Roughing It With Ryan (12 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Suzanne woke and ran to her front door. Hauling it open, she looked down at her feet, and let out a helpless little hum of pleasure.

Ryan had come. She unwrapped a set of votive candles, vanilla scented. Her favorite, which he knew, and she melted all over again.

This time the card read:

She laughed.

Then she cried.

She stood there holding the teak utensils and candles, with her pin on her pajamas, staring out into space. What would happen if she gave in?

No.
No giving in. Had she forgotten what she did to men? Good men went bad because of her.

Damn, this wasn't funny. This wasn't something
she could walk away from. Suddenly furious at herself for getting in too deep, she headed down the hall.

Suzanne found Taylor in one of the dusty, bottom floor storefronts, looking as put together as always in tan slacks and a pristine white blouse.

“Hey there,” Her friend said, not turning around. “I'm getting this unit ready. We need someone with lots of bucks to come in and open a shop or something. I was thinking— Uh-oh.” She'd finally turned and took in Suzanne's rattled appearance. “What's the matter?”

“Do you know where Ryan's current job is?”

“Um…” Taylor smoothed her perfectly glossed lips together. “If I say yes, are you going to storm off in your pajamas, holding what looks like salad tongs and a set of candles?”

Suzanne looked down at her sweat bottoms and tank top. Women wore less than this every day. So her hair was undoubtedly rioted and she had no makeup on, so what? She wasn't here to win a beauty contest. “I am, yes. He's…he's sending me gifts, Taylor.”

“The bastard.”

“I know!”

Taylor stuck her tongue in her cheek. “So what did he send?”

“Not generic flowers. No, nothing as simple as
that. He sent
good
stuff. Stuff I want but would never go buy for myself.”

“Really,” Taylor said with a tsk and a serious face. “The nerve.”

“It gets worse.”

“Do tell.”

“Well…I think he likes me for more than just the sex.”

“Again, what a bastard.”

Suddenly Suzanne laughed. Just as she'd always laughed in the face of such emotion. It felt good.

“Oh, honey. Give it up. Marry him.”

Suzanne's amusement faded. She stared at Taylor, utterly confused, and miserable in it. “You're as crazy as he is.”

“Really? What else is he doing to you besides the gifts and great sex?”

“He won't get out of my head, that's what!”

Taylor grinned. “He's at the Pasadena Target store, taming a humungous set of palm trees.”

The store wasn't far at all. She could march over there and tell him this was not funny, that he had to knock it off, and still be back in half an hour. “Thank you,” she said, and shocked them both when she hugged Taylor.

Taylor squeezed her back. “What's this for?”

“For laughing at me. I needed that.”

She was halfway to the door when Taylor called out. “You going to give him hell, or a big, fat, juicy kiss?”

“Hell,” said Suzanne, a thought straight from her head.

But her heart cried out for the big, fat, juicy kiss.

 

H
ELD UP BY
safety gear, Ryan carefully balanced himself about sixty feet above ground, one foot braced on the roof of the building, the other on his rig ladder. Time to tackle a palm tree.

While he contemplated his next move, something from the corner of his eye caught his attention. A figure striding directly toward Russ on the ground.

A wildly curved, wildly red-haired figure. Her arms were full, her posture animated.

And even at sixty feet, he could feel the fury.

“You've got company,” Rafe noted from his high perch.

As if Ryan hadn't already
felt
her. As if his entire body hadn't leapt to hopeful attention. “I see her.”

They started down. Suzanne's gaze landed on him and never wavered.

He wondered if that was good or bad.

Bad,
he decided, when he caught a glint of the emotion in her eyes.

When his feet touched the ground, she stalked to
ward him, balancing the things in her arms to free up a hand so she could poke him in the chest with her finger.
“You.”

“Me,”
he agreed, rubbing his chest.
Ouch.
“It's, uh, good to see you.” She was wearing hip-hugging sweats and a little tank top, showing off the body that made him want to beg. God, he missed her. “How are you?”

“I would be just fine, thanks, except you've been leaving me gifts.”

“Yes.”

“You bought me cooking utensils.”

