Roughing It With Ryan (11 page)

“I know it. What I don't know is what you're so afraid of.” He said this softly, without any censure or reproach.

And maybe that was why she was able to give him a helpless smile and admit the truth. “It's the usual.”

“Failure?”

She nodded, struck dumb by how well he understood her. Had anyone ever understood her so well?

“Suzanne, don't you love catering?”

“Of course.”

“Don't you love being in charge of your workday?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Are you making money at it?”

She nodded, then covered her eyes. “I know, I know, it'd be a perfect way to get responsible.”

“I meant it's a good way to make you happy.”

No one had ever worried about her happiness, no one.

“Suzanne, just because your past relationships haven't worked out, doesn't mean you'd fail at this.”

When she would have looked away, he leaned in and touched her face. Made her look at him. “And since we're listening to what I think…I think I am very glad those other relationships didn't work out. That was fate. You running your own business is fate. And Suzanne? We're fate, too.”

She closed her eyes. “Ryan.”

“Come to dinner with me.”

Bad idea. “I'm not hungry.”

“Then let's go walking.”

“I'm…”

“Anything, Suzanne.” His voice was low, his eyes fierce. “Let's do anything, even just stand here and stare at each other.”

That wouldn't work either. She'd made a promise to herself, and no matter what he did to her insides, she had to keep that promise. It was all she had. “I've got to go. I'm sorry,” she whispered, and reversed out of the lot, praying she didn't run over his foot.

She made it back home before she let herself think.

She needed ice cream. Nope, she couldn't even count on that as comfort food any more because she couldn't eat it without thinking of wild, hot, on-the-table sex with Ryan.

Chips,
she decided as she climbed the stairs. She could go for a big bag of barbecue chips. Yeah, that would work, there was absolutely nothing sexy about a bag of chips.

Unless of course they were scattered across the magnificent body of one Ryan Alondo. Now
that
would be sexy because she could start at his toes and eat her way up his long, lean form and—

Bad Suzanne, very bad.

She'd have to skip the chips, too.

Taylor's front door was open. She'd been out shopping at estate sales again, Suzanne thought with a fond grin as she skipped her place and stepped into Taylor's living room. A three-foot-high brass frog greeted her, as did an ornately carved wooden umbrella holder and a glass shelving unit upon which
sat a collection of pewter figurines from Alice In Wonderland.

She knew Taylor couldn't help herself, that collecting was firmly entrenched in her blood, but to gather more stuff when she'd only have to sell them off to finish the building? Suzanne wondered how long before they were both out in the street.

There were voices in the kitchen, several low and male, and at least one female, but it was the gathering of men that made Suzanne's heart start pumping.

Ryan? Had he beat her here for some reason? “Taylor?”

“Come on in!”

Suzanne did with pitiful eagerness. There were two men at the table, bent over a set of plans. There was also a young woman, her dark hair cut spikey and close to her face, with a multitude of earrings up one ear. She wore frayed jeans, a handkerchief for a top and sported a diamond in her belly button. She sat filling out something on a clipboard. “Hey.”

Taylor sauntered across the small room toward Suzanne as only Taylor could. “What's up?”

Suzanne lifted a brow. “You're the one with a kitchen full of people.”

“Oh, well. It's a busy morning.” She lowered her voice. “Those two at the table are presenting a bid to renovate the building. They took one look at me and
decided they could bend me over a barrel with the price. Of course I've cheerfully informed them they were sorely mistaken. They're now groveling and figuring out how to lower their price like good little boys.”

Only Taylor. “And the interesting looking woman?”

“That's Nicole Mann.”

At the sound of her name, the woman with the clipboard looked up. She had the most unusual gray eyes Suzanne had ever seen. Taylor jerked her head, indicating Nicole should follow her and Suzanne out into the hallway.

“Suzanne,” Taylor said when they were all in the hallway. “This is Nicole Mann. She's applying for a place here. I'm thinking the loft will be ready by next week. Unless you want it back.”

“No, I'm set where I'm at.” Suzanne smiled at Nicole, who didn't quite smile back. “The loft is great. Nice view of the city now that the trees are gone.”

“I don't have the time to breathe much less appreciate a good view.” Nicole handed the clipboard to Taylor.

“All filled out?” Taylor skimmed the form. “You're a doctor?”

“Surgeon.”

Suzanne was stunned. There was no way this woman who looked younger than she herself could
be a surgeon. But Taylor continued talking before Suzanne could ask Nicole any questions.

“And it's just you, right? No roommate or significant other?”

Nicole shuddered. “God, no.”

Taylor laughed.

Nicole didn't. “Why is that funny?”

“Let's just say Suzanne and I are on the same wavelength as you, that's all. We've taken a vow of singlehood, just to save us gray hair.”

“Works for me,” muttered Nicole, but this time when she smiled, it reached her eyes. “Call me at the hospital when the place is ready. It's where I'm at pretty much 24-7.”

