Delightful: Big Sky Pie #3 (12 page)

She heard her phone vibrate. She’d missed a call from her mother. She needed to call her back and ask her to pick up the boys at the sitter’s. But what reason could she give for the request? “I had to bring, er, ah, that guy you hoped I wasn’t getting involved with to the hospital?” Or maybe she should lie. “I had to take a coworker to Emergency.” And then her mother would ask which coworker and—since she knew them all—would be concerned. And once she asked
why
the coworker needed a doctor, she would have to explain the whole debacle at the pie shop. Just thinking about it gave her a headache, though nothing, she was sure, like the one Ice suffered.

She finally decided a fib was best. “Mom, it’s me. I’m going to be delayed with work until really late tonight. Yes, it’s about the reality show. Could you possibly pick up the boys and keep them overnight?”

“Of course I could. Would you rather I took them to your home for the night?”

“No.” She didn’t have anything there for dinner or breakfast. She’d planned on picking up some groceries after work. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

Her mother laughed. “Well, you won’t believe this, but for some reason, I felt compelled to make a pot of mac and cheese this afternoon. And I picked up some pumpkin tarts at Big Sky Pie this morning. I didn’t know what I was going to do with all this food, but I guess I do now.”

Someone is definitely looking down on me. Maybe I do have a guardian angel. Thanks, Daddy.
One of the knots in her stomach released, easing her tension a tad. “I love you, Mom. You’re the best.”

“Just don’t work too hard, sweetheart.”

As she ended the call, she heard her name. The nurse led her into the exam area to a curtained cubicle. Ice looked more vulnerable than he had when she’d brought him in, the hospital gown peeling away some of his usual tough-guy façade. “Thank God, Andrea. Will you please explain to this well-meaning doctor why I can’t possibly stay the night here?”

It was more command than question. Andrea lifted her brows, glancing between Ice and the physician. “Does the doctor want you to spend the night?”

The doctor, a young female, nodded. “Mr. Erikksen has a concussion, and I’ve recommended he stay overnight for observation.”

“I see.” Andrea pinned Ice with a stern glance she reserved for obstinate fools. “And why are you objecting to this?”

“You know why.
That woman.
I don’t want her to find me.” The cryptic words were meant to eliminate the doctor’s curiosity. It had the opposite effect.

The doctor said, “We can put a ‘no visitors’ notation on your chart, Mr. Erikksen.” As if that would keep a determined investigative reporter from getting to a patient.

Ice groaned, silently pleading with Andrea. She could only imagine how vulnerable it must feel to be at the mercy of any fool with a camera or a smart phone. The price of celebrity. Not his fault; he’d been born into it. She pitied him that. But ignoring a doctor’s recommendation wasn’t advisable. He had a serious head injury. “Can he leave, Doctor, if he wants to?”

“He’s not a prisoner, but I don’t advise it, and if he does leave and has a problem later, his insurance may not cover—”

“Good.” Ice tossed aside the sheet. “Hand me my clothes, Andrea.”

She ignored the request. “What should he watch out for during the night then?”

“Dizziness, odd speech, or nonsensical dialogue. If his head pain increases. I’ll have the nurse print you a list of instructions.” The doctor departed, closing them in the curtained cubicle.

Ice grinned. “I thought she’d never leave us alone. My clothes, please.”

Andrea did as he asked. “I’ll go back to the waiting room, and you can meet me there.”

A soft laugh, so throaty it made her toes curl, spilled from him, and his look pleaded with her. “I don’t know if I can manage this on my own. I’m a little wobbly still.”

“If you’re wobbly, then you shouldn’t leave.”

“Are you going to help me?” He stripped off the hospital gown and let it drop. He was naked underneath. Her pulse skittered, and her insides turned all warm and slippery, tingling with anticipation. Damn, he was a pure delight without a stitch on.

“Is it the norm to run around naked in California? Or is this a personal trait of yours?”

“You didn’t seem to mind the day we…”

She meant to lower her gaze, meant to keep her eyes on the floor, but how could she not admire such perfection? “At least you don’t man-scape.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder for balance and stepped into the striped boxer-briefs, a smoldering light melting his blue eyes to the fiery glow of a butane flame. “Are you talking about on my chest, or…elsewhere?”