Blatantly eavesdropping, Rafe took off his hard hat and sidled up closer.

“I did buy you utensils,” Ryan agreed. “For your business.”

“Why?”

Ryan glanced at Russ, who was also apparently unconcerned about eavesdropping, as he'd moved in to hear, too.

“Ryan?” Suzanne's arms were crossed, her foot tapping the asphalt as she not-so-patiently waited.

“Why did I buy you cooking utensils?” Ryan scratched his head and tried to figure out if that was a trick question.

“Yes, why did you buy me cooking utensils? It's a straight-forward question, Ryan.”

Oh, she looked magnificent, and furious.

And confused.

It was the last that broke Ryan's heart. “Because they were beautiful and reminded me of you. Suzanne, you cook.” He lifted a hand. “It made sense to me.”

“Oh, man, you bought her
cooking utensils?
” Rafe shook his head. “Should have stuck with flowers, bro. Chicks like flowers.”

Ignoring that, Suzanne thrust out a votive candle. “What about these?”

“You bought those, too?” Russ winced and sent Ryan a pitying look. “Ah, jeez. It's like watching my idol fall right in front of me.”

Shooting his brothers dirty looks was a huge waste of time. Ryan did it anyway, but they didn't budge. Fine. He'd kill them later. Facing Suzanne, he said, “I bought those because the scent reminded me of you.”

“Oh, dude…” Rafe groaned. “You're going down.”

“They…reminded you of me?” Suzanne stared down at the offending candles, then clutched them to her chest as if they were a dozen roses. “Really?”

Ryan nodded, a little confused himself now. Was he still in trouble? Or was he back in her good graces? His head was spinning.

“He meant to buy you flowers and make you dinner and
light
those candles,” Russ said, stepping for
ward. “He just gets all mixed up sometimes. It's his age.”

“I didn't get it mixed up,” Ryan said, hoping to God he was right. He had no clue, and Suzanne standing there in her little itty-bitty tank top and belly-baring sweats, with her hair wild and free, her face void of makeup, looking for all the world like she just stepped out of bed, gave him no clue.

All he knew was that he wanted to move close and touch her. So he did.

“He's just been so swamped becoming a landscape architect,” Rafe said just as Ryan lifted a hand. “Or he would have been more romantic.”

With Ryan's fingers on her face, Suzanne turned her lips into his palm. Kissed him. “It
was
romantic,” she whispered.

Ryan's heart leapt into his throat. She got it. She really got it. She understood. She thought the gesture of buying her such personal gifts was romantic.

Thank God.

“The gifts were purchased just for me,” she said to Russ and Rafe.

Oh yeah, she got it. “Yes,” Ryan said. “Just for you.” There was no one else. There would never be anyone else.

“They're wonderful,” she said to him now. “Won
derful and thoughtful, and…and they made me feel special.”

Ryan was pretty much glowing. From the sexual energy, no doubt. From her words and the meaning behind them, too.

And rational or not, hope surged within him.

He just might get lucky tonight. He could almost taste her now. And with his arms around her he could convince her how good they were together….

“What I want to know is,” she continued softly, staring right at him. “Why?”

And that was when Ryan got a few important life lessons. First, buying a girl a present was not a direct pass to her bed.

And second, he had no clue what did constitute that pass.

But he could see her mistrust and fear clear enough, and because of that he managed to realize something else. Matters of the heart, specifically hers, couldn't be handled with a few little tokens.

Nope, if he wanted her love—which he definitely did—he'd have to earn it.

The hard way. “I bought you those things to make you feel good. To make you smile.”

“Not to soften me up so I'd…” She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “So I'd sleep with you again?”

Ah, hell. Nope. No way would he admit to that temporary crack in good judgment. “Just to make you smile,” he repeated, and was rewarded with exactly that.

So when she started to walk away, her hips swinging in such a way that drew his eyes, it took him a moment to assimilate she was leaving. “Hey!”

She just kept walking.

What the hell? “Suzanne?” He drew all sorts of snickers from his crew when he went running after her. Catching up to her at her car, he spun her around.

She was still smiling, so prettily just for him, that he couldn't help but smile back. “You came to just smile at me and leave?”

