Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (7 page)

“My phone’s on the counter.”

“You should get it then.”

“I should,” he agreed.

He didn’t get it. He got me instead, because my resolve went out the window about three seconds later when he kissed me again. Carefully set lines blurred, my red dress hit the floor, and we were both goners.

***

I’d expected an air of awkwardness the next morning. I’d even prepared for it. Ryan wasn’t going to get a chance to politely ask me to leave his bed because I was up before he even stirred. I was getting in first and cutting myself loose. The idea was to play it cool, thank him for the nice time, and lie about getting together again soon.

Once I was dressed, I sneaked into the adjacent bathroom to wash my face and sort out my rat’s nest hair. The top drawer of the cabinet didn’t make a sound as I slid it open. Finding a hairbrush was my objective, but curiosity side-tracked me.

The drawer was as neat as the rest of the apartment. I picked up a small bottle and studied the label closely. Even then, I was none the wiser as to what shaving oil was – but it sounded sexy as hell.

He had everything from hair products to moisturisers. Perhaps looking drop dead gorgeous took work.

The last thing to catch my eye looked like a big ChapStick. I pulled the lid off, checked it out and concluded that it was still a big ChapStick. “For people with big mouths,” I mumbled.

“Not really.”

I jumped, dropping it on the floor. The stick rolled across the tiles, coming to a stop at his feet.

Ryan picked it up, showcasing every muscle on his bare back as he stooped. It was an unfair move on his part. Thinking straight was hard enough without that kind of display.

“It’s a styptic pencil,” he explained, rolling it between his fingers. “It’s good for healing shaving nicks.” He handed it back to me and I quickly dropped it back in the drawer. “Are you snooping on me, Bente?”

If anything, he seemed amused by the prospect.

“Do you know the definition of investigative journalism, Ryan?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “I’d like to hear yours.”

“It’s a form of journalism in which reporters deeply investigate a single topic of interest.”

“I’m all for deep investigating, Miss Denison,” he murmured in a low tone. “What would you like to know?”

My eyes darted between his eyes and his mouth. “Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve got you all worked out, pretty boy.”

“I’ve got you all worked out too,” he replied, taking a few slow steps closer to me.

“Really?” I asked dryly.

“Yes. You’re a shameless stickybeak.” The way he hummed the words against the side of my neck made defending myself impossible. “Are you done spying?”

“For now,” I mumbled.

“Excellent. We can get back to more important tasks, then.” He abandoned the mind-scrambling neck kissing and led me to the kitchen. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at a stool. “Please.”

“You’re very bossy, Ryan.”

I wondered if he realised it. He was forever issuing orders. It should’ve been a quirk that grated on me, but it didn’t.

Ryan disappeared from view while he searched a low cupboard. “I don’t mean to be.” He popped back up, set a cast iron pan down on the counter and pointed at the stool again.

I gave in and sat down. “What are you doing?”

“You’re very inquisitive, Bente,” he teased.

“We make quite a pair then, don’t we?”

He smiled, and it was magnificent. “
Oui
, sweetheart. We do.”

“One night together and you’re calling me sweetheart?” I tried sounding appalled, but failed. “That’s a bit
Fatal Attraction
isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “No more
Fatal Attraction
than you snooping through the drawers in my bathroom.”

He had a point, so I changed the subject. “What are you cooking?”

Ryan walked to the fridge and peered inside. He seemed to be having trouble deciding, which was understandable. There was more food in his fridge than in the storeroom of his restaurant.

“How about something fancy?” He glanced at me. “
Oeufs brouillés
?”

“That sounds amazing.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, sounding worried.

I wasn’t sure about anything. I had no idea what it was, but he made it sound heavenly. “If it’s out of your league, I’ll settle for cereal.”

Ryan nudged the fridge door closed with his foot and carried an armload of ingredients to the counter. “Nothing is out of my league when it comes to cooking. I’m a fine chef,” he declared, dumping the food down in a heap.

“You like to cook?” The notion surprised me.

“No, I
love
to cook,” he corrected. “I’m actually more of a baker. I like to bake. Cakes are my specialty.”

I laughed, and then threw my hand over my mouth because it was inappropriate. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “It’s not funny. It’s actually very sweet.”

Ryan smiled crookedly. “It’s not common knowledge, Bente.” He grabbed a whisk from a drawer. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Who would I tell?” I grinned. “All you’ve done is even the score. I told you about my
Dirty Dancing
addiction, remember?”

“I remember.”

“So we’re even.”

“
Au contraire
, sweetheart,” he crowed. “I’m still ahead.”

***

Oeufs brouillés
wasn’t anywhere near as impressive as it sounds.

“Scrambled eggs?” I asked, staring at the plate in front of me. “I thought you were going to serve me something fabulous – like a plate of truffles infused with the laughter of a thousand babies.”

“That would be amazing,” he agreed. “Are you disappointed?”

I turned the plate in a full circle, pretending to study it. “No,” I had to admit. “Nothing about the past day has disappointed me.”

13. TRAIN WRECK

Ryan

Strange things were happening to me. I had a million things to do that day, and most involved getting Nellie’s back in order after my theatrics of the night before. But spending the morning with Bente was much more enjoyable. We sat at the kitchen counter, enjoying breakfast. Conversation flowed, and before I knew it, it was close to midday.

“I should be going,” she said, noticing me glance at my watch.

“Why?”

Bente carried the plates to the sink. “Because the day is slipping away. My sister is probably going out of her mind.”

Her sister was already out of her mind.

“How long are you planning to stay with Ivy?” I asked curiously.