She knew she should be blushing, but she’d never been shy about her appreciation of the male anatomy, and she wasn’t about to pretend now. “Everywhere.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” He slowly pulled up the underwear, reluctantly hiding his goodies. “I think I’ll need some help with my jeans.”

He put both hands on her shoulders, leaning into her as he managed one leg then the other into the denim, then she tugged them up his strong, tanned legs, her own legs growing wobbly in this reverse striptease. When she reached the top of his thighs, he took over, adjusting himself with obvious difficulty given his arousal. “If you don’t stop staring at me, I’ll have to forget about buttoning my fly and do what we’d both like me to do.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re too sick for that.”

“Honey, I’m never that sick.”

G
et your shirt on, surfer boy,” Andrea said on a laugh, the sound as warm and inviting as waves crashing on the beach at his Malibu pad, as warm and inviting as her body. He fought the arousal that didn’t want to be denied. The floor seemed to pitch beneath his feet like he was on a boat, bobbing on the Pacific.

She held the shirt toward him. “I’m taking you home.”

“To bed?” Ice asked, hope in his voice. Damn, this woman was getting under his skin. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. Especially when he needed to lean on her so that the ground didn’t reach up and grab him.

“Oh, you’re definitely on your way to bed, but you’ll be going there alone.”

“That doesn’t sound like any fun at all.” His smile spread slowly across his face. “I’ve got the car ride to change your mind.”

“That’s so not going to happen.”

He frowned, confused. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, and pain shot across his skull. He stifled a moan, fearing she’d call a doctor and insist he not be allowed to leave the hospital. “Must be the concussion.”

“You think?”

Once they were in the SUV and headed toward Front Street, he said, “By home, do you mean your place?”

“No. I mean your hotel suite. Bobby can take care of you tonight and make sure you follow these doctor’s instructions.” She handed the printouts to him.

“Well…that’s one plan, but one that leaves me vulnerable to the wily Ms. Grace. What if she tricks a hotel employee into getting access to my room? To me? It’s not like that hasn’t happened to me before. More than once.”

Andrea frowned, her expression thoughtful. “What did you do on those occasions?”

“Called hotel security.”

“Then there you go.” She offered him a smile. “Problem solved.”

His head had started pounding again. “Yeah, but what if by the time security arrives, Rita has taken photos of me in my favorite state of undress and put them on the Internet?”

“Why would Rita do that?” She made a face, looking as skeptical as some network bigwigs he’d pitched pilots to over the years.

“Some gossip sites pay hefty fees for pictures of celebrity children. If she learns I was injured, she’ll be on that like wax on a surfboard.”

“Ha. How would she even find out about your concussion?”

“Reporters like her have ways of wheedling information from…unlikely sources.” He rubbed his temples, trying to stem a sudden wave of pain. “Like any of the hospital staff who noticed me being led to an exam room.”

Her skeptical expression said no one on the hospital staff had a clue who he was. “I think you’re safe there.”

“What if Rita somehow manages to get into the suite while Bobby and I are both asleep or away and steals all the film we’ve shot for the show?”

“Are you kidding me?” She started to laugh, and he knew he’d oversold it. “If you’re worried about that, then maybe you should hire private security or put the film in the hotel safe.”

He scowled, wincing at the new ache the frown elicited. “How about a plan B?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with plan A.”

“But…I’m hungry, and, and I can’t trust that room service won’t let her into my room when they bring the food.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Okay, I’ll take you to my place and fix you some chicken noodle soup and crackers, but if you can keep those down, I’m taking you back to the hotel. Understood?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.”

“True. But I wanted to be one.” He’d wanted a lot of the things other boys took for granted like belonging to clubs, like playing high school football, like having loving parents.
“Don’t settle for a tiny slice of the pie, son, not when you can have the whole bloody thing.”
His father’s unwelcome advice flitted across his mind, bringing another thought. “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened at the pie shop. Please make sure that Molly knows I’ll pay to have it set right and cleaned.”

Hesitation flicked through her beautiful brown eyes, accompanied by something that might be anger, but given his trouble focusing, he could have imagined that last.