“No. I came to get mad at you, but I don't feel mad anymore.”

“Let's have lunch.”

“It's too early.”

“Breakfast then.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Suzanne.” He let out a little laugh. “You're driving me crazy here.”

“I know.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Me, too. I'm sorry. I'm a little confused, Ryan. I just need to think.”

“Can't you think with me around?”

“Frankly, no.” She touched his jaw. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Then don't.”

“I just…need to be alone to think, okay? Good-bye, Ryan.”

He snagged her hips and held her still, feeling unreasonably panicked, though he forced a smile. “I don't like that word, good-bye, not when it applies to you and me.”

“It's the only one I have at the moment.”

Be patient,
he ordered himself as she drove away. She cared, she cared deeply, he could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch.
Just be patient.

He might as well have asked himself to stop breathing.

T
HE PARTY
Suzanne was to cater that night was for a wedding anniversary. Another referral from the party she'd done for Ryan's brothers.

It crossed her mind that it was likely Ryan could be there, but as the party was a fiftieth wedding anniversary, and the happy couple was well into their seventies, she figured she was safe.

That
he
was safe. Because she had no doubt, she would destroy him.

But he probably wouldn't be there, so she could relax. There'd be no long, direct stares that made her knees wobble. No light touches that caused her thighs to quiver. No secret smiles to both lighten and freak-out her heart.

“I followed my nose all the way in here,” Taylor said as she walked into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. “We thought we'd help you carry your stuff down.”

“We?”

Taylor turned aside just as Nicole appeared in the doorway.

“I was signing the rental agreement for the loft,” she said with a shrug that caused her myriad of earrings to tinkle like wind chimes. “The scent drew us in here.” She wore military green cargo pants that hugged her slim hips and a camouflage T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, emphasizing a tiny, lean and incredibly toned frame. Her short, sleek hair was carefully tucked behind her ears as she leaned over the trays and inhaled dramatically. “My God, you're a genius, too.”

“Too?” Suzanne looked at Taylor.

“Yeah, she graduated college at thirteen. Disgusting, huh?”

“I'd give it all up to be able to cook like this.” Nicole took another hopeful whiff. “No, I take that back. I don't want to be able to cook like this, I just want to live above someone who does.”

Taylor laughed. “You managed that feat, Super Girl.”

“Yeah, well, I'll feed each of you whatever you want if you help me load all these trays.” Suzanne wondered if she needed to change her blouse, or if anyone would notice the small chocolate stain beneath her right breast. No time to worry about it, she decided.

Nicole looked at her watch.

“What, you got a hot date?” Taylor asked her.

“Work,” Nicole answered.

“Food should always take precedence over work.”

“You're right.” Nicole picked up a tray.

It took four trips down the stairs, and by the time they'd finished, Suzanne was huffing and puffing. “For how much I lug around every day, I should be thin. I deserve to be thin.”

“Nah.” Taylor jerked her head toward Nicole. “If you were thin like Nicole, for example, you wouldn't have boobs.”

With a frown, Nicole looked down at her small breasts.

Suzanne laughed. “I'd give up the extra ten pounds each in a heartbeat.”

“Really? Wonder if Ryan would say the same…”

Taylor then ducked past Nicole to avoid Suzanne's extended foot. “By the way, I hope he's there tonight, you look great.”

Suzanne did not feel great, she felt…harried. She was wearing her usual uniform of a white shirt—with the small chocolate stain—and black skirt, which, upon reflection, actually was kind enough to hide her biggest flaw—her hips. “It doesn't matter to me one way or the other if he's there.”

Taylor snorted. “Right.”

“Singlehood,” Suzanne said. “Remember?”

“Hey,
I'm
keeping the vow,” Taylor said. “Don't you worry about me.”

“Or me,” Nicole muttered, sliding the last tray in the back of Suzanne's car and swiping her palms on her thighs.

“You're too cute and young for such a vow,” Suzanne said.

Nicole lifted a brow. “I'm twenty-seven. Same as you I'd guess. And besides, a woman can never be too young to decide no man is a good man.”

Only a few weeks ago, Suzanne would have said amen to that. But the image of Ryan came to her—tall, dark and…well, hers.