She leaned against the counter. “It was supposed to be temporary but it looks like I’m in for the long haul now – at least until I can find a new job.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself offering her one. It would’ve been an insult. Bente wasn’t a server any more. She’d been a working reporter in Boston for a long time before coming home to New York. “I’m sure something will come up,” I said instead.

“Yes, I know it will,” she agreed, walking back to me, “but a great new job isn’t going to just fall in my lap, which is why I should be spending the day job hunting instead of hanging out with you.”

As soon as she was in reach, I swivelled the stool and grabbed her. “I don’t think you should leave,” I said quietly. “I want you to stay.”

She wedged her body between my legs. Her hand moved to the back of my head, raking her nails through my hair. “I have to leave some time, Ryan. There’s only so much sex two people can have before they die of exhaustion.”

Close enough to kiss her, I brushed my lips against hers. “Are you prepared to investigate that theory? I’d be happy to be your single topic of interest.”

Her body instinctively leaned, chasing my mouth. “I’m always up for a challenge, Ryan,” she murmured.

***

No one dies from an excess of sex. After two days of intensive research, we proved it. The investigative study might’ve been ongoing if not for the fact that real life kicked in.

Late on day one, Ivy started blowing up Bente’s phone, demanding to know where she was. By day two, her voicemail messages included threats of bodily harm so Bente had no choice but to return her call.

“I’m staying with a friend,” she uttered.

Even with a pillow over my head, I heard the reply. “You don’t have any friends,” Ivy roared. “You need to come home.”

I tossed the pillow aside and pulled the phone from Bente’s ear. “She’s not coming back, Ivy,” I said loudly. “Never, ever.”

That earned me a sharp elbow to the ribs. It was worth it just to sock it to her nasty sister. “Ryan, shush!” Bente hissed.

“Ryan? Ryan Décarie?” Ivy screamed. “You’re hooking up with Ryan Décarie?”

I couldn’t help smiling. I hadn’t seen the woman in years; obviously I’d made a lasting impression.

Bente sat bolt upright, taking the sheet with her. “I’m not hooking up with anybody. I’ll be home this afternoon.”

I tried talking her out of it by kissing a line across her back. She wriggled but kept talking. “You need to get a grip, Ivy.”

“Ryan Décarie?” her sister spat. “You’re the one who needs to get a grip.”

Bente barked a few choice words and ended the call. She tossed her phone on the bed and flopped back. I took immediate advantage, kissing a new line along her collarbone. “I don’t think she likes me,” I noted between kisses.

“Not so much,” she agreed. “I wish we could hide out here forever.”

“We can,” I hummed into the hollow at the base of her neck. “Let’s do it.”

Her body trembled beneath me as she laughed. That was reason enough to stay in bed forever.

“It’s alright for you,” she said, giggling. “No one’s chasing you.”

“You’re right. That’s actually pretty sad,” I lamented. “I could be dead on the floor, and no one cares.”

Bente shuffled from beneath me and reached for my phone on the nightstand. “Here.” She held it out to me. “Do you need to call a friend?”

I silenced her with a kiss, but I did take the phone. When I turned my head to check the screen for missed calls, she groaned. “I didn’t mean now, Ryan.”

The screen was one long log of messages. I’d been missing call after call for two days because I’d switched my phone to silent. “This isn’t good,” I muttered, laying my head back on the pillow.

Bente propped herself up on one elbow. “Something wrong?”

I dropped the phone back on the nightstand. “I have to go into work,” I told her. “My restaurants are going to the dogs. If I stay away much longer, someone will add coleslaw to the menu.”

She sighed. “So this is how it ends.”

I swept her hair off her shoulder. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

“That’s it?” She huffed out a husky laugh. “That’s all I get?”

I curved my hand around her waist and rolled her on top of me. “I’ll give you much, much more if you stay.”

“No, I have to go too.”

I put my hand to her cheek and she leaned into my palm. “Pack your stuff and move in here,” I blurted. “Or better yet, I’ll send someone to do it.”

Her flash of surprise matched mine perfectly. It was a ludicrous suggestion. I’d never lived with a girl in my life; except my mother, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t count. “Forty-eight hours,” she choked. “We’ve known each other forty-eight hours.”

“That’s not true. We’ve known each other seven years. At least think about it,” I urged. “It might be amazing.”

“It might also be a train wreck.”

“Bente, you live with Ivy and the squealers,” I pointed out. “The worst train wreck would be an improvement.”

She kissed me chastely. “I’ll think about it.”

***

The only thing worse than leaving Billet-doux unmanaged for two days was having my business partner step in and take charge.

The daytime manager, Noelle, gave me the heads up at the door. “Charli’s in your office,” she warned, skipping to keep up with me. “I told her that you wouldn’t be pleased, but she didn’t listen.”

“Okay, thanks.” Stopping suddenly was a mistake. She nearly ran into me, like an overenthusiastic puppy. “Was there something else, Noelle?”

There was usually plenty where Noelle was concerned. She was very … keen. In the year that she’d worked at Billet-doux, she’d tried a hundred times to catch my eye. I wasn’t completely immune to her charms. She was a very pretty blonde with blindingly white teeth, enormous energy and a fondness for the word ‘super’. I liked to look at Noelle. I just had no desire to touch her.

“No.” She hit me with her stun gun smile. “I’m just super glad you’re back. Everyone missed you.”

I glanced around the quiet restaurant. Two girls were setting tables and there was a guy polishing glasses behind the bar. None of them looked super excited to see me again.

“Well, I’m back now.” I walked away before she could speak again.