lyssa he meant to keep her. No matter what she threw at him.

  “Mike, if you don’t intend it to be permanent, walk away now,” Bryce told him.

  “I’m not walking away.”

  Bryce held his gaze. “I swear, Mike, brother or not, you break her heart and once I finish beating you bloody, I’ll let Mattie have you.”

  Mike remained quiet. It was useless to protest. If anyone’s heart was broken this time, it was most likely going to be his.

  Chapter Six

  Lyssa didn’t know how long Bryce would keep Mike occupied, but she was sure she’d be seeing him before nightfall. When he showed up at her house, she had to be ready. A look around her living room assured her nothing there could give away the plan that had sent her to the Club the evening before. The kitchen, on the other hand… She moved into the room and groaned at the fertility clinic literature she’d left scattered on the countertops and table.

  She grumbled as she gathered up the papers, pamphlets, and fact sheets. “One problem with living alone: reading while eating over the sink tends to become a habit.”

  The concerns that had sprung to mind during her visit with Mattie resurfaced. There was no arguing that Mike would demand she comply with a thirty-day obligatory training. A zing of heat flashed through her lower belly. At least her body looked forward to the coming confrontation.

  If it were only about keeping herself safe, she’d have no problem rebuffing him. Much as she shuddered at the idea, she even contemplated using the secret of their lost child to drive him away permanently should Mike persist. There would be no reprieve, no going back, no future with him if he knew she’d kept news of something as elemental as his child from him.

  But it wasn’t just about keeping her heart safe. Rite of First Claim, arcane a rule as it was, still meant something to the members of the Diablo Blanco Club, many of whom were her clients and had connections to the politicos, royalty of Tinsel Town, and social circles who purchased the gowns she designed and created.

  More importantly, refusal would constitute an insult to Bryce and Mattie. The lifestyle they lived included the Club, and Lyssa refused to bring about negative talk for them. No, she’d have to accept his claim for thirty days, if only to protect her business and Bryce’s investment in it. Besides, she doubted Mike would even last the full month; he’d very likely get bored and jet off to take pictures after a few weeks.

  Her fingertip absently traced the grinning face of a baby on the pamphlet she held. If Mike discovered her real purpose for going to the Club last night, the explosion would be tremendous. On the table, she spotted the small, five-inch-square laminated photo she had never quite been able to bring herself to destroy or even tuck away in the closet. Setting the pile of pamphlets and brochures aside, Lyssa eased into the chair and cradled the picture in one palm. The grainy black-and-white image blurred as tears welled in her eyes before she wiped them away.

  Even four years later, she wondered what might have been. If her baby girl had lived, would she have had her blonde hair or Mike’s brown curls? Would their baby’s eyes have been brown like her daddy’s or the same blue as Lyssa’s?

  Lyssa traced her fingers over the tiny whitish-grey blob in the center of the picture with the same fear and awe she had felt the day she’d watched the monitor in the doctor’s office when the ultrasound was performed. Twelve weeks after her first night with Mike. A week after he’d left, instead of staying to hear the important news she’d told him she wanted to talk with him about. And just as fast as the fluttering of her baby’s heartbeat, the fear and awe turned to pain.

  A loud pounding against her door startled Lyssa from her thoughts. With shaky fingers, she wiped at the tears welling in her eyes before she pushed back her chair and rose. It wasn’t difficult to guess her visitor’s identity. Before she left the kitchen, she scooped the papers, brochures, and pamphlets off the table and secured them in the catchall drawer at the end of the counter. She gently laid the ultrasound image on top before closing the drawer and heading for the living room.

  She would make Mike see reason. Eventually he would realize the feelings he had for her couldn’t last. He had been with other women, at least one she was sure of, since their first time at the Club. In her mind it was the same old tune, just different words—not worthy, unlovable—eventually he’d realize that and leave.

  But it was the stubborn little voice deep in her heart that tried to undermine her resolve. The kernel of hope that swelled and grew, spreading sensations and emotions throughout her body. Considering what she’d learned from Ben and Vance about the Rite of First Claim, Lyssa found it difficult to stifle the building anticipation the thought of Mike’s impending demands kindled.

  The secret part of her that yearned to give in to her emotions and trust that Mike truly loved her fantasized about him storming her home, playing the Neanderthal, and dragging her off to the bedroom to teach her who her master was. And like every other time she indulged the dreams, verse two began to play in her head: Parents wished you’d never been born; first boyfriend dumped you once he slept with you; college boyfriend didn’t even bother with sex before humiliating you. Even the first photographer you hired to take pictures of your designs proved untrustworthy. Cop a clue girl—you and love ain’t gonna happen.