Damn him. “I've got to go.”

“Give Ryan a kiss for me.”

“Shut up.”

Taylor smiled knowingly at Nicole. “She's going to give him a kiss for me.”

Suzanne sighed. “There are containers in my fridge. Help yourselves to dinner.”

Taylor and Nicole high-fived each other and vanished up the stairs.

Suzanne got into her car, and all the way to the job lectured herself on the reasons why singlehood was a good idea. Why she'd made the vow in the first place.

And all the way there, the reasons didn't make much sense.

An hour later the party was in full swing. She was in the kitchen, racing around, humming to herself, when she turned toward the door and froze. Ryan stood in the doorway looking at her with an expression that completely stole her breath.

And suddenly, she couldn't remember a single one of those reasons she'd recited to herself on the way over here. She couldn't remember anything but how he made her feel.

He wasn't wearing his usual jeans and work shirt, but instead a pair of khakis and a collarless thin sweater that clung to his broad shoulders and chest in a way that made thinking all but impossible.

Before she could recover, his long, long legs swallowed the distance between them. “Hey,” he said softly.

How was it possible to be so off balance just by looking at him? He hadn't even touched her, couldn't touch her when he had his hands in his pockets as he did, and yet her heart had already taken off.

He slipped his hands out of his pockets to tuck a wayward strand of her cursed hair behind her ear. Just a gentle touch, an easy touch, one he drew out by not retracting his hand right away, instead letting his finger trail down her cheek.

“I have work to do,” she managed.

“Okay.” He ran his finger over the pin on her
blouse, just above her breast. Her nipples would have hardened, but they'd already done that at the first sight of him.

She lifted a tray but he took it out of her hands.

“Ryan—”

“Let me help.”

Before she could say that wasn't a good idea—if she let him help, she would feel obligated to him, and if she felt obligated to him, she might do something stupid at the end of the night like beg him to make love to her—he simply leaned close and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek, just a quick connection, and yet her entire body reacted. Wanted more. No other man had ever had that kind of power over her.

And, she realized, no man ever would. Her legs wobbled at this realization.

Ryan walked out the double swinging doors of the kitchen with the tray, leaving her standing there…stunned. Aching.

“Fine, then. Take the tray.” Muttering beneath her breath about beautiful, bossy men who had to have their own way, she whirled back to the counter and began to fuss over another tray that had gotten a little sideways on the drive.

“Why is it that every cook I know mutters to themselves?” asked a female voice.

Angel. Suzanne didn't turn around immediately,
as she wasn't ready to face yet another Alondo. “How many cooks do you know?” she asked lightly.

“Well, there's you. And my brother. Even though we tease him, Ryan is pretty handy in the kitchen, did you know that?”

No. No, she didn't. She didn't know a lot about him, and despite the pull low in her belly at the thought of him, say standing barefoot in his kitchen whipping them up a midnight snack, she decided that was a good thing.

“He cooked dinner for us every night after our parents died.” Angel looked over the dessert tray carefully as she spoke. “Through homework. Through basketball games. Through me being a stupid, vain and mean teenage girl. Through Rafe and Russ not wanting to sit down for family dinners without Mom and Dad. Through thick and thin, Ryan was there, making us dinner.” Angel plucked up a brownie. Popped it into her mouth. Chewed, then closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. “Oh my God, this is sinful.” Her eyes opened again. “He always made a veggie.” She shuddered. “Usually a green one. He made us eat it. I used to hate him for that.”

Suzanne pictured the three of them, Russ, Rafe and Angel, young and scared and hurting, being gathered together for dinner by Ryan. Ryan, who just wanted to keep his family together and safe. Ryan, who'd do
anything, including giving up college, simply to make that happen.

A man like that was different from any man she'd ever known. A man like that wouldn't just walk away when the going got tough. A man like that would say only what he meant, and would never, ever, hurt her on purpose.

She couldn't ruin a man like that…right? So what was she afraid of? What was she really afraid of here?

Maybe, she thought with a hitch in her breath, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Worse, maybe the truth was she'd hidden behind her fear of nothing.

