Ramsay (Sign of Love #10) Read online

  We lay back on the cot, and she unbuttoned my jeans and slipped her hand inside. When she wrapped her warm fingers around me, I jerked in her hand and groaned, lying perfectly still, just focused on the sensations. Pleasure and pain. She brought her lips to mine again as she stroked me, and I turned my mouth away from her. It was too much. Too much all at once. She continued to stroke me and after a minute, she sat up and took her tank top off, followed by her bra. Her gaze stayed on me as she undressed and when her breasts popped free, I barely resisted the urge to moan at the sight alone. She was so beautiful it hurt me a little. Her breasts were full and high, creamy white where her swimsuit had covered her skin from the sun. Her nipples were a pale pink and already hardened. Jaysus, so pretty. Barely hanging on to control, I sat up and tasted them, rolling one around my tongue. Lydia gasped, but only pressed toward me. "You're making me ache, Brogan. I want you. I never knew . . . Oh," she gasped. I sucked a nipple into my mouth, learning the texture of that intimate skin, like velvet with barely discernible, soft ridges at the very peak. And her skin, yes, it was clean with a light hint of vanilla—maybe a body wash that still barely lingered. She rolled out from under me, my mouth coming off her breast, but before I could question what she was doing, she stood and shimmied off her skirt and underwear and then removed my shoes and socks and jeans. I watched, dazed. I should stop this. I should. It had gone too far and I couldn't figure out how it had happened.

  But then she was lying next to me, warm and soft, and I forgot why this wasn't a good idea. In that moment, I barely knew my own name. My senses were focused only on her, naked in my arms, and it felt so blessedly good, so right.

  Lydia . . . Lydia.

  She kissed me again, and I reached between her legs and felt the slippery evidence of her arousal, rubbing it between my fingers and then bringing my hand back to the place that made her buck and yelp. She was so slick, so lush. "Oh God, Brogan, yes, please. Don't stop."

  We touched, and explored, and stroked until we were both moaning and panting. My blood was swirling through my veins in a fiery frenzy. And yet all the while, Lydia seemed to understand that I couldn't take too much at once. She seemed to know when to withdraw her hand from one spot so I could focus on what she was doing to another. She seemed to understand that for me, there was a fine line between pleasure and pain, that my senses were overly acute. She couldn't know, of course, because I'd never attempted to explain how it was always this way, but she reacted to my body as if she did know, as if she understood this about me better than I did. And I was lost. When I moved over her, there wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her eyes. She opened her legs, and she welcomed me.

  I pressed inside her, inch by inch, gazing into her face. Her beauty. Mesmerizing. I was awed that I was inside her . . . or nearly. When I came to the barrier of her virginity, I met her eyes, full of trust and wonder, and whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sweet Lydia. Mo Chroí." And then I pressed inside, tearing her. She cried out in pain. I wanted to comfort her, but it felt so blessedly good that I could only bring my forehead to hers, holding myself still by sheer force of will, gritting my teeth to stop myself from thrusting, while she became used to my invasion. Why did it have to be that something that felt so wonderful to me hurt her? I had never imagined anything feeling so good as her hot muscles clenched around me, pulling at me, stroking me from deep within. "Are ya okay?" I finally managed. She nodded, and I began to move, groaning with pleasure at the tight friction surrounding my throbbing erection. Sweat broke out on my back. I knew I wouldn't last long.

  "Tá tú gach rud atá go hálainn dom," I breathed.

  You are everything that is beautiful to me.

  Lydia sighed, tipping her head back and wrapping one leg around my hips. After just a handful of thrusts, I felt an orgasm tightening my abdomen and swelling my cock even further. It was the first time I'd ever been inside a girl. With one final thrust I came, the pleasure washing through me and causing goosebumps to form on the surface of my skin. Groaning, I collapsed beside her and attempted to catch my breath, finally looking at her. Her eyes were slightly stunned, but her expression was introspective, as if she was deep in thought. My heart froze. Did she regret this already? I doubted she'd had an orgasm—she had to be disappointed. I didn't know what to feel. There was joy tightening my chest, but there was also insecurity and confusion, and I tried to remember how this had come to be. "Are ya okay?" I asked her again, repeating the words I'd said the moment I'd taken her virginity. I'd taken Lydia De Havilland's virginity.