She muttered something under her breath that sounded kind of like, “Even your father hasn’t got enough money for that.” But since that didn’t make any sense, he decided it was a symptom of the concussion.

“It’s old, and it’s not much to look at,” Andrea told Ice as she helped him into her apartment, “but it’s large and it’s clean.” She’d become a fanatic about germs when she was fifteen and her mother was going through chemo and radiation, her immune system compromised by those harsh cancer treatments, leaving Mom vulnerable to infection.

The compulsion also served her well during the time she, Donnie, and the boys lived in a trailer on the rodeo circuit, what with all the dust, dirt, and animal dung. Those years, she’d felt like she were a wheel rolling down a steep, bumpy road at someone else’s whim. She’d needed to control something, anything, and cleaning became that thing. Donnie often complained about how rough or raw her hands were from all the scrubbing.

She felt Ice’s breath on her neck, and it wrenched her back to the present with an awareness of a thousand sensuous shivers racing through her.

“I figured your home would be more…girly,” he said, looking around, his arm still braced around her shoulders.

“What?” Andrea shook off his arm and stepped out of the danger zone. “Like all pink and frilly?”

His expression went vulnerable. He lost his balance and stumbled against her, pressing her to the wall, their noses less than an inch from touching, his eyes all needy. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her body melting into his, even knowing it was the worst thing she could do, that she was sending him all the wrong signals.

“What is it about you?” he asked, a question he’d asked her before, his voice a sensuous rasp. “Why can’t I stop wanting you?”

“It’s the concussion,” she told him. “The desire will fade once your head is right again.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.” But the lie cut through her heart. This was why she never brought men home. It was her space. Her safe harbor. The one place she could go when things overwhelmed her, where she could find the calm she needed in order to deal. But now Ice was leaving his stamp, marking his territory, almost imperceptibly. Long after he’d returned to Southern California, she would see him standing in her foyer, his broad shoulders filling the narrow hallway, his presence dwarfing the three chairs at the kitchen table, his larger-than-life persona imprinted on the walls of her once-private domain.

What is it about him?
she wondered. She might have brought any other man here, and this would not be how it affected her.

She wrestled him as she might a drunk into a more upright stance and guided him into her small kitchen, settling him onto one of the chairs. “You should really be in bed.”

“We should be.” He reached for her hair, stroked a hand down her cheek, and Andrea’s knees turned to butter.

She stepped away, grappling with her composure. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I am. For you.” Then he was on his feet, unsteady, reaching for her, pulling her into him, kissing her, banishing all the reasons why this wasn’t just an awful idea, but a dangerous one. Not that her body had been listening to logic. It had a mind of its own, and it had taken total control, filling her with desire, the need so great she cried out his name.

Their lips were locked, his hands in her hair, as they moved backward through the apartment. She guided him to her bedroom. His kiss scrambled her reason, insanity ruling the moment, along with an irresistible, erotic craving. His intense blue gaze seemed to reach into her, the sensation like a burning branding, as though his soul were claiming hers, and her soul welcomed the possession.

He dropped onto the bed, pulling at her clothes and at his, awkward snatches and grabs until nothing separated them but their desire to explore with kisses, caressing, tasting. How could something be so wanton, yet feel so right? So forever? The thought melted away on another mind-bending series of kisses, his mouth torturing her nipples, her stomach, her inner thighs. His fingers found her moist, most sensitive spot and drove her to a devastating climax. Then just as quickly had her building to another.

Ice lifted himself over her, positioning himself between her legs, and lost his balance. He collapsed onto her, pushing the wind from her lungs. As he apologized, she began to laugh, and he joined her, the moment warm, wonderful, something funny shared by longtime lovers. She eased him onto his back, nibbled on his neck, and whispered in his ear, “Are you sure you can go on, surfer boy?”

As she sought his gaze for an answer, his eyes went from an intense ice blue to an electric shade like a butane flame. He grabbed her for another assault on her mouth, his tongue dipping inside to dance with hers, each stroke hotter than the last. Andrea sighed with pleasure, pushed him down onto the pillow, and tangled her fingers into the fine, silken hair on his chest as she licked his nipples into rock-hard nubs, then worked down his flat stomach, inching lower, then lower still. She teased the tip of his erection, quick, swiping licks, then took him into her mouth, deep and deeper, every plunge lifting her own need to new heights.

