Battered Not Broken (48 page)

“I took the first job I could get. It wasn’t like I had a fat bank account backing me up. I needed work, and roofing was work.”

“Well,” Patrick said, unfolding his cloth napkin and setting his silverware on the checkered tablecloth before lowering the napkin into his lap, “I think we can find you a much better position at Greene & Jacobs.”

“I’m not asking for anything I’m not suited for,” Ryan said. “I want a position where I can actually be useful, though I’m willing to be trained.”

“Well, we won’t be putting you out in the field if that’s what you mean.” Patrick shook his head briefly, as if the notion were a fly he could shoo away with a flick of the head. “For Christ’s sake, I’m not going to give my own son a job where he’ll be in danger of breaking his arm.” He flashed a wry smile around the table, as if he found the notion funny but not truly funny at the same time.

Ryan didn’t seem to share his father’s amusement. No surprise there.

“Let’s talk about this later,” Cecilia said. “Ryan just got here. He doesn’t want to talk about jobs.”

“He came here for a job,” Patrick said. “Of course he wants to talk about jobs.”

A waiter arrived before any more could be said. After taking  drink orders, he asked if everyone knew what they wanted already.

Everyone seemed to think so, so Ally went along with it. There were laminated menus at each seat at the table, but she’d been too busy observing Ryan’s family to so much as glance at hers. She ordered the chicken parmesan out of habit.

They spoke as they waited, but not about the specifics of Ryan’s new job and not about his and Ally’s injured arms – thank God. Stephen asked what Baltimore was like – more out of an effort to mellow out the conversation, Ally suspected, than because he was actually interested.

Ryan gave a sparse description of the Inner Harbor and Ally helped him out, adding details in an effort to paint a picture of the city meeting dark water in a cheerful coming-together of urban sprawl and the tidal portion of the Patapsco River. Cecilia seemed interested and Stephen nodded at the right times. Patrick simply sat, listening impassively.

When the food arrived, it was a welcome distraction.

The chicken parmesan was good. Almost as good as at Annalisa’s. The familiar taste triggered a trickle of memories, temporarily merging the New York restaurant with the places she’d known like it back home.

Ryan had ordered some sort of ravioli. By the time he was halfway through it, the conversation turned to the apartment.

“How do you like the furnishings?” Cecilia asked. “I kept it simple – just the basics so you could decorate in your own style.”

“You didn’t have to furnish the place at all,” Ryan said. “I want to pay my own way, with my own money. I’ll reimburse you for the moving expenses and the furniture after I get my feet on the ground at work and pay off some medical bills.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Consider the furniture a housewarming gift,” Patrick said, cutting off his wife. “It’s not a crime for us to give you one of those, is it?”

A tendon on the side of Ryan’s neck stood out in sharper relief than usual as he chewed a bite of ravioli. “Fine. Thanks. But no more sending town cars. And no more extravagant gifts.”

“Speaking of cars, yours is parked in the garage at our place,” Patrick said. “Ready for you whenever you’re able to drive again.”

Ryan nodded, his frown easing a little.

The mustang was another memory trigger, reminding her of nighttime drives down Baltimore streets and the vibrating hum of the engine beneath her thighs. Here in New York, her Maryland learner’s permit probably wasn’t valid. She could get a new one, but that would mean she’d have to continue her driving education in New York City. Not exactly a laid-back learning environment.

Her driving worries were superseded by concern for Ryan when he raised a hand and rubbed his temple, massaging the curve of his skull with his palm. Maybe he was just stressed by his meeting with his parents, but the signal set off an alarm bell inside her. Her suspicion was worsened when the waiter stopped by their table to refill drinks and Ryan asked for a to-go box. He’d cleared less than half his plate.

“You know, if the food’s not good, you don’t have to take it home,” Patrick said.

“The food is good.” Ryan accepted the box that the waiter returned with. “But Ally and I have got to get going.”

“Tomorrow,” Patrick said. “Let’s meet for lunch tomorrow, and we can discuss your prospects at Greene & Jacobs seriously.”

“Right.” Ryan turned to face Ally. “You mind putting the rest of your food in here and finishing it when we get home?”

“Sure.” She used her fork to scrape the unfinished half of her meal into the box. She’d eaten her fill anyway – the rest could be dinner.

“I’ll call you and let you know where.” Patrick, who’d barely touched his own food, glanced toward the door.

“Talk to you then.” Ryan picked up the box containing his and Ally’s food.

When Ally rose from her seat, he placed his hand against the small of her back again, but there was a certain tension in his touch that hadn’t been there before.

The warmth and noise of the restaurant followed them outside, then ceased as the door fell shut behind them and a cold breeze blew down the street.

They took a cab home, a marked change from the luxury car that had driven them to the restaurant, but the ride went quickly.

For Ally, anyway. The tendon standing out in the side of Ryan’s neck and the way he squinted against the afternoon light glaring through the taxi’s window made it clear that every moment dragged by for him.