  "Yes, are you?" she asked.

  I couldn't help chuckling. "Yeah. I just . . . I'm not sure exactly how this happened."

  Lydia gave me a small smile, leaning up on her arm, her breasts drawing my attention and amazingly making my cock throb again. "I know," she said. I nodded curtly, feeling suddenly awkward. I reached for my jeans and handed Lydia's clothes to her, looking away as she used her underwear to wipe the smear of blood off her left thigh. We both dressed quickly. I wiped my sweaty palms on my hips as I turned to her.

  "Lydia, I—" I started, reaching for her hands. The door flew open behind me, hitting the wall with a sudden bang. What? Adrenaline burst through my veins. Myles Landry was standing in the doorway. What the feck? As he took us in, a look of perplexed anger took over his face.

  "Lydia?" he asked, his brow furrowing, eyes darting between us and then down to the rumpled blanket on the cot.

  I looked at Lydia and her face was white, her expression arrested.

  "Why'd you ask me to meet you here, Lydia?" Myles asked, an edge of hostility in his tone. My body went ice cold. Lydia had asked Myles to meet her here after she'd asked me to meet her here? Why? I looked back to Lydia and my heart thudded dully in my chest when I saw the expression on her face: knowing guilt. She'd set me up. She'd wanted Myles to find us here. A game? I had been the unknowing player in some game of hers. Myles's jealousy maybe? Getting him back for some misdeed? Stupid that grief instead of anger should grip me in that moment. All the worse that I didn't remember it hurting this badly when I'd found out my mam had died.

  Lydia was shaking her head, her expression still stunned. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning her eyes my way, big and bright blue in that moment, no green at all. "I really didn't mean for it to go that far. I only meant for him to find us . . . kissing." The last piece of my heart cracked.

  "What's going on in here?" My head swiveled back to the door as Stuart De Havilland stepped into the room. Lydia's older brother. Shite. I knew things had just gone from bad to worse, and yet, I couldn't manage to feel anything. I was numb.

  Just as Myles's had done, Stuart's gaze went from Lydia to me to the cot and back to me. For the first time, I noticed a smear of blood on the light blue blanket. I watched as rage filled Stuart's expression. He stepped toward me. "What the fuck did you do to my sister?"

  "Stuart!" Lydia screamed, stepping forward.

  "Don't, Lydia," I managed, stepping forward, as well. "What happened here is a private matter. Excuse me." I went to step around Stuart but he pushed me, his hands braced on my chest so I flew backward, slamming into the wall. Lydia gasped. I clenched my jaw against the sensation of hard wood jarring my body and stood up straight, meeting Stuart's eyes. At seventeen, I was already bigger than him at twenty-one. I could kill him right here if I wanted to.

  "Did you rape my sister, you lowlife piece of trash?"

  Rage raced through my system and in a flash I stepped forward and swung on him, nailing him straight in the jaw. Lydia shrieked again as her brother went flying backward, stumbling and catching himself. "You motherfucker!" he yelled, his hand coming up to his jaw, blood dripping from his lip.

  "Of course he didn't rape me, Stuart," Lydia yelled, her voice high-pitched and panicky. She hurried to Stuart and stood in front of him so he wouldn't attack me . . . I assumed.

  She had done this. My Lydia. She had done this. No, not my Lydia. Never mine. Grief clogged my throat, and I almost choked
on it.

  Stuart narrowed his eyes at me. We stood there for several tense moments, the only sound in the room my own harsh breath. "Add this up, math genius," he finally said, a nasty edge of mocking in his tone. "You taking advantage of my sister plus you being a disgusting piece of garbage equals me throwing your family off my property. Be gone by morning." I froze, my heart hammering.

  We lived in the small house at the edge of their property, reserved for the gardener. Right this minute my dad was passed out in bed, and Eileen was watching cartoons on the couch in her leg braces. Edward De Havilland was ill, and he was a fair man—although he might not be if he found out what I'd just done with his daughter—but his son was not a fair man, and for the time being, Stuart De Havilland was in charge. He was going to make me beg, here, in front of Lydia and Myles. I let out a long, slow breath, my face growing hot.