“Andrea,” he rasped, clasping her upper arms, letting her know that his control had reached its limit.

She straddled him, and their eyes locked as they joined, the sensation exquisite. His rigid heat penetrating her sensitive, moist flesh almost undid her. Almost. With every thrust, her need found another pinnacle to aspire to, a higher high it wanted to reach, until that moment when she thought she could stand not another second of torture. Her body and mind tipped over into the land of ecstasy, falling and falling to a breathless, heart-thumping release.

She collapsed against Ice’s chest, reluctant to disengage their bodies, just wanting to snuggle into the afterglow. He didn’t push her away. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzled her neck, and murmured soft, sweet, unintelligible words into her hair. Andrea settled into his embrace, praying this moment would never end.

And though it continued for several precious, tender minutes, it still didn’t seem long enough. She rolled to his side, contentment easing through her as she settled on the pillow beside him.

“Was that what they call S and M?” Ice was clutching his head as if it might crack apart. “Pleasure and pain at the same time?”

“Oh, my God, I just tried to kill you. If I had a nursing license, it would be revoked.”

“I willingly participated in that attempt on my life.” A lopsided smile reached his eyes as he pulled her close, his palm cupping her bottom. “I’m okay, honest.”

She could see where this was heading. Into round two. She seriously did not want to cause him injury. “You need to get some rest.”

She climbed out of bed to his protests. “Be a good patient, and I’ll fix you some soup.”

She could tell he wanted to object more, but the effort was weak. He yawned, closed his eyes, and was fast asleep by the time she emerged from the bathroom fully dressed and still awash in the afterglow of their lovemaking. But this wasn’t love. She and Ice were not falling for each other. And she had nothing to gain by continuing to sleep with him. She had to detach from him emotionally before she got hurt.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Quint.

Andrea texted him an update on Ice, then set about fixing herself something to eat, anything to soak up the anger she felt at that pompous little health inspector, and at herself for continuing to sleep with Ice. The pantry was pretty bare. Cereal, peanut butter, grape jelly, a box of salted crackers, and chicken noodle soup. She found a half-full bottle of wine in the fridge, poured a glass, and made a couple of sandwiches as the soup heated. Ice showed up as she was just finishing eating.

He’d dressed and seemed to be walking steadier. His hair was tousled from sleep, his jaw bristled with tawny whiskers, his gaze as warm as a summer sky. He smiled, gesturing toward the food. “It smells yummy.”

“Yummy for your tummy.” Andrea laughed. It was something she said to her boys about this particular meal. “Your appetite returning is a good sign that you’re on the mend. Sit down. I’ll serve you.”

She’d already placed the second sandwich on a paper plate. He settled into the chair and reached for it as she asked, “What would you like to drink?”

“Water would be fine.”

She placed a bowl of steaming soup before him, retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge, then returned to her chair and her wine. “Is your head still pounding? Or spinning?”

“More of a distant ache, like a throbbing you can’t quite touch…” He dug into his pants’ pocket, withdrew a small red object, grinning as he set it on the table. “Um, I found this in your SUV this morning. Forgot to return it to the backseat.”

Andrea stared at the toy sportscar. “It belongs to Lucas. He’s into Nascar.”

“Your son?”

“Yes.” She nodded, deciding he might as well know it all so he could go running faster than he was going to anyway. “My youngest.”

“There’s more than one?” His eyes widened. The information obviously surprised him. Maybe he was wondering if there were
many
more than one. She wanted to tell him he had no reason to fret. She had no designs on him. She knew he wasn’t a permanent kind of guy. But she answered his question with a nod of her head.

Ice took a bite of sandwich, followed by some water, then asked, “How many children do you have?”

“Just the two. Logan and Lucas. They’re at my mother’s for the night.”

He frowned, wincing immediately in pain, telling her that the ache in his head was still pretty intense. He rubbed his bristled jaw. “And their father is…”