But then he said, “My mother.” He glanced at me before going on. “She’d always wanted to live in the country. She was a city girl who wanted a… different life. A quieter life than the one she’d been born into. My father showed up and swept her off her feet, but he was already successful and the life he offered didn’t feel much varied from her own. Still business and greed and all the things that come with being a person of power. She almost didn’t marry him because of it.
“But she loved him. And he loved her. So he promised her the country. He bought this ranch for her as a wedding gift and called it Kaya. That was his nickname for her.”
“He called your mother Kaya?” It explained where her alleged surname had originated.
“Yes. It means ‘rock’ in Greek. My mother broke her family ties when she left the country to marry my father. It was what she wanted, but it was a hard decision for her to follow through with. He said she was strong like a rock.” He grinned over at me. “Though sometimes he said he called her that because she was stubborn and immovable like a boulder. Both fit who she was.”
The tone he used to speak about his parents was even and unsentimental, but there was still something – in his body language, in the undercurrents of his words – something that portrayed the deep fondness he had for them. They’d been people I’d researched and studied, names on paper with no context. Reeve breathed life into them for me. Made them real. Made them important.
He trotted ahead of me to take the lead as the trail narrowed momentarily. When it widened again, he fell back into step with Milo and me. “Anyway, we traveled a lot when I was growing up, visiting all the resorts as they were built, but this place was always the place we came back to. This place was always home. Even though they aren’t here anymore, I try to come back for at least part of each year.”
I tried to fit this story into the one that already existed in my head. Elena Vilanakis, aka Elena Kaya, had been unhappy in her life. Because of the mob ties? Had that been what Daniel Sallis had rescued her from? Then had it been Reeve who had reclaimed them when his parents died and he had nowhere to go but to them?
But those questions were for Amber and today was for Reeve.
“Thank you for bringing me with you to Wyoming,” I said. “It means a lot to me.”
“It means a lot for me to have you here.” Our gazes got caught in each other, and we held them. Maybe sweet was good in larger doses too.
A minute later we were at the creek. It snuck up seemingly out of nowhere. I’d heard it rippling in the distance with no sign of it until we were upon it. We dismounted and Reeve tied our horses to a tree. Then we perched on a large rock that jutted out of the water and ate our sandwiches.
“I love that sound,” I said when I’d finished eating. “The river babbling as it winds along. It’s so peaceful.”
“You can hear it from the house when it’s really quiet,” Reeve said, stretching out beside me and propping himself up on his elbows. “It’s peaceful and yet it’s a sound that has the potential to carry.”
I nodded. “I know what you’re talking about. I woke in the early morning the first night we were here. Couldn’t sleep. So I went out on the balcony and I could hear it.”
He frowned. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have fucked you back to sleep.”
I gawked at him. “I can’t wake you up for sex.”
“Why not?”
“Because every time I’ve initiated something with you, it hasn’t gone well for me.” He’d been very clear about our roles in this arrangement: He was the director. I was merely a player.
“Well, that’s true.” He sat up so we were in line with each other. “Except you’re still here. Maybe you weren’t initiating the right things.”
I considered that, playing back our time together in my head, searching for any missed cues. There were probably many, but I couldn’t identify them.
I twisted toward him. “Then tell me, what would happen if I jumped you sometime instead of waiting for the other way around?”
He shrugged. “Try it and find out.”
He stood and held his hand out to me to help me up as well. He jumped down from the rock ahead of me then turned to lift me easily to the ground. The wind blew the loose strands of my hair into my face, and he reached to brush it away. Our eyes met in another mushy moment that had my chest tightening. The kind of moment that ended in a soft brush of lips, and all I could do was wish he’d push me against the tree and rip my clothes in his eagerness to get inside my pants.
I broke away before he even leaned in.
We started toward the horses, a light tension between us that I was sure had to do with the abrupt way I’d blown him off. Hesitantly he said, “I need to ask you a question.”
“Yes?” I braced myself, preparing to answer what was going on in my head, the question I was sure he’d ask.
“When we first got together, you asked me if you needed a safe word and I told you no.”
That was not at all the question I’d been expecting. It also wasn’t quite accurate. He’d said if I needed a safe word that I shouldn’t be there. “That’s not exactly how you said it, but anyway.”
“I might have been wrong.”
I stopped walking. “You think I need a safe word?”
He’d taken a few steps past me before noticing I’d halted. He pivoted to face me, his hands thrust in his pockets. “I’m not sure. I’ve never used one, but I’ve never been with a woman who didn’t make her limits absolutely clear.”