“Will do.” Taylor watched Nicole vanish down the stairs. “You know, there's just something about her…”

“Do you think she has other stuff pierced?” Suzanne wondered.

“Ouch. I hope not. But I meant the feeling I had when I first looked at her. It was the same feeling I had when I first looked at you.”

“Yeah?” Suzanne smiled. “Like ‘get this girl off my property before her and her bad karma bring a tree down on my building'?”

Taylor laughed. “No. Like she's going to become someone special to me.” She nudged Suzanne's shoulder with her own. “Just as you've become.”

Suzanne smiled a little, startled by the sudden lump in her throat. “You're special to me, too.”

“Special enough to tell me what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong.”

“Which, of course, is why you've got circles beneath your eyes and you're avoiding talking about you know who.”

Suzanne managed a laugh. “I'm not avoiding talking about him.”

“Really? Then why won't you say
his
name?” When Suzanne didn't say anything, Taylor said it. “Ryan. Ryan.
Ryan.
Come on, you can say it. Ry—”

“Look…” Suzanne blew out a long breath but had to laugh at Taylor's knowing expression. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Sure.” Taylor smiled. “How's your catering business going?”

“It's just a—”

“Hobby,” Taylor said with her, then shook her head. “Look, hon, I already love you. But you've got a serious case of denial going all the way around. You've got a great business practically running itself, and the prospect of some really good sex. Why can't you just enjoy it? What's the worst thing that could happen if you let yourself be happy?”

She could fail. And…well, she could fail.

And, oh yeah, she could fail.

R
YAN FOUND HIMSELF
inundated with jobs, which coincided with his midterms. Which coincided with his inability to think of anything and anyone but Suzanne.

It wasn't good. He needed concentration. His latest job required him to take down a series of ten palm trees, each a towering seventy-five feet. Big job. Important job. It had been waiting for him for weeks.

So why he drove the wrong truck, with the wrong ladder system and lost two hours of work was beyond him.

The next day he ran out of gas halfway to the job and had to call Russ for a ride, losing another hour of work.

On the third day he didn't remember to pick up Angel from school when she'd called and asked. He'd forgotten his own damn sister.

On the fourth day he miraculously made it to his jobsite without interruption, and felt quite proud of that fact.

But then was immediately surrounded by his two
brothers and sister, all of whom were looking at him so gravely his heart stopped. “What's the matter?” He pictured a serious illness, a death, something mind-bendingly awful enough to put that doom-and-gloom look on their faces.

“You,” Angel said gently, then shoved him into one of the folding beach chairs they kept on the job for lunch break. “You're the matter. Ryan Alondo….” She waved a hand. “Welcome to your intervention.”

“My
what?
”

“You heard me. Just sit there and listen.”

“Yeah.” Rafe took off his sunglasses, appearing haggard and worried, and took a deep breath. “Okay, here it goes. First, you're forgetful. You've never been forgetful before, Ryan.”

“It's like you've gone blond or something,” Russ said, shutting his mouth when Angel glared at him.

“So, you tell us.” She stood over Ryan with her hands on her hips. “What's the matter? Are you sick?”

“No.
No!
” he added more vehemently when he saw how worried they really were. “I'm not.”

“Are we having money trouble?” Russ asked, because it was Ryan that handled the bulk of their pay, investing it for them.

“Yeah, like, did you take up gambling, and lose everything, and don't know how to tell us?” Rafe
asked. “Because if you did, that's okay. We can make more. We just want to know.”

Ryan would have laughed if there was anything funny about the fact that he'd really freaked them out. They were staring at him as
he
had stared at
them
over the years—an expression of sober grimness mixed with a lot of love.

The irony was not lost on him. “I didn't lose all our money.”

“Is the business going under?” Angel asked. “Because that doesn't matter either, you know that, right? We'll find something else, we'll work at Taco Bell, we'll—”

“The business is good,” Ryan said, his voice a little thick because damn, they'd given him a sucker punch to the gut with this reminder of how much he wasn't alone. “Look, I'm sorry if I've been a little out of it lately, but—”

“A little?” Rafe shook his head. “I told you I didn't get home until three in the morning, and what did you say?
Nothing.
”

“You got home at three in the morning?” Ryan frowned. “Where the hell were you until then?”

“See? You never even heard me.”

“I'm hearing you now. Where were you—”

“Look, kick his ass later, okay?” Angel knelt in
front of Ryan and took his hands. “Tell us what's wrong.”

Ryan stared at the three people in the world who meant everything to him, and spoke the utter truth, the truth he'd only just been able to admit. “I've…fallen for a woman.”

They all stared at him for a heartbeat, then burst into laughter.

“That's a good one,” Angel said, swiping a tear of mirth off her cheek. “You've fallen for a woman.
A
woman. Uh-huh, right.”

“As if one would ever be enough.” Rafe was still grinning, too. “When we all know you need a minimum of three a week.”

“See, now that's not exactly true.” But it had been his own deception that made them believe it. “I'm not dating women every night. I'm…going to college. I'm almost finished my landscape architect degree.”