  "That's not necessary, Stuart, please," Lydia said weakly.

  "Shut up, Lydia," Stuart said, pushing her aside. I clenched my fists more tightly. Even though she'd just used me cruelly, my instinct to protect her was strong. Grief and anger now competed in my heart. I bloody hated myself.

  "This is not me father's fault, Stuart," I said. "Be fair about this."

  Stuart's eyes narrowed further. Several heartbeats went by before he drawled slowly, "Get down on your knees and beg me, scum."

  My heart faltered, but I wouldn't flinch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

  "Stuart—"

  "Shut up, Lydia!" Stuart yelled again. I didn't even look at her.

  "Get down on your knees and beg me for your father's job, and I'll let your family stay," Stuart said, his eyes filled with something that looked like barely contained excitement. He'd never liked me, had resented me for some reason I didn't understand. He was finding some sick glee in this. Silence reverberated around the room. I would not do this for my own father. I would not do this thing for him. But for Eileen . . . for her, I would beg.

  I went slowly to my knees, not breaking eye contact with Stuart. "Please don't fire me father. I will not touch your sister again. Not as long as I live." I heard Lydia's quiet cries but vowed not to meet her eyes. Refused to.

  "Kiss my feet and the answer is yes."

  I gritted my jaw so hard I bit my tongue. The metallic flavor of blood filled my mouth. Eileen . . . Eileen . . . I chanted in my head, picturing her sweet, innocent face, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. I leaned forward, my body vibrating with rage and shattered pride. Before I'd even made it halfway to Stuart's feet, his leg jerked out and his boot caught me square in the jaw. I flew back, letting out a startled moan as I landed on my arse on the floor, hot pain radiating up my face.

  "Changed my mind. Get your flea-bitten family out of here . . . by morning."

  I jumped to my feet, dizzy with the conflicting emotions pommeling my heart. I could barely see through the fog of humiliation. I went to step toward Stuart, but Myles, who I'd all but forgotten about, took a step toward me, putting his hand on my chest. I swiped it away. "I think it's best if you just leave, Brogan," he said quietly, pity emanating off him. I hesitated, still breathing harshly.

  "Good boy," Stuart said, reaching in his pocket and throwing something on the ground at my feet. I looked down. It was a one-hundred-dollar bill. "You got paid yesterday. That should cover today." Shame and self-hatred was a raw ache in my gut. I could feel heat burning under the skin of my neck, but I bent slowly anyway and picked up the bill. We needed it. Now more than ever. I stepped around Myles, exiting the room and not looking back.

  As I strode across the lawn, the sky a dusky blue, the sprinklers came on. The cool water felt good against my overheated skin and I didn't change my course, simply walked through them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw who I thought might be Lydia racing toward her house. I refused to turn my head. Stuart De Havilland had told us to be gone by morning. We wouldn't wait that long. We'd be gone tonight. We'd leave right that very moment. And as God as my witness, I would never beg anyone for anythin' again. Not ever again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lydia – Seven Years Later

  "Earth to Lydia, hello," Daisy said, waving a hand in front of my face.

  I laughed softly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it before letting it go. "Sorry, was I drifting off again? I've got way too much on my mind. Start over and I swear you’ll have my full attention." I took a sip of champagne and focused on my friend.

  Daisy waved her hand in the air, taking a sip of her own champagne. "No, I don't blame you for ignoring me. I was only complaining about my new eyebrow lady and how the arches she creates are completely sub-par."

  I laughed, training my gaze on her perfectly—as always—sculpted brows. "I do see what you mean. You've been ruined. I can't believe you'd subject the public to the disturbing vision that is your eyebrows." I pretended to shudder.

  "Oh shut up! Seriously though . . ." Shut up, Lydia . . . That phrase . . . why does it always cause a cold chill to move down my spine? I knew why of course—my brother had yelled it repeatedly that day—but I wondered if those particular words would ever cease to unnerve me. Shut up, Lydia. ". . . so I'm counting down the days until Mariposa's maternity leave is over. The nerve of her."