And that made her a coward. “And now?” Suzanne asked quietly. “How do you feel about him now, knowing all he sacrificed to keep you guys together?”

“I love him more than anything or anyone,” Angel said simply. She popped another brownie. “Mmm.” She licked her lips. “And I'd seriously hurt anyone who hurt him.”

Suzanne leaned back against the counter and considered the younger woman. “Is that some kind of a warning?”

Angel looked at her. “Do you plan on hurting him?”

“Don't be silly,” Suzanne said with a little laugh
that didn't hold any real humor. “I don't have the power to hurt him.”

“Is that what you really believe?” Clearly disappointed with Suzanne's response, Angel put her third brownie back. “Really?”

Suzanne pictured how Ryan had looked a moment ago, eyes hot and aching.

For her.

In their wildest dreams, neither of them had ever intended for this…this
thing
to go as far as it had. She knew that, just as she knew what they'd wanted had little to do with it. Their hearts had taken over.

Oh, Ryan. What a pair we are.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he came back into the kitchen, looking bigger than life. Dividing an even glance between his sister and Suzanne, he raised a brow. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Angel went to him and kissed his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Actually,” Angel said. “It was nothing at all.”

And with a long look at Suzanne, she left.

Suzanne busied her hands with another tray.

“She's a good person,” she said, not looking at him.

“That's because of you.”

“You haven't seen her at the crack of dawn on a
school day,” he murmured, coming close. “Don't give me credit where it's not due.”

“Ryan—”

He put his fingers to her lips. “Hear that?”

When she spoke his fingers brushed her mouth. “All I hear is the music.”

“Exactly.” It had gone soft, dreamy and slow. Taking the oven mitt out of her hands, he drew her close.

There was nothing in her but need so she went against him, then pressed closer still. They rocked together a little, for the longest time, just being.

When the second song came on, he shifted closer still, and so did she. His hands molded her body.

She returned the favor. She couldn't help it, the feel of his big body against hers drew out every emotion she had, and apparently there were quite a few more than she'd imagined.

He had one hand low on her spine, the other, entwined with hers, lay against their thighs. Gently gliding his jaw to hers as they swayed together right there in the middle of the kitchen, he sighed.

And so did her heart.

The music seemed to flow through her, through them, until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. He was passionate, earthy and, she suspected, rather demanding with those he brought into his heart.

Knowing that only made hers beat faster.

And yet the physical contact wasn't enough. She wanted to tell him some of what she was feeling, only those feelings were so jumbled up and confused, she didn't think she could put words together to justify them.

She had actions though, and didn't actions speak louder than words? She lifted her face to his, wanting that connection, the deep, soul-searching kiss only he could give her.

He gave it, and at his sound of pleasure, she melted into him. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever done, body to body, mouth to mouth, fully dressed, imagining them otherwise. She'd never felt so hot in her life.

Then, as all good things do, it ended. The music died away.

And Suzanne pulled back. “I'd…better get busy.”

He ran his thumb over her lips, the ones he'd just been sucking on. “This catering…it's working out for you.”

“Oh. Well.” She backed up, turned to the sink. “It's doing okay. For a hobby.”

“Am I just a hobby, too?”

“Uh…” She turned on the faucet full blast.
Resist, Suzanne.

But suddenly she didn't want to resist. She wanted
him, and more of the amazing feelings she always had in abundance when she was with him.

She wanted that more than she wanted anything. Whipping around, both a smile and his name on her lips, she faltered.

Because he was gone, leaving her standing there under the harsh glare of the kitchen lights, body aching and burning.

Just as she'd probably done to him over and over.

 

I
T TOOK HER
another hour to clean up the job. Ryan never came back.

By the time she'd packed up and got everything in her car, it was late.

Still, she found herself outside Ryan's place with her hand raised to knock.

This was stupid. She had no idea what to say to him. Lowering her hand, she turned away, then swore out loud. Then she whipped around again and knocked before she could change her mind.

Ryan answered the door in low-slung sweats and a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses hanging by the earpiece out of the corner of his mouth. He had a book in one hand, a pencil in the other, and seemed less than pleased with the distraction.