  Taking a deep breath, she focused her thoughts. Rite of First Claim. That’s why he was here. Her concession couldn’t be too swift. If Mike really thought he wanted her, he’d presume she’d balk. Like always. She smiled. Perhaps conceding easily would throw him off, make it easier—

  Mike’s fist connected with the panels again, and this time Lyssa was ready. She strode to the front door and pulled it open.

  “We need to talk.” Dressed in jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and battered running shoes, neither heat
nor humor flavored his voice. His cool brown eyes gave away nothing of what he was thinking.

  Lyssa ignored the flutter of arousal his appearance engendered. Playing the role she knew he expected, she hesitated, “I don’t think—”

  Mike shook his head and moved closer, edging Lyssa out of the way so he could enter. “It’s in your best interest as well as mine, Lys.”

  “Mike, this is not a good idea.” Lyssa eased away from him, allowing him to loosen her grip on the door and shut it behind him. “I think we should just agree to forget about—”

  Mike dropped his gaze to the tiled floor beneath their feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as the overlong dark waves drifted across his forehead to shadow his face, leaving only the firm line of his whisker-rough jaw and tempting mouth visible.

  Nerves jumped in her belly. Lyssa eased a few steps closer to the kitchen, her attention never leaving the steady rise and fall of Mike’s chest as he seemed to meditate on what he wanted to say. When his head rose, she could read the look in his eyes. Lyssa stifled the urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. Each time he looked at her that way, it got harder and harder to turn her back on him.

  “You’re never going to change your mind about me. About us. Are you, Lys?” The pain in his words was palpable, but only his eyes reflected the emotion. The rest of his body remained still. Back straight, legs braced shoulder width apart, hands curled into loose fists where they rested in the crooks of his bent elbows.

  “There is no us, Michael.” Her denial was softly spoken, but Lyssa saw him flinch. She might have already made the decision to go along with the Rite of First Claim, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to roll over and play dead for this man after he’d hurt her last time. If he wanted her for the next thirty days, he was going to have to work for it.

  He drew a slow breath, uncrossed his arms, and tucked his unbent fingers into the hip pockets of his jeans. “There is. I may have fucked up the last time you agreed to a date, but not this time. I’m claiming my month.”

  Lyssa tilted her head to the left. “Your month?”

  “The thirty days guaranteed me by the Rite of First Claim. I claim you as my submissive for thirty days.”

  “Why?” Lyssa turned away and moved into the kitchen. Three pamphlets she’d missed sat like neon signs on the counter. Moving quickly, she scooped them up and carried them to the catchall drawer. After shoving them inside, she barely closed it when Mike pulled her around to face him.

  “Damn it. I’m tired of slamming my head against that fucking brick wall you’ve surrounded yourself with.”

  “I never asked you—”

  “No, you never did,” Mike admitted, his grip softening, his other hand rising to rub his thumb over her lips, then along her jaw. “Most of the wounds I have are self-inflicted, Lyssa. And I really don’t mind them.”

  Lyssa remained silent. She fought the urge to nestle her chin into his hand, to ease just the slightest bit closer so the heat emanating from his body sank into hers.

  “I’ve never lied about how I feel. I’ve told you for years that I love you, but you’ll never believe me, will you?” Mike inched closer, sandwiching her between his body and the counter behind her.

  His declaration sent a tremor through her. Lyssa had heard him say it before, but she knew he only thought he loved her. Once he discovered the secret she’d kept from him—about their lost little girl—his “love” would certainly crumble to dust. “It’s not true, Mike. You know what you feel isn’t real. It’s based on the fact that I keep telling you no.”

  “You can believe that if it makes you feel safe, but you’re wrong.” Mike shrugged. “I’m tired of wanting you all the fucking time and not having you.” He pressed a hard, brief kiss to her lips. His body pressed against hers. “I wake up wanting you. I go to sleep wanting you. In four goddamn years, Lys, I haven’t been interested in touching another woman, let alone having sex.” The chuckle that slipped from his lips at her surprised expression was self-deprecating rather than amused.

  “I never asked you to—” Lyssa protested. His words were just further proof that his feelings related to sex, not real affection.

  Mike shook his head. “You didn’t have to, pet. It’s just the way we Halsey’s are made. When we find our mates, we don’t stray.” His forehead dipped into the curve between her shoulder and neck. “I’m tired of wanting what you say I’ll never have, honey.”

  Every word was like a knife through her chest. Lyssa wanted to cry out, but she couldn’t. A single life, a life without the threat of repeating her parents’ errors of mistaking lust for love, was something she’d chosen for herself. One without the uncertainty of a man’s professed affections followed by his abuse and rejection had been the primary goal that had helped Lyssa survive the nightmare of her childhood and the heartbreaks of her adult life. It was easier to be alone than to have an angry, bitter man snarling insults and condemnations at her. It was better to suffer loneliness than to trust three little words and have her heart ripped out and crushed again.