  I laughed, Daisy's banal chatter lightening my mood. "The nerve of her to reproduce?"

  "Exactly. So tell me what has you so distracted today."

  "Oh the usual. The business, Stuart, finances . . . all very boring."

  Daisy gave me a sympathetic look. "I thought things were looking better with the business."

  I sighed. "I thought so, too. It seems like every time we get a break, something else happens to set us back again. And of course, Stuart doesn't help." My spendthrift brother who still lived as if we could afford to be extravagant. Ever since my father died and Stuart had taken over the company, things had gone from bad to worse. Upon my father's death we'd discovered the company was in more debt than my father ever let on. Possibly because it was still a situation that could have been managed had the person taking over had a semblance of fiscal restraint or management skills—neither of which my brother possessed. I sighed to myself. I did love him, but I also frequently wanted to kill him. I also missed my father terribly. His kindness, his intelligence, his love. Despite the irony, I wished he were alive to have as a sounding board about how to get us back into the black.

  Daisy patted my hand. "It'll be fine. You know what you need? Some good sex. When was the last time you had some? There's nothing like a good thorough fucking to lift the spirits."

  I choked on a sip of champagne and Daisy grinned. "If only I had a candidate," I said, laughing. I did love Daisy—she came across all polish and style, but she was liable to say the most outrageous things just when you needed it. But Daisy was a trust fund baby who had never had to worry about money a day in her life. She didn't really know what it felt like. Up until recently, I hadn't either. Life had happened, and now I'd learned lessons I'd never expected to learn. And not just about money. I took another sip of champagne. "Things will be fine. Of course."

  She nodded. "Did you know the family that bought your estate put it up for sale a couple months ago?"

  I stared at her for a moment. "Why?"

  She shrugged. "I heard rumors about a big job offer overseas, but I didn't know them. They've already moved. I think it's still on the market."

  My heart clenched. God, if only I had a way to purchase it back. I sighed, letting that thought float away. I didn't, and there was no use wishing for something that was an impossible dream.

  "How's Gregory?" I finally asked to change the subject.

  Daisy's eyes shifted away. "Oh, busy as always. But I guess I knew what I was signing up for when I married him. If he didn't look so hot in a suit, I'd have given up on him long ago."

  I gave her a small smirk. "Is he working today?"

  "Yup—closing a big deal." I thought something like doubt moved through her eyes, but before I could quest
ion it, she smiled brightly, pointing out some girls we knew who'd just arrived and launching into a story about one of them.

  I nodded, drifting off again, as my eyes moved over the people at the garden party, laughing, talking, and enjoying appetizers and cocktails. All so carefree. Why did I feel so . . . trapped? Trapped, standing here in the middle of the wide-open lawn, the summer sun shining down on me. Trapped and restless. It didn't feel like it was only the financial issues my family was facing. But I couldn't put my finger on it exactly. There had to be more though, didn't there? More to look forward to once we were able to get the business back on solid ground? More than the world I'd been raised in, the world of endless social events, shopping, and surface chitchat that, these days, went in one ear and out the other. I couldn't help it. I'd thought working as the vice president at our family company would fill something in me that felt empty, but it hadn't. It was challenging—Stuart ensured that—and it was interesting and fulfilling in its way, and rather than simply being the figurehead I could have been, I chose to be very involved with the business, getting my hands dirty, so to speak, along with the rest of the staff. But it still didn't offer that . . . something I'd been hoping it would provide. Oh, shut up, Lydia, you don't even know what you want. How can anything fulfill you when you're so clueless as to what you're missing? Shut up, Lydia . . .

  Shut up, Lydia . . .

  "Lydia," my stepmother said, seemingly coming out of nowhere, air kissing my cheek, the heady fragrance of her perfume—the Chanel N°5 she'd worn ever since I'd known her—lingering in the air around me even after she'd leaned away to air kiss Daisy. I barely held back the sneeze that threatened."Daisy darling," she said, and Daisy greeted her with a small smile.

  "Ginny," I muttered, taking a long drink of champagne. "You look perfect as always."