When they reached the apartment building and entered their new home for the second time, she hurried to the suitcase he’d left inside the door. “Where’s your medication?”

“The front pocket – the one with the zipper.”

She pulled out a bottle of pills and handed it to him.

He opened it and took two without anything to wash them down.

“Do you want a glass of water?” she asked.

“No. I’m fine.” He replaced the cap on his bottle of pills and twisted it shut. “There’s something else I’d like, though.”

“What?”

He held up the take-out container and strode down the hall.

She followed him to the kitchen, where he set the container on the counter and turned to face her. “I was thinking we could pick up where we left off. It could be good preventative medicine.” One side of his mouth curled in the faintest of smiles as he looked at her, his gaze already sending little shimmers of heat over her skin.

Her entire body warmed and tingled. Nothing could have been as appealing as the idea of finishing what they’d started, knowing the pleasure would help to ward off his pain. She stripped – not quickly and not quite gracefully, but he seemed to enjoy the view and did the same.

Naked except for her bandages and his cast, they embraced. His body was hot and firm. Feeling it pressed against hers was such a blissful reminder of home that the apartment began to feel a little more
theirs
the moment she detected his heartbeat, a steady thumping against her shoulder.

He ran a hand from her shoulder, down over the curve of her back and below, cupping one half of her ass and drawing her close. She’d barely begun to enjoy the feel of his hard cock pressing against her belly when he shifted his arm, wrapping her in a one-armed hold and lifting her up onto the counter like he had earlier that day.

The countertop was cool and smooth against her bottom, a bit of a shock against the ultra-heated lips of her pussy. She relished the little shiver that raced down her spine and made her skin pebble.

“Guess I need to figure out where the thermostat is in here,” he said, teasing one of her hardened nipples with his fingertips.

“Later,” she said. “Not now.” God, not now. She was hot enough on the inside, and it was the sort of heat that couldn’t be contained. It would make its way to the surface of her skin soon enough. The memory of Ryan’s lips, teeth and tongue between her thighs had stayed with her all throughout the lunchtime meeting, a tantalizing memory ever-present in the back of her mind, giving even her worry a faintly sensual undertone.

“Later,” he agreed, his voice almost a growl. “The only thing I want right now is to be inside you.”

He was already so close. The counter put her hips level with his and his hard cock reached for her. She’d spread her legs so that he could stand between them.

He moved a little closer, the head of his cock brushing her clit, the light external stimulation sending a bolt of awareness straight to her core. “One second. I put a couple condoms in my wallet before we left for the airport.”

It wouldn’t be long before they could give them up altogether. With that thought driving her steadily-increasing heart rate, she waited as he bent down, picked up his jeans and fished out his wallet.

A few moments later he’d managed to sheathe his cock in latex despite the fact that his cast inhibited his movement. Lately, his fingers had become increasingly mobile, allowing him to resume tasks that had given him trouble directly after his accident. It had been a true pleasure to watch him roll the latex down the shaft of his cock again, his fingers gliding over and around the girth of it.

Instead of letting go he gripped his erection by the base, guiding himself toward her again. The head of his cock brushed her clit, teasing her with another shot of sensation that quickly snowballed into bone-deep want. Then he was at her entrance, exerting stirring pressure against the lips of her sex.

She gave in to desire and rocked her hips the tiniest bit, urging him in and causing her clit to bump the crown of his dick again. She’d been damp since he’d eaten her pussy and was fully wet again, her skin so slick that his member glided easily against it, almost slipping in.

He flexed his hips, tunneling inside in one long stroke.

The pressure was instantaneous, lighting her up from the inside as he stretched her walls, reclaiming space that shrank when he wasn’t present and tightened at even the memory of his touch. She sighed and tipped back her head, reveling in the feeling of simply being filled by him. No movement, no friction – it was bliss just to feel her inner muscles giving enough to accommodate him, then seizing up in involuntary response, her body’s way of trying to milk pleasure out of him, too.

He took her breath away when he moved, pulling back and delving deep inside her again.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and gripped the muscled plane of one ass cheek, letting her nails bite into the solid lower curve of it. It was just as effective as balancing herself with a hand against the counter, and a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

He groaned and rocked his hips again, letting her feel the way his muscles shifted beneath her palm as he sent the head of his cock plunging toward the farther reaches of her pussy, the place where she most craved his touch.

That and one other place, which he found when he placed a hand between her thighs, pressing the pad of his thumb against her clit like it was a button that would give instant pleasure if pressed. With the way his touch affected her, that was close enough to the truth. She trembled as he worked her clit with a thorough massage, his touch complementing the rhythm of the strokes he took her with, going deep with each thrust and rubbing hard without pause.

Her excitement quickly gave way to a shuddering climax that radiated from her core all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. The countertop was hard beneath her, his body firm between her thighs and his cock rigid inside her. The combination left no room for soft sensations or edges – the pleasure that seized her was as unyielding as the surface they were fucking on. It made her arch and groan, trying and failing to say his name as inarticulate sounds spilled from her lips instead.