Russ narrowed his eyes. “But you
are
dating. You dated Allene just last week.”

“I did go out with Allene, but only because Rafe set it up and I didn't pay attention enough to say no. I'm not kidding you, I'm taking classes three nights a week and between that and work and Suzanne, it's killing me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I…just wanted to do this for me.”

Angel stared at him, then wound her arms around
his neck. “Oh, Ryan. College! We're college buddies! I feel so proud of you!”

“Landscape architecture?” Rafe repeated slowly, then grinned. “How cool is that?”

“But what about the business?” Russ asked.

“The tree business will be here as long as you guys want it.”

“So…” Rafe scratched his head. “You've been doing all of it? Just for us? Bro, you didn't have to do that.”

“Of course I did.”

“I don't want to make this a chick-flick or anything,” Rafe said a little thickly. “But that's pretty damn cool of you.”

“Landscape architecture,” Rafe said slowly. “Yeah.

Sounds cool. But…you're not dating the entire female population? Really?”

“Really.” Ryan gave Angel, still in his arms, a squeeze. “Sorry.”

She pulled free to narrow her gaze on him. “So who's Suzanne?”

“The one.” He swallowed and faced the cold, hard truth. “She's the one.”

“She's— Oh my God.” She put a hand to her mouth while her gaze never left his. “You're serious.”

“I'm serious.”

Russ groaned and sank theatrically into a chair. “He's fallen and can't get up.”

“So what are you going to do about her?” Angel wanted to know.

“Well…I'm going to convince her she feels the same way.”

“Why do you have to convince her?” his sister demanded. “Why doesn't she already love you? What's the matter with her?”

“Nothing.” Ryan grinned. “She just isn't quite as sure of me as you are.”

 

S
UZANNE FOUND
a part-time chef position at a restaurant across town. After being her own boss for weeks, she had to admit…working for someone else wasn't as much fun as she remembered.

South Village was fun to live in, and fun to cook in, but this restaurant was upscale. Which meant she was cooking for people who knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to say so. Very quickly she got tired of the same menu every night, and not being able to deviate for fear of insulting a patron.

One morning about a week after what she thought of as “the ice cream” incident with Ryan, she tripped over a package outside her door. Frowning, she picked up the plainly wrapped, odd-shaped box with the pretty silver bow. It was nearly two feet long, sev
eral inches wide, and gave off no other clue as to what it was.

She glanced left and right down the hallway of the second floor landing, but there was no one there, so she pulled off the ribbon, then the paper.

And found herself holding a set of beautiful teak-wood cooking utensils.

A card fell out, and she scooped it up, her heart accelerating at the words.

Ryan, the man who'd made her smile and yearn and burn. Ryan, the man who haunted her dreams every night.

Ryan, the man who could single-handedly destroy her in a way no one else ever could.

The gift wasn't some empty-handed gesture, as flowers might have been. The utensils had been bought with her in mind, which meant the gift came from his heart.

That alone made her throat tight, because she couldn't remember ever receiving a gift like this before.

Lord, she must be tired. She hadn't slept well in days. Ryan's fault, as she'd been dreaming about him. If she wasn't dreaming about him, she was thinking about him.

Again, his fault. He'd called, he'd stopped by, and much as she wanted to remain indifferent, she couldn't. Not when every time they easily talked, easily laughed…and easily could have taken it further.

She'd say it was all physical, but that was a lie. It was far more than physical now, and she knew it.

Which made it no less terrifying. She'd failed in her determination to keep him out of her heart. Utterly failed.

That evening when she got home, there was yet another package. Small this time, with another silver bow.

She opened the thing like a kid at Christmas, then right there in the hallway had to sit down.

It was a pewter pin in the shape of a chef's hat, lying on velvet. Etched on the hat was her name. The detailing was beautiful, the pin was beautiful.

And so was the gesture.

This time her fingers shook when she opened the card, and just seeing his words—the ones he'd written in his own hand—made his voice come alive in her head. Her body reacted as if he'd touched her.

That night, wearing the pin on her pajamas and holding the teak utensils in her hand, she sat on her bed and picked up the phone. Dialed. Listened to Ryan say hello in that low, sexy voice. And panicked.

Why had she called?

To tell him to stop buying her presents, that's why.

To tell him to stop making her think of him. To tell him this had to stop because she was losing her mind.

“Hello?” Ryan said again.

She bit her lip. Tell him.
Tell him!

“Suzanne?”

Oh God.

His voice deepened, became intimately familiar.

“Suzanne, is that you?”

She closed her eyes. “How did you know?”

“I'd recognize your panicked breathing any where.”

Terrific.

“I'm glad you called,” he said quietly. “I've been thinking of you.”

“I…have to go.”

“Suzanne—”

“Bye,” she whispered in a choked voice and hung up.

It wasn't possible to be more pathetic, really it wasn't. And then, as if he could still hear her, or worse,
see
her, she lay down and put her pillow over her head.