  “Then leave me alone,” Lyssa told him.

  Each word was harder than the last to get out. If he accepted her rejection, he’d just go on thinking his love was unrequited. She needed him to stop caring. To stop believing the lie he’d somehow convinced himself was the truth.

  “If I thought it was what was best for you, love, I would. In a heartbeat. Right now.” His head rose, and his gaze met hers. His body rubbed against hers, reacquainting her with the feel of the thick length of his arousal. “But it isn’t, so I won’t.”

  Mike watched the expressions flit across Lyssa’s face. On the long drive from his brother’s house and then to the suburban housing development where Lyssa lived, Mike had rehashed the arguments he’d presented to Bryce and the voiced cautions of his brother and sister-in-law. Neither of them knew about the date he’d canceled years ago. Exhaustion no longer clouded his judgment, and emotion was set aside as he analyzed the likelihood of Lyssa submitting to him. He was sure she’d use his abandonment when she’d told him it was important that he meet her against him.

  If he couched her submission as a responsibility connected to her membership at the Club, it would only bring out the fact that he’d obtained and paid for Lyssa’s membership with the Diablo Blanco Club. Not a discussion he felt comfortable having at this juncture in their relationship.

  The next option was the one he’d adopted. Leaning on the rationale David hinted at in his last phone call, Mike's intent when he pulled into Lyssa’s driveway was getting her to see that conforming to the Rite of First Claim would be in both his and her best interests. It all came back to breaking through the walls to get Lyssa to trust her heart. And to trust him with her heart. If he believed Mattie and his instincts, Lyssa’s heart and body already submitted to him; that only left her mind. Which meant informing her of the new parameters of her world was his next step.

  “And if you’d only admit it, you don’t want me to leave you alone,” he added without rancor or taunting.

  Lyssa shook her head even as her hips rolled against his, caressing his cock. “Yes, I do.”

  Mike slid one hand beneath the oversize sweatshirt Lyssa wore. A hum of appreciation slipped from his lips as he caressed the full curve of her breast without the barrier of a brassiere. He circled his finger around the firm peak before pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “Then what’s this, pet?”

  Mike played with her nipple for long seconds, enjoying the stifled groan and the way her body swayed close to him as he moved a step back. “Only hours away from each other and I’ll bet your panties are wet and your pussy is aching to be filled.”

  She swallowed but didn’t meet his gaze. “It’s an aberration.”

  “Prove it to me, Lyssa. Four years ago, you didn’t mind being with me. Last night, you enjoyed it as much as I did. And just like me, you want another taste.” Mike leaned close, stroking her lips with the tip of his left forefin
ger, while he used the fingers beneath her shift to squeeze one of her soft, round breasts. “We’ll both always want another sip, one more night.” He cupped her jaw with his fingers, turning her face up to him. “We’ll always need just one more fuck.”

  “Maybe you will—” Lyssa leaned back.

  “Oh, I promise you’ll need it as well.” Mike rubbed his cheek against hers, and teased the curve at the top of her ear with his lips. He breathed in the honeysuckle scent from her soap and lotion and held it in his lungs before exhaling slowly as he nuzzled her ear.

  “Who’s been chasing whom?” Lyssa cuddled closer. “I can satisfy my needs without you.”

  He lifted his head and watched her as he slid his hand from her breast to her belly and flicked open the button on her jeans. “Prove it,” Mike retorted, pressing his lips against hers.

  Nipping at his mouth, she tangled her fingers with his as they fought over the tab of her zipper. “This won’t do anything but prolong—”

  “No, Lyssa. Give me my thirty days,” he urged her. “For your benefit as well as mine.”

  Lyssa shook her head and danced out of reach, her jeans loose on her hips. She looked confused, unsure of her next move. “How does submitting to you for thirty days benefit me?” She shifted toward the doorway, putting more space between them.

  “Propinquity. Too much of the same thing,” Mike responded. “You’ve always claimed my feelings result from wanting but not having you.”

  “If you would simply stay away from me, you’d get over it.”

  Mike shook his head and leaned against the archway leading into the hallway. “And what about the holidays? We’ve got Thanksgiving in four weeks. Christmas the month after that. Then the kids’ birthdays.” Mike shrugged. “You can’t expect either one of us to miss those.”

  “No, but—” She moved away from him.

  Mike doubted Lyssa realized where she was taking him as he followed her, or that she’d made no move to fasten the jeans he’d loosened. “Admit it, hon. We can’t be in the same room for more than fifteen minutes without stirring each other up. And you do everything in your power to remind me that I can look all I want, but I can’t touch.”